Vacation: The Nor Cal Edition

Nice To See You Again, Pacific...

Vacations always seem to come just when you need them, don't they? I guess that's because we plan them that way, but still, we needed this vacay...bad. Typically with vacation, I am counting down the days before I go. I have every day mapped out, restaurant reservations confirmed, and plans A, B, and C on paper. I know, I am so "fly by the seat of my pants". Look, it works for us. I get to carefully orchestrate the perfect symphony of activities that will culminate in the most beautiful vacation ever experienced and Mike gets to be surprised on a daily basis about what we are doing. And lest you think I am completely rigid, I always have options for us and am more flexible than I sound. This time around was different. I have been so busy with school, internships and volunteering (i.e. begging for jobs), that I didn't have time to do my usual research and development sessions for this trip. It was literally the day before when I realized that school was over and now it was time to pack for a week away in Northern California! The big things were squared away like hotel reservations, car rental, and loose plans with family and friends, but I didn't even have a consolidated itinerary...in a notebook...with all confirmations and travel documents...and contact information...and restaurant reviews. I know, I know, I am a complete control freak. Anyway, valuable lesson learned: Overplanning a vacation turns out almost exactly the same as a loosely planned vacation. With one exception, without all the obsessive planning and coordinating, I had no time to build the trip up to unreachable expectations, so anything that happened good or less good, was just gravy. My whole belief system about planning and execution is crumbling around me. (Assumes fetal position).

Regardless, it was a fantastic trip filled with great friends and family, terrific food and drink, and glorious, wide open spaces filled with green things and clean air. It was also accompanied by that familiar feeling we get when we visit somewhere we love (and we looooove Nor Cal), where we have a daily discussion of if we could live there, where exactly we would want to live, what the pros and cons of living there would be, before we ultimately decide that it's not a decision we need to be making right now.

We spent a full week blowing around the Northern California coastline with a stop in Sacramento and the East Bay for reunions with friends and fam. We made sure to set aside several days of time for the two of us because, as I said, we sooo needed it and as I'm sure anyone who lives far from home knows, it's easy to get caught up in trying to see every person you have ever known while you are in town for a few days. Following are pictures from our week of (mostly) bliss.


I Left My Heart Here


Good Friends, Good Food at One Market Street in San Francisco


Does It Make You Want To Throw Your Arms Out and Twirl?


Our Room at the Glendeven Inn in Mendocino

The Final and the Finality

That gorgeous hat would not be possible without this man

As evidenced by me rocking the toque above, I passed my final. That, of course, does not tell the whole story. The night before, I went to bed early, ready to rest up and be refreshed for the final push (and the subsequent festivities) thinking that I was calm, confident, and prepared. I could not sleep to save my life. It's what happens when I am pretending to not have anxiety about something. My mind won't turn off and I lay there thinking about things like what outfits to pack for my trip and if I have time to get my brows done. Then when I finally acknowledge that I might be stressed about the thing that I am avoiding thinking about and deal with it, I fall asleep. So I woke up feeling like I got hit by a truck and proceeded to drink way too much coffee while reviewing my recipes over and over. There were only 3 dishes I did not want to draw for my final: the dreaded duck, the cod dish (which I had only done once in class), and the stupid lemon tart. I got the cod and lemon tart combo obviously. I was half expecting them to throw in the duck as an added torture.

My attitude quickly passed and I reminded myself that I knew exactly what to do and just had to stay organized and on time. For the first few hours I was clickin' along, I got my tart dough done right off the bat so it had time to rest. I made my lemon curd and got it chilled down. I made my potatoes, kale and chorizo for the cod dish. I cleaned and cooked my clams. I rolled out my tarts and baked them. I got my station set up with a hot water bath, clam broth, and clarified butter to cook the cod. I put all my garnishes on ice on my station and I started to sear and baste my cod. I felt great. Then before I knew it I had like 5 minutes to plate and get out the door. Chef Jason was shouting at us to push and plate and GO! GO! GO! It was totally unnerving and I started to panic. I knew I was going to be late because there were so many damn components on the plate. And I was late and the plates were a little sloppy, not too bad, but a little. And my cod was a little dark. I ran the four plates on a giant tray down to the judges room and then ran back to finish those stupid tarts.

My station was a disaster and I still had to candy the pineapple, which still had to be cut into rings, make gingered whip cream, and fill the tarts with the lemon curd, which still needed sour cream added to it. And then I had to plate it all. I only had 35 minutes and I was a wreck. I spent about 10 minutes working like a complete disaster in panic mode before I got a grip, cleaned up my station and calmed down. I plated my tarts on time and despite several attempts at ruining them, they actually looked pretty darn good.

I was so relieved when it was over but I was also somewhat disappointed in myself. I just didn't expect to be in panic mode. I hadn't worked that way before and I was sort of dumbfounded that I briefly fell apart when it mattered most. That feeling mostly washed away as we walked into the judges room and were handed a glass of champers. Something about tiny bubbles calms me down.

I got nice feedback from my judges, two of which were Andre Soltner (look him up) and Andrea Beeman from Top Chef Season 1. The only complaints were that my fish was too dark, which I knew. My tart was perfection, which I almost wanted to tell the esteemed French master Chef Soltner, was a total accident, but instead took a giant gulp of bubbly. Once we walked out of judges room, it was pure pandemonium. We changed and practically ran to our local watering hole O'Neail's (which is coincidentally Steve's bar on Sex in the City for all the ladies out there), where our favorite bartenders where waiting with congratulations and shots of Jameson. The rest of the night is a blur of squealing, jumping up and down, drinks, more drinks, cab rides, karaoke (which was more of a scream-a-long complete with light up tambourines), and an early morning trip to McDonald's in which we bought everything they had left to sell. This included 6 chicken sandwiches of various shapes and sizes. We complained about the lack of fries and were told that we could kindly wait a half hour until 5:30 when breakfast service began. One of my favorite classmates, Sheries Jubilee (as she is sometimes called) pointed out to the cashier (in Westchestah accent) that they didn't serve fries with breakfast so we would be passing on that offer. I don't think those were her exact words.



Sheries Jubilee and Me

After a snooze til noon, I managed to get up, shower and get a mani/pedi for only the third time in a year! We can't wear nail polish in the kitchen and my nails have looked raggedy since I've been in school. The good thing it that when you decorate your hands with cuts, burns, blisters and black fingernails it distracts from the lack of polish and shaping.

Graduation was a big, smiley, lovefest between classmates and chefs, with several jokes about our all nighter thrown in. Afterwards, we celebrated with our good friends, Susan & Tommy, and her hilarious parents, who we like to call the Senator (because he looks like one) and the Commissioner (for her inquisitive detective skills). We went to Peter Luger for some insanely good steak in a sort of Old New York mafia atmosphere. It was delish and I was ready for bed by 9pm.

Now that the dust has settled, the finality of it all has really settled in. I can't believe my school days are over and that I won't be roaming the kitchens of FCI any longer. I already miss my chefs and classmates, even my favorite dishwasher, whose name I don't know because we always called him Amigo. I miss butter sandwiches (stolen baguettes smeared with butter and sprinkled with sea salt). I don't miss those dumpy pants, boxy jackets and ill fitting hats. I do miss coming home with duck and short ribs and tart dough and vanilla beans. I miss Wednesday night at O'Neail's. And sometimes Monday. And Friday. I miss the camaraderie. But life goes on and now it's time for the next chapter. And that next chapter happens to be a vacation.



A La Grecque, Chef Jason & Me

It All Comes Down To This

Chef Jason drops some knowledge on Michelle and Vera


Why must all good things come to an end? It's a stupid, stupid expression that I wish weren't true. I suppose if good things never ended you wouldn't be able to appreciate them and they wouldn't be worth nearly as much. I cooked last night at L'Ecole for the last time as a student and it was bittersweet. I'm ready for the next chapter, but I can't believe my days of sweating, minor cuts and burns,and causing mischief are over. Not to mention the fact that I may actually have to start paying for vanilla beans instead of swiping them from pastry. And parchment paper. And peppercorns. Although I'm pretty sure A La Grecque has stockpiled enough FCI loot through her knife kit smuggling system that I could call on her if I need a pastry bag.




Jamie (Farmer Chef), Susan, and Apphia (far right) pay attention while Linda (A La Grecque) is in typical form

Tomorrow is our final exam, which we've been anticipating for nine months, and the reality and finality of this whole experience is starting to sink in. I remember back in July when I was just finishing up Level 1, I volunteered along with a few classmates to help Chef Nic set up for his Level 6 class final. The final works like this: Each student draws a number (literally from a bowl). The number corresponds to a pairing of dishes, either a garde manger and saucier dish (appetizer and meat) or a poissonier and patissiere dish (fish and pastry). Each number also has two corresponding times, when you will present your first and second dishes to the judges. You're graded on how you work in the kitchen while preparing your food: Is your station set up correctly? Do you work neatly and efficiently? Are you demonstrating proper technique? Are you wearing gloves when plating your food? Is your food being held at the proper temperature? Did you walk out the kitchen door with your plates for the judges at the appointed time exactly? When it arrives at the judges table: Is your food the proper temperature? If it's hot food, are your plates hot? Is your presentation neat and clean? And then of course, is it cooked and seasoned properly and does it taste how it's supposed to taste? These are all things that have been drilled into our heads since Level 1 in preparation for this day. When I helped Chef Nic set up the final last summer, I remember assembling a tray for each student containing the ingredients they would need to prepare their dishes. I could not comprehend being able to make a pan roasted halibut and baked alaska all under the pressure of a time clock and the prospect of failure and not graduating. As we watched the Level 6 students file past the classroom windows on their way to draw numbers, they waved at Chef Nic with big smiles on their faces. They looked excited. I remember Jersey and I looking at each other like "How are they smiling?! I would be freaking out!".

And now here I am. Tomorrow, it will be me and my class, who I have grown to know and love, well, in some cases it's more like tolerate, but mostly love. But tomorrow will be our one day that this last year has been leading up to. A few hours to show what we've learned and make all the chefs who've taught us what we know proud. I'm excited, I'm sure I'll be nervous, but I'm ready to kick ass. Send me some of those vibes tomorrow night around 9pm Eastern time, so when my hands are shaking as I put the garnish on my plates (with gloves, of course) I know that there are lots of people rooting for me.


Me & Jen Brown (the only student who EVERYONE calls by her full name, or JB for short, I've also referred to her as Michael Phelps in previous posts)