Cutting Potatoes, Part Deux

Chef looked at my board and was very quiet as he lifted pieces of potato, examined them, turned them and rolled them in his hand. "The batonnets are getting better. Work on the smaller cuts." As he he walked away, I heard him say, "We'll get there." I wanted to shout in reply, "I'll make it, Chef!" But I only dropped my head and gave him a demure "merci, Chef."

I live with the hope.

I had stolen into the Foundations 1 lab two hours before class and had hoisted a few potatoes from the walk-in. Alone in my endeavors, I had cut and cut and cut shapes, without anyone looking, but progress just wouldn't come. Then later in class, Chef unexpectedly told us we'd have a little drill today - several cuts in various sizes, a specific number of product for each cut - and only two potatoes. Mon dieu, I would need to think about waste and save scraps.

I could feel everyone's tension and tried to breathe as I whittled away, and then Chef did something interesting. He turned on music. That seemed to drop a few shoulders down below the ears. I managed to finish on time, and then we gathered near the stove to see Chef finish a chicken fricassee in white sauce.

Can I describe the moment at the stove? I was admiring the white sauce as he stirred it in the pan, smelling the aroma and listening to the music. In a flash, I realized the symphonic addition was from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," the moment when Richard Dreyfus walks into the alien ship, in a total state of awe. I heard those five "tones" they played to talk with the aliens, bum bee bum, ba buuummmm. And then I was weeping.

I quietly pulled out my Grandmother Daisy's dusty rose handkerchief I carry for moments like this and dabbed away. You see, I've never felt this emotional connection - sort of a powerful intersecting moment when smell and sound and sight all blend harmoniously - in a workplace cubicle before. And in that moment when tears came, I was grateful, so grateful.

Grateful to be standing at the intersection.

Cutting Potatoes

.

Number of 10-pound bags to get this tourneed potato, two batonnets and one Julienne: THREE.

Off to class. More tonight. Practice makes - practice.

Culinary School: The Beginning

The Band-Aid count is: Are we counting by Band-Aids or different fingers? Perhaps number of fingers is best. So the count stands at 3 different fingers I've wrapped during practice on knife skills for culinary school. Is that average? Do we count nicks or slices only? When I stand in the daily lineup for inspection, does it count for me that I have wrapped fingers, showing that yes, practice at home is going on and yes, I know basic sanitary care, or does it count against me as clearly a simpleton who can't hold a potato without it "sauteing" into the air. You know that "saute" means to "jump" in French, oui? Mais . . . 

Today is Day 15, and I am still standing at culinary school. You won't find bashing of any Chef Instructors or other students here - because that's not the experience I'm having, which is good to say. So far I've learned much more about myself - my view of my own math skills, my ability to push through fatigue - than I've learned about any individual. After all, everyone looks just like me when we're all wearing kitchen whites (save for the Chef Instructors, whose hats must stick out of their sunroofs when they drive home).

If you're asking, "is it fun? I've always wanted to do that", I'd reply that it's important that you be open to understanding like this: You don't know much, less than you think you do, and you need to start from scratch, in all likelihood, if you want to do cooking the French way (and naturellement I do). You aren't paying all that lettuce to go tell somebody how much you already know. The way I figure it, if you can pull an A in the basic foundations class, what are you in there for?

The aspect of fun is the self-discovery that happens - and for some people that wouldn't fit the "fun" category. For me, it's work, but it's the work of discovery and yes, I'm enjoying the effort required.

When Jeanne and I were at the Roger Smith Writers Conference in New York over Valentines Weekend, we heard from Kathleen Flinn, who wrote a book called The Sharper Your Knives, the Less You Cry about attending the world's most famous culinary school. Think Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina. At that point, I had no idea I'd be going myself, but the title of her book fascinated me, so I dove into it. I had a wrong idea about the book based on the title: I thought it would be about the sort of boot camp humiliation that surely would be doled out to hapless students like me. But that's not the case. Read it, enjoy it as I am, because you'll get a great sense of how it feels, tastes, smells and looks when you go to culinary school.

This morning I've been through 3 Band-Aids on the same finger. I've stopped cutting, because once you sense that it isn't working, you're tired or there isn't enough light, just stop, stop it now. Safety first.

That's one of the first lessons you'll ever hear in culinary school. Excuse me now, I have to go iron my hat.

Red Tulips

Where have I been the last few weeks? Inside a culinary school looking around, and if truth be told, I've decided to take up the banneton. A new baking and pastry program has just been introduced at the school, so it's a marvelous time to sprinkle the flour in a new location outside of Singing Wheat Kitchen, which gets more than its share of the annual average per square inch.

If running away to join the circus is no longer in the cards, then surely learning the culinary arts will be just as high-wire glorious and I do see some similarities - working with flames, juggling objects, certain costumes, the knife work, secrets of the candy apple.

How much baking I'll do on the side is anyone's guess, but I do consider it homework and research. Let's all cheer for new insights that give my skills fuller flair and broader personality.

The red tulips are to remind me that everything can open up beautifully with a little faith, courage and a frisson of sunshine. Why not embrace the springtime as a time of growth and reach? Think of the new friendships, the new connections. Think of hollandaise, think of all the mother sauces, imagine tempering chocolate and bending it to your will. More abundant daily bread.

It's all so richly glorious!