The Language I Never Expected to Learn

If someone had told me years ago that moving to Canada would lead me to learn Portuguese — not English — I would have laughed. Loudly.

I did know English. I had studied it in Monterrey, and I understood grammar, structure, formal conversations… the kind of English you learn in a classroom. But studying a language is one thing, and living in it every day — surrounded by accents, slang, speed, and kitchen chaos — is something completely different.

And then life placed me in a Brazilian kitchen.

When I started working at Minas Brazilian Steakhouse, my interview had been with Ricardo. He’s Mexican like me, but after so many years away from Mexico, his Spanish and English had this soft Portuguese influence. I walked in expecting a familiar accent, something that felt like home… and instead I found a completely different reality. It was my first hint that this kitchen was going to teach me far more than recipes.

During my training, things were actually manageable.

I had Ángela, from Colombia, who spoke Spanish.

I had Érica, Brazilian, but a Spanish teacher back home — she understood everything and helped me with patience and cariño.

And I had Ricardo, who could switch between Spanish, English, and Portuguese without blinking.

So no, there wasn’t chaos.

Not yet.

The real battlefield arrived on a Saturday night.

The restaurant was full, the buffet needed constant attention, the churrasqueros were flying back and forth with meat, and everyone was running. Ricardo was extremely busy, just like the rest of the team. And suddenly, Masinho, the owner, said something to me in Portuguese — fast, loud, and in the middle of the rush:

“Tala, vai e bota isso aí!”

He was talking about a salad.

But I didn’t understand anything.

Between the noise, the speed, and the accent, my brain froze.

So I asked, in Spanish:

“¿La tiro? ¿La pongo en la basura?”

And he, without thinking, said yes.

So yes…

I threw an entire salad in the garbage.

When they realized what had happened, everyone laughed — even him.

I was dying of embarrassment:

I didn’t understand, I had thrown food away, and I still had to run to keep the buffet full.

It was too much.

I don’t even remember who explained it to me afterward — whether it was Pablo, Érica, or Ricardo. I just remember my face burning, my heart racing, and the moment I decided:

I need to learn Portuguese. Now.

That same night, I went to Érica and told her:

“Enséñame portugués. Día a día. Frase por frase. Necesito sobrevivir.”

And that changed everything.

Between Érica’s daily lessons, Ricardo’s support, and the weekends with the churrasqueros shouting requests at full speed, something unexpected happened:

I learned Portuguese.

Not just a few words.

Not just “kitchen Portuguese.”

I learned it so well that today:

• I can read books in Portuguese

• I take pastry courses in Portuguese

• I watch series and movies in Portuguese

• One of my best friends is Brazilian and speaks to me only in Portuguese

• And yes… I understand everything

Masinho used to joke:

“You came to Canada to learn English… and you ended up learning Portuguese instead!”

And honestly… he wasn’t wrong.

I never imagined that one day I would speak, read, and live in a language that wasn’t mine. But that kitchen — that loud, warm, chaotic, beautiful Brazilian kitchen — gave me a second language and a second family.

Learning Portuguese wasn’t part of the plan.

But it became one of the most unexpected and beautiful gifts of my journey.