I receive a tersely written letter demanding the entire class’ presence at a meeting four days before the start of Skills II. After years of reading emails in the corporate world, I can sense the subtext in this letter. The subtext is: YOUR ASS IS MINE FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS.
I instantly feel sorry for those who can’t smell it coming. Newbies are blood in the water for our shark of a chef.
At my last job I worked for a demanding, slightly (verging on full blown) neurotic beast of a woman who was far more demanding than any other boss I’d had in the nitpicky world of technical editing. She was (ironically or not, I haven’t a clue) a chef in her former life. We’d butted heads more than once in the six months I’d worked for her and still goes down in history as the only person I’ve actually yelled at in my career. It’s pretty damn easy to say I am anxious about this new chef I have to slave under.
I show up, and true to history repeating itself and all that, she looks exactly like my previous boss. A short, stout, silver-haired, steely-eyed dragon readied with her alpha female superpowers to tell exactly what she demands from us. She’s the type of person who tells you exactly what she expects of you. I respect her. Straight talk gets the point around. It’s much better than the touchy feely crap I endured in Art School
I’m a little wary of all the rules she has set up for us. I’ll be the first person to admit that I am stubborn as hell and have just the teensiest problem with authority. I’ll just have to see if I can stick it out without throwing a tantrum or one of those 20 gallon stock pots across the room.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Mise en Place
Cooking School: Day 1 (The hazing bit)
Well, the first day is over. It’s been a long time since I was a “new student”. All the old feelings are there combined with one new one. Annoyance. I thought I had gotten over feeling like a complete dumbass when plopped into a new terrain, but apparently that new feeling never goes away. I did the whole wandering with my mouth open, not asking directions and getting lost down the one stairwell that does not give access back into the floors, but rather makes you walk all the way down to street level, back around the building and up the elevator again to get back to the exact place I got lost in the first time. Fantastic. I still have no idea what purpose these fire doors could have. What if you go into the stairwell only to realize the first floor is on fire?
First impressions: My new Chef looks as though he were a cartoon of a french chef come to life as (that dude from that movie). He is round shouldered, lamented his forgetfulness regarding suspenders (and consequently spent the day hiking up his pants, though not in a lewd way) and is self effacing for the effect on the crowd. All in all, a very gentle seeming, relaxed persona. The perfect introductory chef. Almost like comedy traffic school for foodies.
As for learning, there wasn’t a ton that was explicitly pounded out, although, the extensive talking about how kitchens work and the rules of the classroom give a sense of how kitchens are conducted without standing at the chalkboard with little half cursive 1, 2, 3, etc. drawn down the board with inane rules insulting people’s intelligence.
The people are more varied than I’d expected. I thought I’d bee hip deep in fresh graduates with their shiny faces and annoying tendency to act just like what they are: high schoolers with a few weeks tacked on. Although I saw evidence of many of these man-boys in the halls (the girls are harder to spot) with their silly mugging and clowning in front of entire classes. They also displayed the annoying habit of talking loudly to the chef in front of dozens of strangers. Damn them and their self confidence. But most of my classmates are also in the diploma program which is usually a choice you make if you’ve already had the luxury of paying off a few credits cards and slipping a fifty to the student loan Nazis every five seconds.
There’s an eclcectic mix. Everyone seems pretty nice even though I believe there is a mullet among us and perhaps a thick set of dreds. Not everyone has all their teeth, one person admitted to an extra rib and webbed feet and the professor forced us to tell our last meal should we get to choose when we die. A wee morbid methinks, but a deliciously fascinating thought to ponder instead of trying to rhyme your name with something. Mine rhymes with Contrary.
My last meal would be barbecue ribs, corn on the cob, potato salad, and about 5 pounds of the ripest watermelon around. Sunshine mandatory.
Notes on what I learned: The Escoffier System of Kitchen Labor Divisions:
Executive Chef
Sous Chef
Rotisseur
Entremetier
Garde Manger
Saucier
Etc.
Too tired to think. This has been the first day I tried going to school and working. We’ll see how that pans out. Haha. Get it: PANS. I am so tired.
Well, the first day is over. It’s been a long time since I was a “new student”. All the old feelings are there combined with one new one. Annoyance. I thought I had gotten over feeling like a complete dumbass when plopped into a new terrain, but apparently that new feeling never goes away. I did the whole wandering with my mouth open, not asking directions and getting lost down the one stairwell that does not give access back into the floors, but rather makes you walk all the way down to street level, back around the building and up the elevator again to get back to the exact place I got lost in the first time. Fantastic. I still have no idea what purpose these fire doors could have. What if you go into the stairwell only to realize the first floor is on fire?
First impressions: My new Chef looks as though he were a cartoon of a french chef come to life as (that dude from that movie). He is round shouldered, lamented his forgetfulness regarding suspenders (and consequently spent the day hiking up his pants, though not in a lewd way) and is self effacing for the effect on the crowd. All in all, a very gentle seeming, relaxed persona. The perfect introductory chef. Almost like comedy traffic school for foodies.
As for learning, there wasn’t a ton that was explicitly pounded out, although, the extensive talking about how kitchens work and the rules of the classroom give a sense of how kitchens are conducted without standing at the chalkboard with little half cursive 1, 2, 3, etc. drawn down the board with inane rules insulting people’s intelligence.
The people are more varied than I’d expected. I thought I’d bee hip deep in fresh graduates with their shiny faces and annoying tendency to act just like what they are: high schoolers with a few weeks tacked on. Although I saw evidence of many of these man-boys in the halls (the girls are harder to spot) with their silly mugging and clowning in front of entire classes. They also displayed the annoying habit of talking loudly to the chef in front of dozens of strangers. Damn them and their self confidence. But most of my classmates are also in the diploma program which is usually a choice you make if you’ve already had the luxury of paying off a few credits cards and slipping a fifty to the student loan Nazis every five seconds.
There’s an eclcectic mix. Everyone seems pretty nice even though I believe there is a mullet among us and perhaps a thick set of dreds. Not everyone has all their teeth, one person admitted to an extra rib and webbed feet and the professor forced us to tell our last meal should we get to choose when we die. A wee morbid methinks, but a deliciously fascinating thought to ponder instead of trying to rhyme your name with something. Mine rhymes with Contrary.
My last meal would be barbecue ribs, corn on the cob, potato salad, and about 5 pounds of the ripest watermelon around. Sunshine mandatory.
Notes on what I learned: The Escoffier System of Kitchen Labor Divisions:
Executive Chef
Sous Chef
Rotisseur
Entremetier
Garde Manger
Saucier
Etc.
Too tired to think. This has been the first day I tried going to school and working. We’ll see how that pans out. Haha. Get it: PANS. I am so tired.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Disclaimer
While this may detail the many lessons I learn in culinary school, it is no substitute for getting in the classes and listening to seasoned chefs throw their bits of knowledge into the ring. What I say is strictly opinion and probably truth garbled by the inconsistencies of memory. There will be faults involved and prejudices. Please judge lightly. And as always...experiment for yourself. You'll find the truth best that way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)