A Reformed Procrastinator Turned Celebrity Stalker

The stack of index cards was about the size of a new box of bank checks and I must have gone through it a hundred times. I had my first test this week and I was hell bent on doing well. I have always been a casual student. I've never studied hard and certainly never worried about tests. I usually finish them quickly and don't bother to check my answers. I learned early that in most subjects I could show up in class (or sometimes not at all as was the case with my San Diego State days), do a minimal review of the material and still average low B's on most of my tests, although there was the occasional C and rare D (gasp!). Truth be told, I just didn't care too much for school and I was satisfied with lower grades if it meant less work. I was your typical procrastinator: wait until the night before (or sometimes even the morning of) and try to memorize as much as possible right before the test. But I am no longer at SDSU where C's (and even a D+ in Natural Disasters) get degrees. I am not kidding, when I was there, it was a slogan: D's get degrees! Regardless of my current program's requirement that all students maintain a B average, I don't want to eek by or just coast. For the first time in my scholastic career, I actually care. I want to learn as much as possible. I want to understand each technique thoroughly. I want to master each skill. I am actually putting effort into school and I'm enjoying it. Obviously this is validating because it indicates that I have chosen the correct career path, but it's also terrifying and sometimes nerve-wracking. Now that I am not just trying, but trying hard, to be good at something, there is this realization that I could fail. Of course, I don't expect to fail and my ego allows to me think that I will be successful, but the possibility is there, lurking in each additional hour I devote to practicing my knife skills, reviewing index cards and writing out recipes for my next lesson. The nerves at the beginning of each class, wondering if I will be able to complete each recipe in the allotted time, the small anxieties that surface during the race to get my station set up before the demo. All of these feelings are new to me. There is no room to have an off night or be unfocused. Cooking well is all in the details. One small error in calculation can be disastrous which many of us have learned in class. I am decidedly up to the challenge though. If anything I have an new awareness that maybe I didn't put much effort in before, not just because I didn't really care, but because I didn't want to have to worry about failing. It's easy to be happy with C's when you didn't lift a finger to earn them. But what if I got C's and worked hard for them? That would be devastating. So maybe I was lazy or maybe it was a self defense mechanism or maybe I've never studied anything that motivated me to excel. All I know now is that I want to do well. Really well. And if it means reviewing the same index cards over and over until I am dreaming about the clarification process for a consomme and my hands are unconsciously cutting carrots julienne like a puppy whose paws move while dreaming of chasing cars, then so be it. Okay, my hands may not be slicing and dicing in my sleep, but I did find some carrot peels in the shower the other day.

I was nervous on test day even though I knew my index cards inside and out. I could recite ingredients and procedures, definitions of french terms, precise measurements and draw diagrams when needed. But what if there were things on the test that I hadn't studied? Any why did my notes have different cooking times for stocks than our text? What if I needed to know the exact proportions for a sauce espagnole instead of just its components? All of my worries were unfounded, there was not a question on the test that I was unsure of. I could have written an essay to answer each question and actually attempted to for some but ran out of time and room on the paper. And though my worries may have been for naught, I learned a valuable lesson. It is the ever present possibility, however small and unlikely, of failure that pushes people to be their best. I don't know of anyone who got to the top of their game (and stayed there) by accepting that they had done enough or knew enough or were good enough to rest on their laurels. To paraphrase the expression, you're only as good as your last dish. Now, I am nowhere close to the top of my game and I know I can do better, but I am finally walking a path that leads that way and it may take years of walking this path, but I know the journey will be fantastic.

Putting aside the self-reflection and motivational speaking, we've been having a lot of fun, enjoying summer in the city. A few things we have seen, done or noticed recently:

On any given day, you see film crews around Manhattan with the accompanying gawkers and paparazzi. Until yesterday, I had yet to see any actors actually being filmed. It's usually painstaking hours of setup, shots with stand ins and so on. I stumbled onto a Gossip Girl shoot yesterday in SoHo and spent about an hour watching them film. If you are a fan (which means you are either 15 or like me, have the maturity of a 15 year old), I saw a scene with Serena & Blair shopping and then one later in the afternoon with a typical Blair and Chuck exchange (where they are half arguing, half flirting, falling in love and deciding they are ill-fated). They shot the same scene more times than I could count all the while having to pretend like there weren't hundreds of stalker fans and photographers ogling them. It gave me a new appreciation for the tedium that is involved in filming and gave me a small understanding of the price of fame. Not that I will it will stop me from gawking at celebrities when I see them and sneaking pictures on my cell phone. I mean, it's not like we are ever going to be friends and besides, they can always go console themselves with a $7,000 handbag after a rough day of being recognized. (A classmate took some great pictures which I will post when he sends them to me).

We finally figured out that the insanely loud music we heard on night one in our apartment is actually our upstairs neighbor. SERIOUSLY? Who puts on music at that volume at midnight on a Wednesday or 2 am on a Saturday? Given the accompanying creaking noises, I think it may be a courtesy to a roommate trying to drown out other sounds that no one wants to hear. After several minutes of door pounding by Mike, they got the hint.

I attended a demonstration yesterday by Chef Fortunato Nicotra of Felidia here in Manhattan. He made some really interesting and playful pasta dishes including an Italian take on sushi and a dessert dish that looked like spaghetti, but was actually fried fresh angel hair pasta over ice cream, raspberry sauce (marinara), a drizzle of honey, and shaved white chocolate (parmigiano reggiano), which I will be attempting at home when our good friends, Nate & Melissa visit in a few weeks.



Have a great weekend & Bon Appetit!