It's over

On the same day, Friday, my externship ended and I graduated. What will I do now?

Whupped

Today I was beaten by a 21-year-old, 100 pound woman of Persian descent in an iron chef competition, and it's bothering me. I'll be thinking about it while falling asleep tonight. Not because of her, who I like very much, but because I got cocky and soft in the past few weeks of not cooking enough.

Actually, as a brief aside, though it wasn't for an iron chef competition, last week I plated two very well received dishes: a roasted butternut squash soup, and ginger-sauterne poached pears, each of which earned genuine raves from both chefs (a rarity).

But today sloth got the better of me, and I'll be a better cook for it. Lesson learned. And don't be surprised to see a petite Persian woman running a well respected kitchen in a few years. She's very talented.

An Interesting Week

The dog days of school began last Monday: another day of doing the same prep work; the crowded, loud kitchen; the droning ranchero music. I was bored, and the cooking had become a chore. Worse yet, I was placed in a group assigned to complete a non-cooking project. Since Wednesday we've been arguing about what to put on the menu. The details are too greusome, so forget it.
Then I called the Four Seasons. An interview was arranged at the last minute on Friday. And that was it. My externship begins on Tuesday, pending a passed drug test (they waived the background check, luckily). It's very good news, not just because it will be good experience, but because it'll get me out of my current kitchen, and out of project hell.
Then on Saturday I made my first money cooking. It was very little - a tip, really - for helping cater and serve an event in the restaurant. But I loved it. The people really enjoyed the food (which I thought was just OK - a common phenomenon among cooks, I've heard) and that made this whole experience worthwhile. It's why I know this is the right thing for me.
More to come for certain. The stories are inevitable.

Vegan

We have a new student: a vegetarian. She's talented and doesn't proselytize, which makes for a pleasant working relationship. But regardless, the food is boring and dishonest. For the last week we've been treated to vegetarian lunches of various ethnic heritages. And overall the results have been predictably uninteresting.
Jambalaya with soy chorizo: nearly flavorless. Soy-based vanilla pound cake: a lump of vaguely flavor-tinged mush. The vegan chocolate mousse reminded me of the 70s with all things carob. And then there are salads; lots of salads.
Salads are and can be lovely. But, to paraphrase some French chefs when they viewed Alice Waters creating her magic with fresh local produce: "This isn't cooking; this is shopping."
To be fair, there were also roasted corn cobs with romesco sauce, and a pineapple sorbet, each of which was utterly delicious. But those two dishes merely highlight the problem with narrow vegetarianism. Such fare that attempts to replicate animal-based dishes is doomed to failure, and is dishonest by its nature. Jambalaya does NOT include soy. Pound cake is made with butter. Avocado is not an acceptable substitute for animal fat in anything called chocolate mousse. Why was the sorbet so good? Because it's not an attempt to replicate anything else. As the nauseating cliche goes: it is what it is.
This is no passionate screed against vegetarianism. My libertarian leanings are such that I could care less what anyone chooses to eat. And I agree that the too-often shoddy and lazy treatment of animals could use a revision. But so much of the vegetarian menu seems to be self-enforced settling for mediocrity. How disappointing, especially for anyone who chooses a culinary career.

The quick and lazy

My fourth day working saute/grill is over. Tomorrow, a classmate and I are running the station without help. It makes me nervous even though both the customers and the chefs are patient, tolerant. There will come a time when I'm overwhelmed, too easily for certain, by just a few orders. But it has to be done, so in that way I look forward to it.
I've found that I can do service well when I'm systematic about orders, a fallback to the old career where process maps, punch lists, project plans - means of organization saved the day. This is likely nothing new to the experienced cook. But it works well for me without having any other lessons to lean on. We'll see how it goes with real orders at full speed.

I also have a new nemesis.

Jay appears to have quit. He was banished to dish duties two days in a row for never arriving on time. He took it hard, apparently, leaving that afternoon with a perfectly good service cup full of soda. He'll be missed...or maybe he'll return. I don't know, and don't much care.
But he's been replaced anyway.
Cee (as usual, not her real name) doesn't seem to be the con man Jay is. I was paired with her last week for the cooking competition we lost. Her cluelessness was benign that day - forgivable. Now she's dangerous, thoroughly disorganized, always in the way, and conspicuously useless all at the same time.
Today as I was left to mop the kitchen, (after she gave a phony, desultory swipe at an already clean counter with a dry rag, then gathered her things to leave) it bothered me that her incompetence bothered me. I wasn't entirely sure why. Two things come to mind. She clearly doesn't care (in itself not a sin; many others share that sentiment), and she's simultaneously dangerous (raw meat left out, knife not carried at her side). And there's the fact that she's so often standing in my way, or leaning against a door jam doing nothing, blocking my path. Altogether, a package of quite frustrating behaviors.
However...though my level of forgiveness is still quite limited, I now seriously wonder if she's developmentally disabled. It's possible, and would explain a lot. But again, understanding and forgiveness are not necessarily compatible. I'll keep my eye on her so she doesn't stab or poison me. But I'll never work with her, not voluntarily. Better yet, maybe Jay will return.

On the line

Chef has me working the sautee/grill line (finally) all week. It makes me nervous because managing the creation of multiple dishes at once can get me ruffled. But I want and need to do it; Friday I'll be managing it alone without the hired sous chef. Good times.
Today was slow so there was little pressure. That will change.
Humor of the day: in order to learn how to prepare each dish I was reaching over the counter to grab a take out menu. It took longer than expected - far reach. Then I felt a spill on my leg. Turns out I had been leaning against the ice water dispenser. My whole back pocket filled with water: wallet soaked, freezing water running down my leg. It's like a Jerry Lewis routine, but not nearly as hillarious.

Two for three

Yesterday I competed in my fourth cooking competition since beginning this program. Paired with a brand new student, who was extremely slow, we didn't complete the four plates we were supposed to produce. I was not motivated to compete yesterday regardless, and it showed in the food (The Chef instructor: one dish was boring, the other "sensational").
Someone once said that being a professional is performing well the thing you love even when you don't feel like it. That was yesterday. But, the other two teams on which I competed were superior. Great fun.

Week 2 begins

Tuesday, August 21: week 2 begins (after a day off to take care of the daughter).
I'm exhausted. The heat hit me hard today, and I didn't stretch this morning. At 39 years of age, getting ready for the kitchen requires the same warm-up as a swim meet did at the age of 21. I won't make that mistake again; my back was aching by just after noon. But it's such an exhilarating workout compared to the usual tedium offered by gymnasiums. Tomorrow, I expect and anticipate the same punishment.
My contribution to the service: today's roasted green chile soup; tomorrow's carrot cake. Mom would be proud; the cake garnered unsolicited praise from one of the longest-serving cooks. The Chef instructor told us early in the program that he still remembers the first compliment he ever received from a chef. I now know how he feels - all for a stupid carrot cake. I'll take it.
There's apparently a well-known question among chefs which amounts to, "what would your final meal be if you were on death row?" A similar question was posed to each of us today in order to preach the importance of passion in this field. To wit: if you were planning your final meal what would it be, where, with whom, and why? (My reply: roast chicken at Gibbs Farm, Tanzania, with wife and child because we already experienced the finest meal of my life there and I'd like to replicate it. Simple). Here is how one my my colleagues (I'll call him J.) responded: anything at McDonalds with Minister Farrakhan becuase I like it.
Minister Farrakhan. Louis Farrakhan.
I was SURE I was prepared for most anything when I started this program. No.
Later he shared his steely opinion that carrot cake is hateful and "bad for you." I looked on the Nation of Islam's web site and found no reference to carrot cake, so I assume it was his own opinion. Safe to say: he's the most interesting classmate I've ever had.
For better or worse there are others who copy his habit of talking a LOT in the kitchen and doing very little. It's depressing, but I try hard to basically ignore it and get as much done by myself or with those who are trustworthy. Then there is my compadre, Juan (not his real name), a talented young Mexican cook. He's improving my kitchen-Spanish, and I'm helping his English. He's serious, hard-working, curious...a delight. Damn young, though (they all are). Another big young dude is from Fiji; all the older Mexicans speak to him in Spanish. He shrugs his shoulders. Hillarious. No monopoly on stereotypes in this setting.
Overall I'm the most serious of the bunch, but that shouldn't be surprising; I'm the great outlier. The rest are to be admired for doing something to help themselves. There is a great deal of chatter about money, and it's understandable. I hope each one of them makes enough to be happy, and more. But I don't understand what seems to be the utter lack of interest in cooking among so many of them, so quick to have (mostly wrong) answers, so uncurious. My expectations are likely far too high; but I won't change them. Not now.

Week 1

I love it.
Week one is over. Wednesday was the first day. The prep work begins before 8.30 and though it can be disorganized (as is this blog) it provides extremely hands-on learning. On Thursday I asked how I could help (nothing is formally assigned); Chef responded, "can you make a bread pudding?" Sure. Friday - "make breakfast for the kitchen." OK (scrambled eggs with sauteed red peppers and scallions). We made the white chicken stock for soup on Wednesday. We helped butcher a New York strip. Began working on presentation. What fun.
Classwork has been minimal and very easy, amounting to an exam for which I've been studying for 10 years.
Mark, one chef instructor, is a recent California Culinary Academy grad. He claims that we will do as much in the kitchen in 12 weeks as he did at the Academy in 2 years (CCA tuition: $48,000). It's hot, kinda dangerous, sweaty, and quite tiring. It's exactly what I wanted.

Accepted

I've been accepted to my culinary arts program. The call came earlier this week.
I'd pimp for congratulations but I didn't even know that acceptance was up for consideration. This program is run by a vocational school, so I figured that enrollment equals acceptance. But no. And that's fine.
All this was prompted by the completion of course prerequesities last week: a job readiness class, orientation, and a life skills seminar. None of them were at all necessary for me, but they were educational, sort of like going back to high school where the quality of students is so dramatically stratified. One chap became argumentative about trivialites ("how do we know you're not telling us all this stuff for your own benefit!?"), another openly fell asleep in the front row. The guy next to me made calls on his mobile during an exam.
I share these as observations only. From the start it was clear that this experience could provide a mountain of comedic material. But that form of smug, ironic chuckling is so tired; it has no appeal to me. But, neither do I intend to romanticize or excuse the disorganized and often self-destructive behavior that I've already seen among colleagues-to-be. That kind of (intended) neutrality will surely be bad for ratings, but what the hell. A mid life career change probably shouldn't be the source of sneering comedy anyway.

August 15 classes begin.

Cooking deferred

The chef-instructor had the temerity to take a vacation the first week of August, so cooking school is delayed until mid-August. More to come...