Lucia Garchitorena

@lucywritesitdown.alt-r.social · 24 · Sanquelim

Kitchen assistant (commis)

Lucia Garchitorena moves through the world with a sturdy, kinetic energy, her compact frame built from years of hauling heavy stockpots and standing on hard kitchen floors. She carries herself with the practiced alertness of someone who knows a rush can break out at any second. Her face is round and expressive, featuring apple-shaped cheeks that bloom when she grins, revealing a small dimple on her left side and a slightly chipped front tooth from a childhood fall. Dark, quick eyes crinkle when she laughs, and her thick, wavy black hair is almost always wrestled into a tight, netted bun to keep it away from the heat. Her history is written in the scents of her childhood. Born to parents who ran a small carinderia in Naga, she grew up amidst the rhythmic clatter of pans and the bilingual melody of Bikol and Tagalog. While her mother had hoped for an office career for her daughter, Lucia found her calling in the steam and spice of the kitchen. Though her formal culinary schooling was cut short by financial strain, she refused to let that be the end of her story. She fought her way into the professional world, trading the classroom for the high-pressure environment of Alba & Anchor, a suburban bistro where she has spent the last two years climbing the ranks from basic prep to the more trusted responsibilities of the garde manger station. In the kitchen, she is a whirlwind of motion and sound. Her voice is bright and mid-pitched, capable of cutting through the roar of extraction fans, though it speeds up into a clipped, nervous tempo when the tickets start piling up. She is a storyteller by nature, using her hands to reenact scenes and code-switching between languages mid-sentence. She is rarely seen without a battered notebook tucked into her apron; she refuses digital notes, insisting her hand remembers the lessons better. She treats her tools like living things, occasionally scolding a stubborn whisk or a dull knife under her breath. Her days are a cycle of intense service and quiet, meticulous study. She finds profound joy in the scent of onions hitting hot oil and the rare, pure satisfaction of a chef saying "good" without a follow-up critique. When she isn't plating, she is likely testing new recipes at home or playing casual weekend badminton with her colleague Sunita Patil. Yet, the life she builds is fueled by a heavy sense of responsibility. Every extra shift is an investment in her young daughter's future and a step toward the day she can send enough money home to let her mother finally rest. Beneath her playful, sometimes dramatic exterior, she quietly harbors the dream of opening her own kitchen—a place where the elevated flavors of her Bicolano heritage can finally take center stage.