Sheep, Flamingos & Other Things That Don't Belong in a Kitchen

My culinary education has officially begun! Well that's not entirely true, it actually began almost 10 years ago when Mike gently encouraged me to try my hand at cooking in an effort to lighten the impact of our dining out on his wallet. My early experimentation in the kitchen included me testing out complicated recipes from Martha Stewart while intermittently googling terms like mesclun (Isn't that a psychedelic? Nope, it's a salad blend) and buffalo mozzarella (Does it come from Buffalo, NY or an actual buffalo? Turns out it's an actual buffalo). Over the years my cooking has evolved from elaborate recipes that left my kitchen a disaster and produced mixed results to a more simplified preparation that changes with the seasons. And now after a decade of devouring food magazines and cookbooks, scouring local markets for exotic ingredients, and throwing ridiculously large dinner parties in my tiny apartment, I actually get the opportunity to learn to cook like a pro.

Yesterday was my first day as a student of the French Culinary Institute and although I have been preparing for this day for nearly a year, I felt anything but prepared. As I changed into my uniform in the locker room, I realized that I failed to bring an undershirt for my chef's jacket and I would be forced to wear my bright yellow tee shirt under the stiff white coat. Nervous sweating ensued. I tied and re-tied my neckerchief several times. I clumsily shoved my hair up under the white cap and looked in the mirror. I didn't know what to feel looking at my reflection. My first thought was that I looked like a giant dork and a little like a man. The next was a realization that I was just feeling out of my element and a touch uncomfortable with being stripped of my outward identity. I also felt like a sheep in wolf's clothing. I know the fable is told the other way, but in this case, I definitely wasn't a cunning wolf pretending to be a docile sheep. I was more like a clumsy sheep pretending to be a chef and trying to figure out to hold a knife with my hoof. As I filed into the kitchen-classroom and took my place at a station, I nervously glanced around the room. Was anyone else as ill at ease as I? It was hard to tell. In my mind, everyone probably had several years of experience in a professional kitchen, exceptional knife skills, and palates that would be able to identify even the most elusive of flavors. As I mentally added up my inadequacies, my instructor, Chef Nic, interrupted my self flagellation, calling out in his Ukrainian accent "Hee-eey guu-uuys! Would you relax? There is nothing to be afraid of! We are going to have a lot of fun together!"

There was a collective sigh of relief around the room and from that moment on I decided to take the advice that Mike had given me earlier that day - to have fun. And I did. Ultimately this is why I chose culinary school: because cooking is what I enjoy doing most and mastering it will be a very personally rewarding experience. And to kick off my career in the kitchen, I picked up several valuable tools. I learned how not to seriously injure myself or poison others. I acquired my knife & tool kit, which was very much like Christmas morning for me. It is truly a thing of beauty. I attempted my first taillage, which is the classic French technique of cutting vegetables. (I would like to take this moment to say thank you for nothing English system of measurements. Why do we insist on measuring everything on an entirely different scale than most of the world? If we didn't, I would know how to cut a carrot into a jardiniere that is 5 mm x 5 mm. I guess I can look at this as an opportunity to become fluent in metric system.) I also learned that standing for 5 hours even in the hideous required orthopedic shoes gets to be excruciating around the 4 hour mark. I kept looking around the room wondering if anyone would notice if I crouched for a while during the demonstration. I also did the stand on one leg to give the other a break or lean heavily on the cutting board to take the pressure off for a minute, both of which are wildly popular poses among my classmates. I wondered if I could sneak in one of those fold-up stools that subway musicians and street performers are so fond of. I doubt it. That really was the only low point. My classmates seem to be friendly people at this stage. The chef instructors were interesting and encouraging. The content of the class was everything I had hoped for. And to top it off, we are provided a family meal each evening prepared by the Level 4 students who are in the catering stage of the program. It was delicious and only slightly undermined by the fact that I had to eat it standing like a flamingo at my station. I am sure I will get used to the foot pain and I am confident that I can handle whatever Chef Nic has in store for me. The uniform...now that may take some time to get excited about. But even if I don't feel like the epitome of feminine grace, I no longer feel like a big, bungling sheep now that I have Day 1 under my belt...or apron.