Cooklady Does Not Have Witchlady For a Mother

My mother wants my "hundreds of readers" (hahahahahahahaha — it's a small but very EXCLUSIVE group) to know she DID NOT take perverse pleasure in reading her children The Story of Augustus Who Would Not Eat His Soup. She most definitely did not s.l.o.w. way down and make her voice oh-so-ominous during the final stanza as she read the words, "He's like a little bit of thread... and... on... the... fifth... day........... he....... was............. DEAD!" And no, she did not shout out the last word. No. She did not. She wants you to know that.

During the first week of class, I was in Target, looking through their black and white sock collection and talking to Jen on the phone. I was explaining the skills course to her and said, "and we'll be making clam chowder!!" And she said, in her eminently practical way, "Cooklady, you ALREADY KNOW how to make clam chowder." And in her voice, I could hear skeptical concern. A friend of ours said to David, "Imagine how well you'll eat!" His reply: "I eat well ALREADY." What could I possibly be learning?

SO MANY THINGS. So that my actions in the kitchen are deliberate, not just rote. For example, you start clam chowder by sautéing bacon in a little butter, then you take it out and reserve it 'til later. It's important to remove the bacon before it gets browned. Why? Some people like crispy bacon. Well, you want the texture of the bacon to be similar to the texture of the clams, a little chewy but not crunchy. Never really thought of the "why" before. Later in the process, you add clam juice to the butter, onion, flour mixture and you bring it to a boil. It's important that the soup reaches the boiling point. Why? Because you made a little roux with the butter and flour, which is activated, and thickens the soup, only by the heat of a near-boil. If you don't heat the soup enough, it won't thicken properly, even if the potatoes are cooked. There's an EXACT thing I have done, without understanding it. "Hmmmmm, it came out a little watery this time." NOW I KNOW.

Monday, we have a mid-term competency test. In our teams of two, we will be making consommé (haven't even LEARNED it yet — that's tomorrow), hollandaise, bordelaise and mornay sauces, and one of the following soups: potato leek, cream of mushroom, clam chowder, or french onion. The Chef decides Monday on the soup. We also have to give an in-class presentation on a food science topic or on a piece of kitchen equipment, five minutes, next Thursday. I'll have my voice back by then, and I'm going to refine my HFCS rant.

Crumbs

My mother took a perverse joy in reciting this poem to us when we were little.

The Story of Augustus Who Would Not Have Any Soup
by Heinrich Hoffmann

Augustus was a chubby lad;
Fat ruddy cheeks Augustus had;
And everybody saw with joy
The plump and hearty healthy boy.
He ate and drank as he was told,
And never let his soup get cold.
But one day, one cold winter's day,
He threw away the spoon and screamed:
"O take the nasty soup away!
I won't have any soup today!"

Next day! Now look, a picture shows
How lank and lean Augustus grows!
Yet, though he feels so weak and ill,
The naughty fellow cries out still
"Not any soup for me, I say!
O take the nasty soup away!"

The third day comes. O what a sin!
To make himself so pale and thin.
Yet, when the soup is put on table,
He screams, as loud as he is able
"Not any soup for me, I say!
O take the nasty soup away!
I won't have any soup today!"

Look at him, now the fourth day's come!
He scarce outweighs a sugarplum;

He's like a little bit of thread;
And on the fifth day he was dead.

Soup! Glorious Soup!

I've got that erratic kind of laryngitis, the kind where you don't know what, if anything, will come out when you try to talk. It's (hopefully) the last symptom of a cold that started with a scratchy throat last Wednesday. I felt a little nervous walking through the crowded kitchen carrying a hot pan full of 25# of roasted veal bones — my "BEHIND YOU" was not particularly reliable.

And by the way, that little thingy after the "25" means "pounds". That's why it's called the "pound sign", even on your phone! People are learning new factoids by the minute. We had a (non-graded) pop quiz this morning on weights and measures, and 128 ounces STILL equal a gallon, but apparently this knowledge is not yet common among my classmates. "If you go home and watch the Simpsons all frickin' night, YOU WILL FAIL." And Chef actually said "frickin'". "In my world," (ooh!! not "our" world!) "this is like two plus two," he told the class. Sixteen cups to a gallon. Two tablespoons to an ounce.

We're talking about sugars in food science, and the Chef showed an extremely detailed slide about high fructose corn syrup. He alluded briefly to a current school of thought (highlighted in Michael Pollan's book The Omnivore's Dilemma): HFCS is the devil's sugar, wreaking agricultural and dietary havoc on a scale as serious as global warming. Good thing I couldn't talk, or I would have raised my hand and chimed in. After I read that book, about six months ago, I talked about it to everyone I met. "Do you know that 45 of the 60-some ingredients used by McDonalds are made of CORN?" "Do you know that the corn lobby is possibly stronger and more dangerous than Halliburton?"

First thing in the kitchen was the knife test. I scored 90, and that's fine. I'm not OC enough to make those tiny cubes. I'll probably never work in a Thomas Keller kitchen, but I have a balanced life.

We made french onion soup, and potato leek, as well. When we took our crock of french onion to the Chef for tasting, he said, "Your croutons are floating too low! Not enough soup in the bowl! The customer will feel gypped!" You gotta think like a customer. When he tasted our potato leek soup, he asked me to take a bowl of it to Chef Duffy, in Garde Manger across the hall. "He's a Brit. He loves potato leek soup." I carried the bowl and a plastic spoon into the next kitchen and the Chef clapped his hands together. "OH! Is it that time?" It was a veritable chortle. Soup makes people happy.

At the grocery store on my way home, the checkout clerk scanned the Nyquil, and then the Johnny Walker Red Label, and said "The liquor's probably better for what ails ya." She slid over the onions and thyme. "I'm making french onion soup as well," I said. "We're pulling out all the stops." "There you go."

Walk Right By Those White Mushrooms!

"When you're in the grocery store, folks, don't pick up the white mushrooms! Get oysters, or chantarelles, or morels! Don't buy yellow onions! Get shallots, red onions, white onions."

We're supposed to change it up. The kids in the class need directions to the grocery store closest to campus. It's got to be hard for some of them to practice cutting and cooking. It's part of my daily life. Chef says "If there's a day I don't cook, I feel like there's something wrong." They look at him with big eyes.

We took the safety certification quiz today — basically the same as yesterday's test but 30% longer. Don't have to carry that heavy book to class every day anymore, which is a pleasure. There's no book for food science, just a printout of the Chef's powerpoint presentation. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but the science seems rudimentary. I guess if that was your interest, you'd be going in a different direction.

We finished up sauces today, and now we know how to make all five of the mother, I mean PRIMARY, sauces. Today we made tomato and bechamel. To review: the five are veloute (stock+roux), espagnole (enriched stock), bechamel (milk+roux), hollandaise (egg+butter), and tomato. We've learned to make each one "plain", because they are all meant to serve as bases for variations, which will then be more highly seasoned. For example, tomato sauce starts with diced bacon, carrots and onions, with stock and then "tomato products" added, then reduced. The resulting sauce is pureed, then strained, and ours was a far cry tastier than the tomato sauce you'd buy in a can, but still relatively bland. To make marinara, you'd enrich it (or "doctor it up", as my uncle Bud would say) with sautéed onions, garlic, basil and oregano. Similarly, bechamel is boring white sauce, but add some cheese, and you've got mornay, and that makes the BEST mac & cheese. [I have to thank my mother for teaching me how to make bechamel at a very early age, for the express purpose of mac & cheese.] (Add an egg yolk to mornay and you've got alfredo. It's like mixing colors. Or changing the beat to turn a waltz to a rhumba. Or something.)

Usually Silvia and Tashana work together, alongside Jordan and I, but today they told us that they were switching partners. Turned out that they're both feeling a bit under the weather, so they wanted partners who could help them out. Tashana is an avid student, but insecure. Not sure what she's tasting. Very polite. We made bearnaise together, which was optional today, because she missed class yesterday and didn't have a chance to make hollandaise. Bearnaise is hollandaise flavored with tarragon. Cha cha cha.

Tomorrow we have our knife skills test. Jordan has been practicing with his santoku and said that it's far easier to use than our chef's knife, but Chef burst his bubble and said that the santoku is off limits for the test. Despite the high visibility of santokus lately (virtually every manufacturer now carries them), and Rachael Ray's enthusiastic endorsement of it for all kinds of cutting, especially for vegetables, Chef Joseph says we're to use it for "raw fish, and nothing else." He's old school. That's why we're paying the big bucks and going to class every day, instead of spending fifteen months lying on the couch, watching the Food Network.

Variation: Crab eggs Benedict

It was raining last night but the ride into the City this morning was clear and sparkling. First thing on the agenda: slight schedule change. Knife test postponed until Wednesday, which means tests three days in a row this week. Today's safety exam was multiple choice questions that we had reviewed extensively in class, so not so tough. I wasn't sure about three of the 65 answers; ended up with 62/65 or 95% which is OK by me.

We began food science talking about atomic theory. Chef Joseph reassured the class that our exposure to chemistry will be minimal — just what we need to know to understand why food reacts the way it does when cooked. "If you know more science, keep it to yourself," he urged. Apparently we're not particularly worried about accuracy either: our class notes indicate that there are 106 elements, while Wikipedia is reporting 117 or 118.

At any rate, we will learn about the chemical properties of salt, sugar, and water. If you know more, keep it to yourself.

In the kitchen, we made emulsified sauces: mayonnaise, hollandaise, beurre blanc, and vinaigrette. Regarding mayonnaise, Chef said, "Later in life, you'll make it in a blender." It's not that hard to do in a bowl. It just helps if you can maneuver a whisk ambidextrously. Following our food science rules, homemade mayo is made with raw eggs and should not be served to people with compromised immune systems. Additionally, it should be stored at or below 41 degrees, and should not be kept at higher temperatures for more than four hours.

Hollandaise — well, I had to start over after I scrambled the egg yolks on the first batch. But when it's right, it's heaven. Three egg yolks, half a pound of butter. What's not to like about that? (Season it heavily if you're using it on poached eggs, because the richness of the runny egg yolk will overpower a lightly seasoned sauce.)

Beurre blanc will be great on pan-fried Dover sole. David should be prepared for that, in his near future. And we were instructed never to purchase vinaigrette again. Silvia did an incredible mince job on the mixed herbs (parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme — do I hear you humming? ) and it was delicious.

After class, I spent the afternoon with my parents. Believe it or not, we've started to prepare Christmas Eve dinner. There'll be about 30 this year, as the out-of-towners are all planning to make an appearance, simultaneously. Today's project was pierogi, the sauerkraut-filled dumplings that come from the Polish side of the family. Mom hates making pierogi, despite her ease with doughs of all kinds. For some reason, she allowed herself to become intimidated at an early age — perhaps by her mother-in-law's easy ability and vague instructions ("add flour until dough is workable"). Today, the sauerkraut/onion filling was cooked and cooling when I arrived. We mixed up some dough and then basically played with it, kindergarten-style, making about six dumplings and a big mess. Quick change of plans, a trip to the grocery store, and within an hour, we had 6 dozen neat pierogi in the freezer, beautifully wrapped in round won ton skins. On Christmas Eve, they'll get a quick boil in salted water, then they're drained and covered with a "sauce" made of crushed saltines and lots and lots of butter. Hey, it's an acquired taste, but it's tradition. With a twist. Over a generation or two, things change.

Before I left, Dad showed me an article from the December issue of Sunset magazine: three things to do with Dungeness crab, including eggs Benedict. Just make sure your hollandaise is well-seasoned, and your muffins are crisp.

My Thanksgiving was great. Yours?

I've enjoyed the four days off. Heeded Chef Joseph's admonition: "Practice your cutting, people. I'm putting the hex on you! My mother was Colombian, and I know all about the voodoo. If you come back on Monday with your leg in a cast, I'll know you weren't practicing your cutting."

We had tournéed potatoes for dinner last night, and had the "scraps" with this morning's eggs. About 75 seconds seems right for blanching the tomatoes, to avoid mushiness. I made stock, practiced my "ecumer" and "degraisser". And tasted, tasted, tasted.

The next four weeks will be crazy. First, the safety and knife exams, then two entire classes to start and finish (food science and nutrition). In the kitchen, it's Soups, Eggs, Pasta, Potatoes, Rice, Grains, Fry, Sauté, Braise, Stew, Grill, Roast, Poach and Steam — all before Christmas.

Crumbs

This is my favorite song.

"They do the bump (x 8)
It's the music that we choose (x 4)
Keep a mild groove on"

Gorillaz, 19-2000 (Soulchild Remix)

I'm enjoying my Thanksgiving cooking because I have lots of time, and the stereo is on, loud.

Dishwasher Duty on Sauce Day

Day two of sauces and the pile of dishes didn't end: each team of two used 2 sauté pans, two sauce pans, several large stainless bowls, numerous cereal-sized tasting bowls, a cutting board, a tray... plus their individual tools and a half dozen big plastic bins that held clarified butter, veal stock, and demiglace. But in the middle of cleaning the kitchen, we received a tray of perfectly baked cookies and toffee. Time for a short break...

We started the day with a review of the questions we're likely to encounter on the safety exams. We'll have two — Monday is the in-class final and Tuesday is the certification exam. Chef made it into a game — the two students with the highest score on today's quiz won Lindt chocolate bars. ("Come on, people, this is serious business! There's chocolate at stake!!") We spent about an hour reviewing multiple choice questions, regularly interrupted by hilarious stories about lobsters flying across the dining room, sewers crawling with cockroaches, the hot line at the Saint Francis hotel, and wasp removal ("Shut the windows and watch from inside.") Jordan staged a come-from-behind win for first place, much to Rudy's chagrin.

In the kitchen, we learned our second primary (formerly "mother") sauce, espagnole. Espagnole is veal stock, enriched with mirepoix, tomato paste, and herbs, and reduced by half. To make a classic demiglace, the espagnole is then strained, combined with an equal portion of veal stock, and reduced by half again. The resulting mixture is richly brown and gelatinous at room temperature, and an invaluable ingredient in "quick" pan sauces. Note the term "classic": Chef told us that contemporary chefs usually make a "modern" demiglace by reducing veal stock by half. And demiglace is commercially available also, but very expensive if it's well made. You can see why.

So we made Espagnole out of the veal stock we made earlier in the week, then made classic demiglace from that. (Because of the length of class, we were unable to cook either sauce for the recommended two hours or more. The kitchen Chef collects the successful results of the day's classes and combines them, then gives them the required attention to become finished products. They're either used again in our class or another, or used in the student cafeteria.) We also made Bordelaise, Robert, and Bigarade sauces, all using demiglace. The Bordelaise is red wine-based, and so luscious that you can taste the steak and sautéed mushrooms that should accompany it. Robert is mustard-based. Bigarade has orange and lemon juice and peel, and goes with duck. Our teams made less than a cup of each sauce, enough to taste and season properly, and to have the Chef taste it and advise. He brought in a couple of loaves of French bread so that leftovers were not really an issue.

Dishes were another story.

Some months ago, I told myself (and anyone who would listen) that I would rather peel potatoes than deal with "those people". Add to that, I would even rather be on dishwasher duty on sauce day. I'm loving this.

Crumbs

"You kinda evolve into your voice. Or maybe your voice is out there, waiting for you to grow up. And then it meets you."

Tom Waits, All Things Considered, KQED Radio, Tuesday, November 21

Saucy Behavior

"Oooooh my," Tashana squealed, as Jordan squeezed alongside her, carrying a stack of newly washed saucepans. "He just touched my butt. He could have asked, but no, he just went and did it." Jordan looks over his shoulder and gives her a big wink. My classmates are getting to know one another, the dorm-based ones especially, and they're saving places in the lunch line for one another and planning weekend adventures. Tanasha said she was "designated walker" in a group that went bar-hopping last weekend: "I like to tell them stories in the morning, of the things they did. Or didn't do!" Jordan is trying to organized fried turkey from KFC for those who are in town for Thanksgiving, but Silvia's not so sure. Our group is naturally breaking up into familiar archetypes. Rudy, the 35-year-old guy, is the study guy — his safety book is tabbed with at least 50 little colored post-its. Jim may be our first casualty. He was absent today, and he's been late every day, and Chef has repeatedly sent him out to suit up properly. Inevitably, he's been wearing a fancy Giants cap (different every day) instead of his white hat. Some hallway discussion this morning about whether he'll be with us for long.

I can identify everybody by name.

And it's great and freeing to be totally not worried about being in The Club. This is their club, their college years — I had mine, and I have my memories and friendships, but I've got a different kind of life now that suits me just fine.

We made sauces: first, chicken, veal, and fish veloutés (stock mixed with roux) which then served as the basis for sauce supreme (chicken cream sauce), allemande (veal, thickened with a liaison of cream and egg yolk), and white wine sauce (based on the fish stock) — all of which were "monted" (mounted/finished) with a good chunk of butter. Before we began, Chef Joseph directed us to "Taste it, taste it, taste it, at every stage, so that you are in control" and so we all had a half-dozen plastic spoons stuck into our sleeve pockets (with our pens and thermometers). I have to admit that I've been a poor taster up to now. I tend to rely more on appearance and smell and so here's a great (transforming?) learning opportunity. For instance, with sauce supreme, we tasted the chicken stock, then the stock with the roux added; then after it was strained, brought to a boil and enriched with cream; then after adding a few drops of lemon, then after the addition of salt and pepper, and finally, after incorporating the butter. With each addition, the flavor became more complex and stylish, and you can understand just how each process or ingredients impacts the final product. I can hardly wait to make turkey gravy. (Taste it, taste it, taste it!)

The Purpose of Double-Breasted Coats

After class today, I drove over to the North Campus to take care of a bunch of North Campus errands. Though I removed my dirty apron and my damp side towel, the front of my coat was messy with the results of "ecumer" and "degraisser" — we made fish and chicken stock. A quick un- and re-button, though, and I was presentable, more or less.

I almost boycotted class this morning, because Anthony Bourdain was the guest host on the KFOG Morning Show, and I'm sure he had some sort of outrageous food-related stories to tell. The ride home was radio-rich, as well: Terry Gross interviewed Kiran Desai, whose book The Inheritance of Loss just won the Man Booker Prize. The book takes place partly in India, and partly in "grimy Manhattan restaurants" and sounds perfect for my book group. We bring potluck dishes that reflect the setting of the books we read. I might be able to whip up something in the "grimy Manhattan" vein, after a couple more weeks of culinary school...

We spent most of our classroom time reviewing the preparation of stocks. We're wrapping up the food safety book, and we'll be tested next Tuesday. Chef Joseph went into another fervent digression on the importance of actually studying. He described the habits of A students. ("They don't go home and put on a special helmet with blinking lights. They go to Borders and sit on the floor in the back and study, if the dorm is too noisy.") "Excuses are unacceptable. They should be to you, also, when you are running your own kitchen. Is that clear?" and the class responded with a rousing, "Yes Sir/Chef". Then we had to go upstairs to the kitchen and take a practice knife skills test.

We had 30 minutes to prepare 4 potato batonnets and 4 julienned carrots. And 3 tournéd potatoes. And 2 tablespoons each of: small diced potatoes, carrot brunoise, onion brunoise, minced parsley and garlic, cabbage chiffonade, and tomato concasse. I scored an 88 out of a possible 100. I left the tomato in the boiling water for too long (it loosens the skin) and got marked down to a 6 for "way overcooked". But I got 10s on the batonnets, carrot brunoise, minced parsley, and the cabbage, which I couldn't get thin enough for the life of me, last week. We'll have our actual test in two weeks.

Turns out our stock-making (using 5 chicken bodies in one pot, 5 pounds of fish bones in the other) will be the first and last time we do that, at least in such small proportions. The kitchen stock team will now take over and prepare gallons and gallons of fish, chicken and veal stock at a time, and we'll use that when making sauces, our next challenge.

After a week of using super-sharp knives in class, I had to take my best home knives to the sharpener, which is right across the street from the North Campus. (My school tools are for school use only, that's what I've decided — until I'm finished with the program. We'll see how long that lasts.) Then I had to exchange one of my coats — it had an "Atlanta" logo instead of a California one. Then I got a flu shot — $10 for students ("many of you don't have health insurance, and you're working in close proximity with people"). I also made a quick trip to the library. I'm thinking that a part time library job might be a great way to stay in the food writing loop. Beth, the librarian, gave me the contact info of the head of on-campus career services, and she said, "Anecdotally, I understand the best thing to do if you want to write, is to write every chance you get."

So, here I am.

PS. My favorite Thanksgiving movie is Pieces of April. Patricia Clarkson is phenomenal as the Mother from Hell who breaks your heart. And Katie: well, congratulations, Katie.

And then it was Friday.

We began studying our first recipe today: veal stock, the basis for many soups and sauces. Veal bones are preferred to (more mature) beef because the resulting stock is more neutral in flavor, and a better foundation base. Nadine asked, "Uh, do we have to eat it all? What if you were raised that you don't eat that stuff?" Chef Joseph said he uses the same logic in the classroom as with his children: You can't say "ew" until you've tasted it. And, he added, as a chef you are expected to taste everything, at least once.

***

Classic veal stock is proportioned as follows: 5 parts bones to one part mirepoix, by weight. Mirepoix is onions (two parts), carrots, (one part), and celery (one part).

***

In the professional kitchen, skimming is "ecumer", degreasing is "degraisser" (day grah say).

***

We were interrupted three times today by other students, urging us to eat. We had Danish pastries as class began at 7, and a pastry student walked into the classroom at 9:15 with a plate of Opera torte. At 11:30, we were forced to delay our kitchen clean-up activities to sample a sheet pan full of canapés (four types: a won ton wrapper triangle with a dollop of wasabi cream and a little rosette of gravlax; a nickel-sized puff pastry filled with crab salad; salmon mousse on toast; and the best one, a little square of brioche topped by a tiny slice of brie and a curl of carmelized onions.)

***

Madeline and I had Mexican food during what was essentially a business lunch: she gave me great ideas on improving and marketing my blog. I gave her advice about her current challenges and opportunities, but I'm sure I benefitted more from our conversation.

***

I spent a couple of hours this afternoon serving as a guinea pig for Cassandra, who's becoming certified as a Pilates apparatus instruction. She and her two classmates assessed my body type and areas of physical strength and weakness, under the guidance of their trainer. Cassandra's also going through a mid-life career change, and she's learning alongside eager students half her age: we have that in common. The interaction between teacher and students this afternoon mirrored my experience of this morning, as each of our instructors took time to explain the rationale behind the processes and share their experiences and knowledge. It's simultaneously intimidating and invigorating. At the end of the session, I was guided through some leg exercises on the trapeze. In coming weeks, I'll be Cassandra's student as she puts in her internship hours. I should probably return the favor somehow, once I start actually cooking.

***

And then, to top off a perfectly wonderful week, Ed phoned with word of a successful day of crab fishing. I met him at the Berkeley Marina and picked up two heavy beasts, still warm from the steamer. A quick stop at the grocery store for some French bread and a couple of artichokes, and I'm having cocktails with David while we watch Jeopardy, the season's first cracked crab in our very near future. What more could a girl want??

I dreamed that the next chapter of our food safety book was titled, "Irrational Behavior."

Brunoise is even smaller than I thought!

The early hours are getting to us all, and the adrenaline is beginning to wear off. For me, anyway. I'm tired. Lying in bed this morning, waiting for 5:19 to change to 5:20, I calculated that I can sleep in for six of the next ten days. That was enough make me hop (vewy vewy quietly) right out of bed and into the shower.

I love driving into the City at six in the morning, though. Just a relative few of us move around at that time, and the metering lights are not always on yet at the toll plaza, and the twinkly beads of light still decorate the Bay Bridge. Only a few cars wait at the stoplights, and even the line at the Starbucks in our building is short.

I've lived in a world of telecom acronyms for the last six years, terms like DSL and CLEC and PON and WiFi. Not surprisingly, culinary arts has its own entire language (much of it French), and plenty of acronyms. So far, we've learned FAT TOM (the necessary conditions required for spoilage: Food, Acidity, Temperature, Time, Oxygen, Moisture); TTA (time/temperature abuse — the term for food held between 41° and 135° F for more than 4 hours, conditions ideal for the growth of foodborne organisms); HAACP (a food safety management system that requires identifying hazard points within a product's flow, in order to prevent, reduce, or eliminate them).... I'm sure I'll be running across "IANAC" any day now.

We had an in-class writing assignment: pick an article from the food section and summarize it in several paragraphs. Chef Joseph told us to select something that was unfamiliar to us, and Silvia turned to me and said, "What's brining?" I wrote about Fragrant pears, a newly available Chinese variety. Find them at a Ranch 99 near you.

In the kitchen, it was more of the same. Good knife skills require repetition. I cut carrots julienne and brunoise three times, attempting smaller and more even cuts. Chef Joseph said, "You must cook at home. You have good dexterity." He pays more attention to most of my classmates, and that's good. Jordan finishes each part of the task, then calls "Chef, Chef, look at these!" He's from Idaho. We added tomato concasse to the routine — after peeling the tomato, you basically "unroll" the flesh from the seedy core with a couple of strategic knife cuts, then dice it. Very cool. And after mincing parsley or other herbs, collect it in a paper towel, twist it closed, and run cold water over it. Wrap the whole wet package in a kitchen towel and gently squeeze out all the water. Shake the parsley out into a little bowl, and it's dry, almost powdery, and really easy to mix or sprinkle evenly.

We take turns doing clean-up tasks. Yesterday, I was part of the dishwashing team, and today it was stainless counters. I'll need to get some ponters from one of my classmates when it comes time for mopping with the rolling bucket. That's a chore I've never done, Industrial Strength. I'm more of a Mop and Glo girl, myself.

Tonight: three more pant legs to hem. Chapters 7 and 8 in ServSafe (The Flow of Food: Storage and Preparation). Chapter 8 in Professional Cooking: Stocks and Sauces. And I'll practice my cutting while making dinner. We'll have diced potatoes and red bell pepper with minced garlic and parsley. And some sort of carrot batonnets. With pork tenderloin (nothing fancy to try there, yet.)

OK, "brunoise" is REALLY REALLY SMALL

We used knives! But before that, we had uniform inspection. One guy was told to get a razor from the dean's office on the second floor, and report back once he was clean-shaven. Chef Joseph (I typed "Coach" first!) is not kidding around.

More discussions about food spoilage. Today's item of interest: Ciguatera is a food toxin that can infect some kinds of predatory reef fish from the Pacific Ocean, including snapper. One of the most common symptoms of this toxin (which is not detectable by smell or taste) is "reversal of hot and cold sensations". Now, that is WEIRD. (To avoid, "purchase reef fish from approved, reputable suppliers.")

The librarian, Beth, came to visit our class and made a pitch for their services. The school library contains 4000 food-related books, and 100 periodical subscriptions, and bunches of videos. Her favorite magazine is Art Culinaire — "cutting edge techniques, wonderful photographs of stuff you'll see in restaurants a year from now" — and that's enough of an endorsement to get me to subscribe.

In the kitchen, the Chef began with an admonition to Be Safe, which reminded me so much of my dad. When he was instructing his employees about tool safety in his manufacturing plant, he would always say, "If you hurt yourself, I will be very very mad." That was enough to encourage most of us to keep our wits about us. Don't want Dad mad.

After watching Chef Joseph demonstrate proper knife skills and practices, we were set free to cut our little hearts out. Figuratively, of course. We were instructed to cut potatoes into sticks (batonnets) and dice, and carrots into even tinier sticks (julienne) and dice (brunoise). I must say that the French Laundry is only place I have actually ever seen brunoise (a dice of 1/8" x 1/8" x 1/8") on a restaurant plate. There, it was green and red bell pepper, and it was a thing of beauty, sprinkled around the (apparently forgettable) entrée.

We minced (garlic and parsley, to the consistency of coarsely ground pepper), and chiffonade'd (cabbage — thinner than any cole slaw you've ever seen). And we tournéd red potatoes, which means cutting them into seven-sided little footballs. Someone asked why we cut them that way. Chef Joseph said, "Because Carême said so."

We will have a couple of weeks to practice and perfect our cuts before we'll be tested. In the meantime, we're supposed to practice as much as possible. This will be especially challenging for the kids living in the dorms. David should look forward to lots of brunoise garnish on his plates for the foreseeable future.

For tomorrow, in addition to chapters 5 and 6 (The Flow of Food: An Introduction, and Shipping & Receiving), we have to bring an article from today's food section (from any paper): we're going to have a writing assignment!!

I can do that!

"Where's the love?"

... which Chef Joseph translates as "needs salt and pepper." Well, we got a little closer to actually cooking today, and even stepped feet into the kitchen. But first, we had uniform training. The neckerchief ties just like a man's tie, with the ends tucked inside the coat. Pants need to be hemmed, not cuffed. (Cockroaches can jump into your cuffs and ride home with you. They are apparently very smart.) We must wear the entire uniform, including the apron, the side towel and the hat, whenever we are in the classroom. The apron is removed in the restroom. The hat is removed when we leave campus. The shoes are very comfortable.

We were casually inspected (no military line up) and it's true: no jewelry, though Chef Joseph will allow a watch. (I had to use windex yesterday to remove my engagement ring.) No makeup. No lipstick. No perfume. No nail polish. No nails long enough to see over the tips of your fingers. Hair longer than the collar must be tucked up inside the hat.

We are 15 in my class, 6 women, a man who admitted being 35 years old, about 10 kids within a year of high school graduation. Idaho, Iowa, Minnesota, San Diego. Several of us who are jumping-up-and-down excited to be here. A couple of young people who seem to be on the "seemed easier than a four year college" path. I was the only one to raise my hand when we were asked the significance of 32 degrees.

We spent some time on the beginning of the food safety book, and I was surprised at how much of our Chef's comments were CYA in nature. Reminds me of David's job, where much of what he does is aimed at lawsuit prevention. We were instructed that health and safety systems are put into place and rigorously maintained to serve as legal records, because "believe me, people are like that" — almost as if preventing sickness was beside the point. But, as Chef said, if you are a little careless in your home kitchen, and cause a bit of tummy distress, "no one will sue you, and put you out of business."

We learned that fresh melons are on the list of Potentially Hazardous Food, and that you should wash the rind before cutting into one. OK, I did not know that.

We took a tour of the kitchen, and were generally awestruck. Few of us have big restaurant or institutional kitchen experience, and the sight of 15 pairs of burners all in a row, with ovens underneath, makes the whole upcoming experience more tangible. There's a huge vat, a gas steam jacket kettle for making stock, and a covered smoker grill with a drawer for woodchips. Stacks and stacks of pots and pans. And long stainless steel tables, where we'll work.

We received all of our tools -- a hugely comprehensive supply (including seven spatulas, two scrapers, 13 knives) that Chef said should last a lifetime: "Hand these tools to your great great grandchild, when you are 110 yeas old and on your deathbed." And ten more books, including The Complete Wine Course, Professional Baking, The Inquisitive Cook, and The Book of Yields (Accuracy in Food Costing and Purchasing). And a calculator. And a thermometer. And a box of disposable latex gloves.

Tonight, we need to mark all of our tools with a personal identification. Nail polish does have its uses in the kitchen. In addition to chapters two and three in ServSafe, we are to read chapters one, three, and seven in Professional Cooking. Tomorrow, we bring some knives, our sharpening steel, and a peeler. We will be learning knife skills: julienne, batonnet (aka "french fry"), brunoise, and small dice.

Also: we need to know that there are 128 ounces in a gallon.

And I did get my haircut. Thank you, Tom, for emergency service.

David Chomsky (looking like a clean-shaven Paul Giamatti), is wearing a wild tie patterned like the lightshow gels that were projected during high school rock concerts ("in my era." Do I need to add that?), and his arms are waving wildly as well. He's the Dean of Educational Services at the CCA, and he's the morning's keynote speaker, more or less, his topic being "what I wish people told me before I started the program."

For instance: This is an accelerated program. That means that two weeks is equivalent to a semester. That means that next Wednesday (it's a short week because of Thanksgiving), we'll be taking the ServSafe exam, a nationally recognized certification that we must pass with a score of at least 70%. We'll be quizzed tomorrow morning on Chapters 1 (Providing Safe Food) and 4 (The Safe Foodhandler).

For instance: Don't worry about your job prospects. There are more offers than there are graduates to fill them.

For instance: If you have a dream about your future, let it go. You most likely did not set the bar high enough. Dreams such as "be an executive chef" or "own my own restaurant" are usually achieved within three to five years of completion of the program.

For instance: You are here by yourself. Don't worry about making friends. Don't worry about anybody else. Be completely selfish with your time. When you leave here, all you take with you is what you know. Don't care about what other people think about you.

For instance: Everybody here is a good cook. Everyone has had someone rave. "This is not a place to show how good you are." There will be no panel of judges. No one will be sent home at the end of the day.

For instance: "You are paying a lot of money. Ask the questions." The first six weeks are especially hard for people who've been working in the industry. They hear things they know, tune out, and miss things they don't know. Take good notes, "especially in classes you hate."

The executive chef, jolly and animated, encouraged us to “tighten up your belts and get ready for the ride of your life.” Then he assigned homework.

We had ID photos taken, filled out some more paperwork, listened to staff members give advice and offer opportunities (for counseling, part-time work, tutoring). Most of the speakers emphasized good study habits and regular attendance, and I was reminded again that many of my fellow students are coming out of high school.

I'm not totally alone, though. Pat washed her hands in the ladies restroom as I tried on my uniform, double-checking the fit. She's got curly grey hair and a face that crumpled into worry lines as she looked in the mirror. "Are you excited?" I asked. "Yes, and a bit apprehensive," she said. She's been working for the federal government until she "couldn't answer the same question again, one more time." She's got afternoon classes, so we may not run into each other again. We exchanged good luck wishes, and she headed out the door, then paused, and said, "I was very glad to see another mature face." I guess I'm not fooling anybody.

I brought home some of my stuff: five each of the white coats, embroidered with the lacy CCA logo; black & white checkered pants; triangular neckerchiefs; ankle length aprons; terrycloth side towels; and white cotton pill-box style hats. And shoes, very fashion-forward. We must provide our own socks, black or white. We got nametags (three). We got 10 pounds of books (two: the ServSafe Coursebook and Professional Cooking). Tomorrow, we’re instructed to “travel light”, as we’ll be receiving tools and “another thirty pounds of books”. I love books.

Until the end of the year, I’ll have my classes at the South Campus, which is on Rhode Island Street near the Design Center. From 7am to 9:30, I’ll have two weeks of Safety & Sanitation, then two weeks of Food Science, then two weeks of Nutrition. From 9:30 until noon, it’s Basic Skills Lab. I’ve got two weeks off at Christmas, then three weeks of Butchery, followed by three weeks of Garde Manger (cold appetizers). That’s my first quarter.

So now, I’ve got two loads of uniform laundry to wash and iron, and pants to hem. The instructions for ironing and folding the neckerchief run three pages long. Then there’s homework, and dinner (lentils with peppers and smoked pork) and maybe I'll watch some Studio 60. But the alarm will be going off tomorrow at 5:30am, for the first time, and from now on.

I'll be finished with the program on Friday, February 1, 2008.

I'm thinking about having my hair cut short.

Butterflies? Who, me??

Lucy called this afternoon to ask if I have butterflies. No. Well, yes, to be honest, but only about the Raiders' dwindling hopes for a win this afternoon against Denver. About school? I'm fine. I believe the hardest part is over. Making the decision was easy for me. It's been more difficult watching others absorb the changes. David's had trouble hopping aboard my magic carpet; he likes speed he can control. Some of my co-workers are sad to see me go. My carpool partner was so upset that she bought a new Honda Civic hybrid, so she can still use the diamond lane, though we will no longer talk politics (in the morning) or vent about work and life (in the afternoon). My office mate wouldn't let me clean my desk or bulletin board until after she was gone for the day. I tried to sneak out on my last afternoon, to avoid the tears I'd have to shed in empathy. Because I'm almost embarrassed at how happy and excited I am.

Last year on my birthday, I took BART into San Francisco for the day: lunch at the MOMA, an afternoon at the Bliss Spa at the W Hotel, happy hour with Madeline and David at Hawthorne Lane. My first stop, though, was at the Carousel in Yerba Buena Gardens. You get to ride twice for $3, and I did, and there was Beatles music and a little herd of pre-schoolers with their shepherd-moms. I ended the day in a state of post-massage, post-manicure, post-martini cheer, but that didn't come close to the euphoria I felt on my purple steed.

That's sort of how I'm feeling, tonight.

Crumbs

Only two more sleeps!!!!!

Magically Delicious

Well, my lovely boss ladies toasted me with a wine and cheese reception late Tuesday afternoon. One of my co-workers noted, "the bar has been raised" on office functions: it was no dixie-cup affair. Lisa covered our conference table with a maroon floral cloth. She laid out Petit Basque and a variety of Cowgirl Creamery cheese on marble slabs. There were baskets of olive bread and crackers, a little mountain of salted nuts and bunches of cold autumn grapes, huge chocolate truffles. We sipped La Crema chardonnay. As a going-away gift, I received a wonderful chef coat. I'm a neophyte, but I can tell this is a special coat: white 100% cotton and already soft, with three-quarter length sleeves that won't require constant pushing up. "Chez J" is embroidered in brown script over the pocket, and Lisa pointed out the special symbols on the left sleeve cuff: yellow star, red heart, green clover, silver moon. I can't tell you exactly how she described these to the assembled group – we were both a little weepy – but she concluded by saying, "because you believe in Lucky Charms".

It's true. In times of stress, or when I need emotional reinforcement, or when I'm traveling away from home, I use special pieces of jewelry (thank you, David) as my armor. They are my talismans of protection. And they work. My particular favorite, a big silver necklace, incorporates strands of beads interspersed with faceted pieces of jade and small silver butterflies, and a tiny silver fish. The fish, in particular, has a lot of power. I'm sure of it.

And I've got a pink quartz marble that sits in a special spot on my desk at home. It rides with me in my pocket on really significant days. It's like one big worry bead, there when I need it. It's a reminder to be conscious, to breathe.

I'll be carrying it on Monday.

A Little Something for the Girl Children

I took a culinary Journey Through The Past over the weekend. Today begins the last five days of my full time job, before culinary school starts next Monday, and I want to leave a little something with the two wonderful young women who've worked with me during the last eventful and traumatic year. We realized (in the minibus, on the way back to Vienna from Salzburg, where we went to hum "Sound of Music" songs after a particularly drama-filled association meeting) that they are the same ages as my two sons. We agreed that they could be my Girl Children. So it seems appropriate (to preserve familial fairness?) to give them each a gift I made for the boys: a cookbook.

I received a phone call from Adam shortly after he began attending Cal State Long Beach. He was inside the vast Ralph's supermarket, cruising the aisles. "Where's the chutney?" He was making stuffed baked potatoes. (Answer: in the ketchup aisle.) Both boys called frequently during college, once they had kitchen facilities, to review ingredients or menus or cooking methods. After I married their step dad, when they were both in elementary school, it seemed important and natural to eat together as a family at the table. As Joe and Adam grew older, our evening meals became a matter of tradition and a point of pride. A home cooked family meal was certainly not the norm for most of their — or our — friends. I enjoyed the challenge of putting together dinner after working all day. The boys helped. They didn't get enough time with me, I'm sure, and the kitchen was one place where adolescent angst and parental pressure subsided, at least until it was time to do the dishes. David and the boys were an appreciative audience and encouraged my experimentation. I bought cooking magazines, and more cookbooks, carried on a side obsession with Delmonico's, got a KitchenAid mixer. Of course there were some meals that failed, recipes that got tossed right into the trash, but we began to develop a repertoire of favorites.

That's what the boys called about. How do you make the Best Potatoes in the World? Or minestrone? Or chicken wings? So I put together a book for each of them, filled with the essential recipes. It's been four years since I went through that exercise. I have the recipes in files on my laptop; I printed them out, cut, and inserted them into the clear pages of a 4x6 photo album. Seemed pretty straightforward to make two more little books for the Girl Children.

The actual process, though, was more emotionally complicated than I expected. Memories of the boys as children. Adam making a spun sugar "cage" for our dessert, after watching Jacques Torres on public television. Hosting dinner for Joe and his friends before the Junior Prom. The All-Chinese Super Bowl Menu. Sending the boys off to my brother's bachelor-party weekend with raspberry brownies, which apparently became breakfast. ("Good with beer"??)

I'm hoping my Girl Children will enjoy some of the recipes -- there's lots of stuff to bring to work potlucks (like Candace's Basil Cheese Loaf) or to make for a party (Four-Cheese and Sausage Pasta Bake is big and filling). Some of the recipe headnotes are specifically directed to the boys (regarding Sage-Roasted New Potatoes: "We had these about once a week for a while, remember?") I thought about replacing them with more generic comments, but it's all about pretending. If they are my Girl Children, they will remember Sage-Roasted New Potatoes: Lindsay will refuse the bacon strips if she's in a vegetarian phase, but Megan will be more than happy to eat her "sister's" share. I've stayed connected to the boys through the Girls, in a fun/funny way. Spending time with them keeps me somewhat culturally fluent and not totally lame. More than once, I've enjoyed a meal or a city with the Girls and thought about how much Joe and Adam would enjoy the experience, and how much I'd love to have them with me.

Hopefully my pretend Girl Children will follow the example of my boys and phone me up for cooking advice. Then I'll know my work there is done.

§

CHUTNEY CHEESE POTATOES

4 baking potatoes
4 ounces Cheddar cheese, grated
2 teaspoons chutney
1 celery stalk, finely chopped
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) softened butter

Preheat oven to 375°F. Bake the potatoes with their skins until tender, about 45 minutes. Let cool slightly. Remove a 1/2-inch slice from the top flat side of the potato. Scoop out the inside of each potato to within 1/4-inch of the shell. Do not pierce the skin. Place the potato flesh in a bowl. Place the potato skins in a shallow roasting pan.

Combine the potato flesh, cheese, chutney, celery, and butter. Beat with a wooden spoon until thoroughly mixed. Spoon the filling into the potato skins. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, or until golden brown.

Serves 4.

From San Francisco Encore, edited by The Junior League of San Francisco. New York: Doubleday, 1986.

Crumbs

“The only way to do it wrong is if you’re not having a good time.”

Laird Hamilton, big-wave surfer, quoted on "Iconoclasts: Eddie Vedder + Laird Hamilton", Sundance Channel, October 26.