Things That Cause Me to Make Up Stories: 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.