My mind was made up. I was going to America to work for Gordon Ramsay at his new restaurant in New York City.
The hotel was to be called 'Gordon Ramsay at the London NYC'. I didn't know one soul in New York City (let alone all of America). When I arrived at Newark airport, I got a taxi into the city. The ride into Manhattan was surreal - the skyline looked like something out of a thousand movies I had watched as a kid.
I kept repeating the words in my head but still couldn't grasp it - I live here now. I also knew deep down that I wasn't going back home anytime soon.
Upon arriving at the "hotel" I had booked online(I use the term 'hotel' loosely as it was more like a box with a single bed in it; it had been marketed very cleverly online, but the bathroom was in the hallway and shared with the rest of the people on my floor, who quite frankly, looked like scary hobos and also had mail boxes which made me think they lived there permanently - possibly as some sort of punishment), I started looking for a proper place to live.
I moved to New York with around £1500 to my name. I should mention that prior to moving to the city, I tried every single avenue to rent a room or an apartment for my empending arrival. No one was interested in renting to (or even speaking with) someone not yet in the country. After what seemed like dozens of emails and calls, I still had no leads on a place to live.
Another sobering fact was that realistically, I didn't have enough money to rent an apartment on my own. I had a week to settle in before my first official working day. I mostly spent it walking to and from the restaurant, just to make sure I knew how to get there by foot. I was still quite intimidated by the subway, and additionally, it was another expense I couldn't afford.
I walked by the front of the building every day and watched the building and construction progress. I also passed a giant poster of Gordon Ramsay's face daily, which, although somewhat creepy, was something that felt familiar and in some way gave me a reminder of why I was there. I walked every day and every night, everywhere.
On the last night before starting work, Gordon Ramsay himself passed me in the street. Despite living in a shit hole and running out of money, my spirits were high; higher than they had ever been in my life up to that point. I had an energy and appetite like no other for this experience. I couldn't wait to get into the kitchen, get over the formalities and start cooking.
For sustenance, I lived on a a $1.09 cup of coffee from starbucks and a giant $2 slice of cheese pizza at on the way back to the hostel. Not the most nutritious, but not bad for just $3.09 a day. I began my first day at the restaurant in an orientation room containing all the chefs and the GR human resources training staff. There were to be two restaurants operating under one roof: One was called Maze, and served slightly more casual, tapas-style dishes.
The other was 'Restaurant Gordon Ramsay' - the fine dining. I would have been pleased with either of course, but deep down I wanted to be in the fine dining because I knew that's where Gordon himself would be. 
They took attendance, and then Neil Ferguson, Chef de Cuisine, spoke a few words of encouragement of what an exciting time it was to be in NYC.
One by one, everyone stood up and said their name, where they were from and a bit about themselves. I don't clearly remember introducing myself; I was so nervous at the time my brain must have blocked it out as a defense mechanism. After orientation, I tagged along with a few chefs to a bar. It was good to socialize for a bit and have a beer. We started to get to know each other.
We spent our first official kitchen day sorting out boxes of equipment and organising a giant room that was to be the staff canteen. It was a mess. We assembled trolleys, built stacking shelves for storage, emptied out and cleaned walk-in fridges - I could sense that not everyone was pleased with this. Most of the guys came from other Michelin star restaurants such as Daniel, GR, Le bernadin, Jean Georges and Alain ducasse, and didn't "think they were coming here to build fucking shelves."
As for me, I couldn't have been happier. By this point, I found a B&B and the guy who ran it agreed to lease a room to me for $1100/month. He didn't usually rent his room by the month, but I explained to him my situation and I think he took pity on me. I will be forever grateful to him. After the kitchen was somewhat organised, there was to be a schedule put up with our names and respective positions.
It was a classic scene of anticipation and excitement as everyone gathered round the singular piece of white paper, looking, checking, some happy faces and some not so happy. I finally made my way to the front and saw my name: Stuart Ralston - Commis Chef - Fine Dining Veg - Restaurant: Gordon Ramsay YES!! - was my first reaction. Then, the realisation set in that I was to be a commis again after all my years of training. No matter - I was going to be working with Gordon Ramsay.
