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.