I shouldn't blame Mr Blake. I think my susceptibility has much to do with my unfortunate make-up. He doesn't come at me anything less than sparklingly clean (as should be the case with anyone).
This mechanic school, University Technical Institute (or as they call themselves, UTI), must be shooting for zero female enrollment. Considering how nonsensical their name is, they worked really hard to come up with something that could stand for UTI, didn't they?
11.16.2009
Patient, heal thyself!
This has nothing to do with cooking, but it does involve two common pantry items. So I thought, fuck it, on to my blog it goes.
Mid-week, I came down with what had to be the most inopportune infection I've had, of the lady-variety. Yup. A UTI. Or as my gay friend, Joe, says, "UTI? TMI!" I suppose gay men are excused from this conversation, but if you're a woman or you fuck them, it's fairly relevant.
For the past five years or so, I've been plagued with these things about three to four times a year. First, it starts with a twinge when you're done pissing. You think to yourself, "AW, HELL NO," but yes, you know precisely what it is. Still, we sometimes try to fool ourselves into thinking we aren't on what is certainly a steep decline into physical misery. What had started as a twinge turns into a full-blown burning that reduces the most self-possessed woman mental.
By the time it gets to be that bad, some of us reach for the bitter & tart swill we hope will flush the bugger out: 100% cranberry juice (an unlikely cure for sure). By now, you're asking yourself why you don't take cranberry pills every day (something in the berry makes it difficult for the offending bacteria from climbing up inside one of our most sensitive bits). Those things aren't cheap though. You dread calling your doctor to get antibiotics for fear he/she will either regard you as dirty (for not pissing right after sex, or wiping correctly, which if you don't know how to do at this stage...), or a slut (hey! some of us chose to have a social life, & some of us chose to forgo one to go to medical school). Perhaps this will add fuel to the Judeo-Christian pov that women are inherently evil & that God punishes us summarily with our bodies: having sex with someone new sometimes triggers this. I would be remiss to not mention that I get them from Mr Blake still (thanks again!).
In the throws of this truly mind-fucking agony, I often wonder what women in the medieval times did in similar situations. Really, because unchecked, this shit goes from your urethra, to your bladder & then your kidneys. I bet after two weeks, most suffers would be dead. Life expectancy being what it was, I wouldn't be shocked if this type of infection killed a sizable chunk of women.
That's just one of the few thoughts that run through my head as I struggle to urinate. Another more pertinent thought is where the fucking fuck is the UTI vaccine? I mean, we got to rabies, but not a more frequently debilitating illness? Oh, right. Lady disease is naturally less important. Pardon my directness, but being able to comfortably relieve ourselves is sometimes the only pleasant thing going on for us (& others of us, sadly, more often than not). Finding a vaccine to ensure this should be much more of a priority. Is carefree pissing for all not a compelling enough reason for you? Try this: I've probably had about twenty of these. The amount of time & cost involved with my taking time off of work, the time the nurse prepares my chart for my doctor, my doctor signing off on a script & making a notation in my chart, my nurse faxing the script to the pharmacy, the pharmacist preparing my prescription, & whatever ridiculous charges & resulting paperwork-clusterfuck with the insurance company should be compelling enough. If you're really that inhumane.
So I have to ask myself: if I'm miserable & this many people are involved, whom exactly is benefiting? Say it with me now: drug companies! Do you think all the time & money spent on research & jumping through FDA hoops is worth it to them for a UTI vaccine if there's something that already exists to treat the problem? Treat, not prevent, which seems to be the theme of healthcare in these parts... Simply put, they do not give a shit. Never mind that I personally would trade nearly anything I can lay my eyes on in my home for such a thing. A vaccine that important would need to accessible to all, however, not just some desperate middle-class hussy.
What also occurred to me on this familiar & cringe-full affair also was that taking antibiotics so often is tempting fate. Will they always work? Or will I contract some super-UTI that will do my ass in? They also make me sick, & sometimes (brace yourselves) give women yeast infections. Talk about adding insult to injury! So since I knew I caught this so soon, I searched for some answers online. Basically, you drink baking soda in water, follow that with more & more water, & you're right as rain.
Why have I not known this before? I also have been swallowing many minced cloves of garlic as it is a natural antibiotic, & I figured it wouldn't hurt. Done. Gone. About one dollar invested. Here's the deal though: I didn't take any pain killers. I thought that if I took a turn for the worse & was on something that would mask this, I should abstain. I could tell my body was trying very hard to cooperate (criminy! the pain), so I'm glad everything worked out.
I'm sure when I updated, you weren't expecting this.
Mid-week, I came down with what had to be the most inopportune infection I've had, of the lady-variety. Yup. A UTI. Or as my gay friend, Joe, says, "UTI? TMI!" I suppose gay men are excused from this conversation, but if you're a woman or you fuck them, it's fairly relevant.
For the past five years or so, I've been plagued with these things about three to four times a year. First, it starts with a twinge when you're done pissing. You think to yourself, "AW, HELL NO," but yes, you know precisely what it is. Still, we sometimes try to fool ourselves into thinking we aren't on what is certainly a steep decline into physical misery. What had started as a twinge turns into a full-blown burning that reduces the most self-possessed woman mental.
By the time it gets to be that bad, some of us reach for the bitter & tart swill we hope will flush the bugger out: 100% cranberry juice (an unlikely cure for sure). By now, you're asking yourself why you don't take cranberry pills every day (something in the berry makes it difficult for the offending bacteria from climbing up inside one of our most sensitive bits). Those things aren't cheap though. You dread calling your doctor to get antibiotics for fear he/she will either regard you as dirty (for not pissing right after sex, or wiping correctly, which if you don't know how to do at this stage...), or a slut (hey! some of us chose to have a social life, & some of us chose to forgo one to go to medical school). Perhaps this will add fuel to the Judeo-Christian pov that women are inherently evil & that God punishes us summarily with our bodies: having sex with someone new sometimes triggers this. I would be remiss to not mention that I get them from Mr Blake still (thanks again!).
In the throws of this truly mind-fucking agony, I often wonder what women in the medieval times did in similar situations. Really, because unchecked, this shit goes from your urethra, to your bladder & then your kidneys. I bet after two weeks, most suffers would be dead. Life expectancy being what it was, I wouldn't be shocked if this type of infection killed a sizable chunk of women.
That's just one of the few thoughts that run through my head as I struggle to urinate. Another more pertinent thought is where the fucking fuck is the UTI vaccine? I mean, we got to rabies, but not a more frequently debilitating illness? Oh, right. Lady disease is naturally less important. Pardon my directness, but being able to comfortably relieve ourselves is sometimes the only pleasant thing going on for us (& others of us, sadly, more often than not). Finding a vaccine to ensure this should be much more of a priority. Is carefree pissing for all not a compelling enough reason for you? Try this: I've probably had about twenty of these. The amount of time & cost involved with my taking time off of work, the time the nurse prepares my chart for my doctor, my doctor signing off on a script & making a notation in my chart, my nurse faxing the script to the pharmacy, the pharmacist preparing my prescription, & whatever ridiculous charges & resulting paperwork-clusterfuck with the insurance company should be compelling enough. If you're really that inhumane.
So I have to ask myself: if I'm miserable & this many people are involved, whom exactly is benefiting? Say it with me now: drug companies! Do you think all the time & money spent on research & jumping through FDA hoops is worth it to them for a UTI vaccine if there's something that already exists to treat the problem? Treat, not prevent, which seems to be the theme of healthcare in these parts... Simply put, they do not give a shit. Never mind that I personally would trade nearly anything I can lay my eyes on in my home for such a thing. A vaccine that important would need to accessible to all, however, not just some desperate middle-class hussy.
What also occurred to me on this familiar & cringe-full affair also was that taking antibiotics so often is tempting fate. Will they always work? Or will I contract some super-UTI that will do my ass in? They also make me sick, & sometimes (brace yourselves) give women yeast infections. Talk about adding insult to injury! So since I knew I caught this so soon, I searched for some answers online. Basically, you drink baking soda in water, follow that with more & more water, & you're right as rain.
Why have I not known this before? I also have been swallowing many minced cloves of garlic as it is a natural antibiotic, & I figured it wouldn't hurt. Done. Gone. About one dollar invested. Here's the deal though: I didn't take any pain killers. I thought that if I took a turn for the worse & was on something that would mask this, I should abstain. I could tell my body was trying very hard to cooperate (criminy! the pain), so I'm glad everything worked out.
I'm sure when I updated, you weren't expecting this.
7.13.2009
Thicker skin, thinner pasta.
With spring quarter classes over & my stepson's summer visit with us over, I knew I had to find a job. I had what I thought was a promising interview with a "mobile restaurant" that resulted in fuck-all (really, don't tell someone you'll call them once you've completed the work schedule if you aren't going to hire them- that's cold!). Then I had a somewhat unpromising interview that did result in a call back for me to make pasta. Not with a job offer, but for a stage, which is a French term for 'unpaid intern', kind of.
Where are we? I think restaurants should do away with that term, unless they are actually in France. Reason being is that it's a bit vague here. I suppose they're trying to see if I'm up to snuff before they decide to offer me a job or decline to. I can understand that, but there's no clear time line as to when that decision would be made. Yet I'm on this week's schedule. I suppose that means they're on the fence.
The first day went well enough, & I got used to cranking out pasta dough that got progressively thinner & longer (double the length of the counter space I use). I made tagliatelle & ravioli. I wasn't perfect, but I did well for day one & felt confident I understood what I need to do to be better next time.
"Next time" was yesterday. Yesterday started out OK. The prep guy made five batches of dough for me (he didn't know I was coming in), which got the sous annoyed with me for the first time of the day because there were three batches of dough already made in the back of a fridge. He acted very bent out of shape by this, but I hesitated to say I didn't make today's dough. He threw the batches on the counter & said, "I know ____ may have told you to roll the dough as you go [aside: I was planning on doing this because the dough gets harder to work with & tears much more easily the longer it sits there], but ignore ____ & do it all now." I just said, "OK, you're the boss," & did as I was told.
I admit to being a bit put-off by this because I knew the stuffed pastas were going to be harder to do because of it. I did it nonetheless. The dough that had been made the previous day was so wet & tacky it stuck to the plastic wrap. After I rolled out all of the batches, he came by to check them out. I asked how thick I had rolled them, & I told him I went done on the dial to three-quarters (zero is the thinnest, ten is the thickest). "Do you mean one & three-quarters?" "No, I mean three-quarters." "Did you go to the right or the left of the one?" "The right." I could understand if the pasta dough wasn't delicate & somewhat transparent for him to assume I don't understand the number line...
Anyway, I made pappardelle, then casconcelli. He told me I needed to speed up at this point, which is understandable. The casconcelli is hand-formed, & getting the right amount of filling & working out the air bubbles without tearing it was difficult. Once that was done, I moved onto the ill-fated ravioli. I've received conflicting instructions for this project (from him & the chef), & that tacky dough...gah! I was told by chef last time to use this press on the pasta once it's on the ravioli mold to create a deeper pocket for the filling. When a bunch broke, the sous rightly told me not to use it, so I put it away. When I took that tacky dough & placed it over the mold to make more, it was so gooey it started to fall into the spaces in the mold & create pockets regardless. He yelled at me to stop using the press, though I hadn't. The dough was just shitted & doing its own thing, which was to drip like the Blob. I used less filling, & most of them still broke. This is when I wanted to crawl into a hole. The dough was just too stretchy & creating holes sometimes before I got to filling them (so I just passed those over & didn't fill them). He still felt I was my fault, yelled at me to clean my station & grate some cheese for service. Youch.
I take full responsibility for needing to be faster, but half of that dough was useless! The thing with dough for any application is that there are no hard or fast rules for ingredient amounts. Humidity will affect how moist flour is. You shouldn't just add water because the recipe says to. You need to check the dough first & add it little by little. I had to take it on the chin that what I was working with wasn't good, & I didn't work with it as well. The only way that could have been helped is if I was more experienced with these little nightmares than I am. This is truly what pissed him off I think.
Here's the thing though: I still feel fairly good about yesterday. I mean, my dough hardly bunched while I was cranking it through the machine, & I never tore any, despite how much better it could have been. I also did my best at paying attention to his instructions & carry them out without reacting to him aggressively throwing things around.
So...do I want this job? Yes, if they want me there. Either way, I'm going to do my best while I'm there. I'm going back in tomorrow, & I'm going to ask how longer this stage is intended to last. After yesterday, I have a poor feeling about things. I hope they aren't just keeping me on to make their pasta when they have no one else to in the meantime.
Where are we? I think restaurants should do away with that term, unless they are actually in France. Reason being is that it's a bit vague here. I suppose they're trying to see if I'm up to snuff before they decide to offer me a job or decline to. I can understand that, but there's no clear time line as to when that decision would be made. Yet I'm on this week's schedule. I suppose that means they're on the fence.
The first day went well enough, & I got used to cranking out pasta dough that got progressively thinner & longer (double the length of the counter space I use). I made tagliatelle & ravioli. I wasn't perfect, but I did well for day one & felt confident I understood what I need to do to be better next time.
"Next time" was yesterday. Yesterday started out OK. The prep guy made five batches of dough for me (he didn't know I was coming in), which got the sous annoyed with me for the first time of the day because there were three batches of dough already made in the back of a fridge. He acted very bent out of shape by this, but I hesitated to say I didn't make today's dough. He threw the batches on the counter & said, "I know ____ may have told you to roll the dough as you go [aside: I was planning on doing this because the dough gets harder to work with & tears much more easily the longer it sits there], but ignore ____ & do it all now." I just said, "OK, you're the boss," & did as I was told.
I admit to being a bit put-off by this because I knew the stuffed pastas were going to be harder to do because of it. I did it nonetheless. The dough that had been made the previous day was so wet & tacky it stuck to the plastic wrap. After I rolled out all of the batches, he came by to check them out. I asked how thick I had rolled them, & I told him I went done on the dial to three-quarters (zero is the thinnest, ten is the thickest). "Do you mean one & three-quarters?" "No, I mean three-quarters." "Did you go to the right or the left of the one?" "The right." I could understand if the pasta dough wasn't delicate & somewhat transparent for him to assume I don't understand the number line...
Anyway, I made pappardelle, then casconcelli. He told me I needed to speed up at this point, which is understandable. The casconcelli is hand-formed, & getting the right amount of filling & working out the air bubbles without tearing it was difficult. Once that was done, I moved onto the ill-fated ravioli. I've received conflicting instructions for this project (from him & the chef), & that tacky dough...gah! I was told by chef last time to use this press on the pasta once it's on the ravioli mold to create a deeper pocket for the filling. When a bunch broke, the sous rightly told me not to use it, so I put it away. When I took that tacky dough & placed it over the mold to make more, it was so gooey it started to fall into the spaces in the mold & create pockets regardless. He yelled at me to stop using the press, though I hadn't. The dough was just shitted & doing its own thing, which was to drip like the Blob. I used less filling, & most of them still broke. This is when I wanted to crawl into a hole. The dough was just too stretchy & creating holes sometimes before I got to filling them (so I just passed those over & didn't fill them). He still felt I was my fault, yelled at me to clean my station & grate some cheese for service. Youch.
I take full responsibility for needing to be faster, but half of that dough was useless! The thing with dough for any application is that there are no hard or fast rules for ingredient amounts. Humidity will affect how moist flour is. You shouldn't just add water because the recipe says to. You need to check the dough first & add it little by little. I had to take it on the chin that what I was working with wasn't good, & I didn't work with it as well. The only way that could have been helped is if I was more experienced with these little nightmares than I am. This is truly what pissed him off I think.
Here's the thing though: I still feel fairly good about yesterday. I mean, my dough hardly bunched while I was cranking it through the machine, & I never tore any, despite how much better it could have been. I also did my best at paying attention to his instructions & carry them out without reacting to him aggressively throwing things around.
So...do I want this job? Yes, if they want me there. Either way, I'm going to do my best while I'm there. I'm going back in tomorrow, & I'm going to ask how longer this stage is intended to last. After yesterday, I have a poor feeling about things. I hope they aren't just keeping me on to make their pasta when they have no one else to in the meantime.
6.10.2009
The oher shoe did drop.
After 28 years of being a full-fledged neurotic, I suffered from an anxiety attack for the first time ever on Tuesday night. Apparently, the stress of this British Literature class is getting to me. I felt a bit more validated when my extremely intelligent, bachelor degree-holding friend assured me that this professor was more demanding than most she had ever had encountered. So apparently, my fears of not doing well are not entirely unfounded.
At the end of my first quarter of culinary school, I remember having this downward spiral freak out. I was at my mom's apartment, & she aptly pointed out to me, "If you aren't perfect, or the best, you feel threatened."
Gasp! My own mother calling me out. The horror INDEED.
I think my will for getting shit done diminishes when I feel like I can't do the best job possible, even if it's just caused by a temporary mental block. I just shut down & disengage completely when it is most critical for me to stick to it. That's why I'm trying so hard to accept my 80% average in this class & try so hard to get through the toughest part of it. The worst part is, I'm a huge procrastinator, & I never seem to suffer too badly grade-wise for it. I wish I did, so that I'd knock it the fuck off already. Who wants to do well as a result of being dysfunctional?
So this all night panic attack. I think I tried too hard to swing in the other direction to counter-act my usual, 'I'll do it later' attitude, into 'Finish it now, asswipe!' I just need to learn to strike a balance without losing my marbles. Lord knows I don't want to take pills to be just normal functioning & not funtimes.
At the end of my first quarter of culinary school, I remember having this downward spiral freak out. I was at my mom's apartment, & she aptly pointed out to me, "If you aren't perfect, or the best, you feel threatened."
Gasp! My own mother calling me out. The horror INDEED.
I think my will for getting shit done diminishes when I feel like I can't do the best job possible, even if it's just caused by a temporary mental block. I just shut down & disengage completely when it is most critical for me to stick to it. That's why I'm trying so hard to accept my 80% average in this class & try so hard to get through the toughest part of it. The worst part is, I'm a huge procrastinator, & I never seem to suffer too badly grade-wise for it. I wish I did, so that I'd knock it the fuck off already. Who wants to do well as a result of being dysfunctional?
So this all night panic attack. I think I tried too hard to swing in the other direction to counter-act my usual, 'I'll do it later' attitude, into 'Finish it now, asswipe!' I just need to learn to strike a balance without losing my marbles. Lord knows I don't want to take pills to be just normal functioning & not funtimes.
6.09.2009
Amusing Freudian slip for you.
While typing up my paper on the history of women in professional kitchens, I meant to type, "...and studied privately with well-regarded chefs," but actually wrote "well-raged chefs". Total accident.
6.03.2009
Helter Swelter.
Dang, guys. It's hawt in Seattle right now. On April 29th, I tweeted that as a true Pacific Northwesterner, I pit-out on a 55°F day. Just imagine the state I'm in now! Or don't if it's too much for you.
Being that the weather here in the NW corner is becoming more agreeable to tourists, certain locales are just not as fun. The main one being Pike Place Market. I was there last weekend with my friend, & there were just too many people. Granted, there was some kind of street festival going on. (This just meant more booths with Space Needle watercolors & hammered-copper fish to mount on one's wall.) It was difficult to navigate & keep with each other, so instead of perusing, we settled on a patio with summery drinks. It did remind me of an idea I have that I think is really good.
Once a month, have the Market just be open to those of use from here. I know, that's pretty severe. Hear me out though: it's really frustrating to shop there when it is absolutely mobbed with tourists gawping at those fish-tossers, creating a human snarl at Piroshky, Piroshky (thanks, Anthony Bourdain!) & encouraging bad street musicians. How many of us would be more inclined to get groceries there if it wasn't such a frustration? I'm not saying people from here are exempt from being annoying, I just want less people there from time-to-time. I love it so much, I suppose I'm just being selfish. I don't mind tourists, especially as I am one myself when I'm lucky. I even gave directions to one today- thanks for coming & spending your do-re-mi here! Is it greedy to want an incentive for being a resident? Just as a 'thank you' for voting 'yes' on those pricey improvements?
An aside about those fish-tossers: they did one of those videos about on-the-job team work, which I've seen about two or three times during new employee orientations. They tried to make it- pardon me for using the following term- zany by cursing & acting super hard-boiled, but also repeating endlessly how important it is to work hard & be curteous. (Has anyone ever felt anything but insulted & condescended to when forced to watch those things? Make me watch that crapola if I act badly!) I couldn't find any of it on youtube, but there's apparently a book that must be an invaluable resource to HR peeps. A lot of people who buy this also purchased "Who Moved My Cheese?"
Who moved my cheese indeed!
Speaking of cheese & the Market, I didn't spend more than a moment at the Cheese Festival. The line was so long. I'm also not sure eating cheese in warm weather is really that enticing. & the important question is how long does a person spend in that line, about 200 vendors long, before our more lactose-intolerant friends begin to fart it up?
Let's all be greatful that the availablity of cheese is pretty constant.
Being that the weather here in the NW corner is becoming more agreeable to tourists, certain locales are just not as fun. The main one being Pike Place Market. I was there last weekend with my friend, & there were just too many people. Granted, there was some kind of street festival going on. (This just meant more booths with Space Needle watercolors & hammered-copper fish to mount on one's wall.) It was difficult to navigate & keep with each other, so instead of perusing, we settled on a patio with summery drinks. It did remind me of an idea I have that I think is really good.
Once a month, have the Market just be open to those of use from here. I know, that's pretty severe. Hear me out though: it's really frustrating to shop there when it is absolutely mobbed with tourists gawping at those fish-tossers, creating a human snarl at Piroshky, Piroshky (thanks, Anthony Bourdain!) & encouraging bad street musicians. How many of us would be more inclined to get groceries there if it wasn't such a frustration? I'm not saying people from here are exempt from being annoying, I just want less people there from time-to-time. I love it so much, I suppose I'm just being selfish. I don't mind tourists, especially as I am one myself when I'm lucky. I even gave directions to one today- thanks for coming & spending your do-re-mi here! Is it greedy to want an incentive for being a resident? Just as a 'thank you' for voting 'yes' on those pricey improvements?
An aside about those fish-tossers: they did one of those videos about on-the-job team work, which I've seen about two or three times during new employee orientations. They tried to make it- pardon me for using the following term- zany by cursing & acting super hard-boiled, but also repeating endlessly how important it is to work hard & be curteous. (Has anyone ever felt anything but insulted & condescended to when forced to watch those things? Make me watch that crapola if I act badly!) I couldn't find any of it on youtube, but there's apparently a book that must be an invaluable resource to HR peeps. A lot of people who buy this also purchased "Who Moved My Cheese?"
Who moved my cheese indeed!
Speaking of cheese & the Market, I didn't spend more than a moment at the Cheese Festival. The line was so long. I'm also not sure eating cheese in warm weather is really that enticing. & the important question is how long does a person spend in that line, about 200 vendors long, before our more lactose-intolerant friends begin to fart it up?
Let's all be greatful that the availablity of cheese is pretty constant.
4.27.2009
Clarification & some other things.
I don't want to leave my ten readers with the impression that I don't take accountability for myself, so let me explain something I should have prefaced my interaction with Chef Nelson Muntz with (rude, vest- get it?). I was at the bar in the restaurant with a friend, & our server caught wind of my being in culinary school. She then insisted on having Chef Muntz come out & meet me. I asked her not to- I was drunk! Nor did I have anything to say to him or ask him, which made interrupting him fairly pointless. If I had requested to speak to him & asked for advice, then yes, I would have then opened myself to his criticism. Seeing as how the whole thing was unsolicited by me, I thought it was a little much. The end. I'll continue to enjoy his place & consider his food as nothing short of spectacular.
Now for some good news. My friend, who incidentally was there during that bummer encounter, has helped me out in a big way. For my final project in my American Women's History course, I'm choosing to focus on women in the professional kitchen. I have to interview someone, & my friend hooked me up with a success & sassy chef he occassionally works with in her restaurant. She was more than happy to oblige, which makes me pretty excited. I'm glad I chose a topic close to my heart because I'm looking forward to picking her brain.
I was actually surprised to see that a lot of my classmates chose to focus on women as victims. I would never say it's not important to be aware of this, or that victims shouldn't freely voice their struggles. What I find weird & sad is that that many people wouldn't prefer to portray women in a more pro-active way, highlighting our acheivements. Historically, women have been doormats for the most part, but there are other topics that define women much more individually. I'll just need to procure a happy pill the morning of their presentation!
Now for some good news. My friend, who incidentally was there during that bummer encounter, has helped me out in a big way. For my final project in my American Women's History course, I'm choosing to focus on women in the professional kitchen. I have to interview someone, & my friend hooked me up with a success & sassy chef he occassionally works with in her restaurant. She was more than happy to oblige, which makes me pretty excited. I'm glad I chose a topic close to my heart because I'm looking forward to picking her brain.
I was actually surprised to see that a lot of my classmates chose to focus on women as victims. I would never say it's not important to be aware of this, or that victims shouldn't freely voice their struggles. What I find weird & sad is that that many people wouldn't prefer to portray women in a more pro-active way, highlighting our acheivements. Historically, women have been doormats for the most part, but there are other topics that define women much more individually. I'll just need to procure a happy pill the morning of their presentation!
4.26.2009
Feeling disenfranchised
Yes, 'disenfranchised'. I'm in a lame way, y'all. Even though quantity-cooking-cafeteria-sloptown chapped my ass, it was a lot better than no kitchen at all. & that's where I find myself. In no kitchen at all. It's a funny thing. I don't want an apprenticeship in some 70s-style lame-o resto that would take just about any self-hating student, but I also don't want my skills to rust. But the thing is, I felt what I was getting good at wasn't what we practiced second quarter. I don't know if I'm good is the result of those months! I have friends who keep telling me I am, but they're my friends. How do I know it's true? (To be fair to myself, I'm not one of those people love the Food Network & read Carol Blymire's latest blog to substantiate their inflated home cook egos. I know what I am, & I'm not even trying to over-romanticize my efforts.)
I had an experience amongst a bundle of disheartening moments at the end of my first quarter. The one I still can't get past involves a chef of a well-regarded regional Italian restaurant in the NW corner. He basically told me I wasn't truly into food because I was in culinary school. He said if I really cared about food, I would have just gotten a job in a restaurant. That was a hard pill to swallow. I had just spent almost $60.00 on a bottle of wine at his joint for him to take a pin to my dream balloon. I know he lived in Italy to then spend years in poverty back here to sell his pasta at farmers' markets, but I don't have that option, unless I would leave my beloved husband & subject myself to the misogyny of living as a single woman in rural Europe. No thanks!
But instead of encouraging me, he, in his dumb vest, dick-slapped me into thinking I was lesser. Love his food, hate him. I don't understand for one moment why chefs think it's OK for them to be anything but antagonistic & vain. You made great food (maybe), you didn't change the face of society, m'kay? So, stop taking long pulls from the haterade.
Ugh. I think that's one of the main problem with restaurants. They want to make you feel lucky & prompt you to spent money because you feel alienated from their conceited concepts. Fuck that. Most of the food we spend a lot of money to eat lately is essentially peasant food. So drop your silly attitude, Chef Shit Slice. Food is universal, not something you invented in your self-indulgent mood. Respect the ingredients & your audience. Especially those who take your vision to heart.
I had an experience amongst a bundle of disheartening moments at the end of my first quarter. The one I still can't get past involves a chef of a well-regarded regional Italian restaurant in the NW corner. He basically told me I wasn't truly into food because I was in culinary school. He said if I really cared about food, I would have just gotten a job in a restaurant. That was a hard pill to swallow. I had just spent almost $60.00 on a bottle of wine at his joint for him to take a pin to my dream balloon. I know he lived in Italy to then spend years in poverty back here to sell his pasta at farmers' markets, but I don't have that option, unless I would leave my beloved husband & subject myself to the misogyny of living as a single woman in rural Europe. No thanks!
But instead of encouraging me, he, in his dumb vest, dick-slapped me into thinking I was lesser. Love his food, hate him. I don't understand for one moment why chefs think it's OK for them to be anything but antagonistic & vain. You made great food (maybe), you didn't change the face of society, m'kay? So, stop taking long pulls from the haterade.
Ugh. I think that's one of the main problem with restaurants. They want to make you feel lucky & prompt you to spent money because you feel alienated from their conceited concepts. Fuck that. Most of the food we spend a lot of money to eat lately is essentially peasant food. So drop your silly attitude, Chef Shit Slice. Food is universal, not something you invented in your self-indulgent mood. Respect the ingredients & your audience. Especially those who take your vision to heart.
4.03.2009
Long pause.
I thought I'd give myself some time & post about my last few days of school when Paul & I got back from our trip. I didn't spend any time thinking about what happened at school because why would I think about a community college vocational program when I'm in fucking France? It did come up a few times in conversation, but I'll get to that some other time.
The last week of school was more hectic & higglety-pigglety than I would have imagined. It was understandable that we had to deviate from the assigned menu because our main objective was to clear out what was still left in the walk-in fridges & freezer. Not only is the program closed for Spring Break, but until fall quarter. There's remodeling interrupting us, as I found out by letter last September, as I was training the person to take over my job I had just quit. Haha.
So my group is on Entrée, which is funny because 'entrée' refers to starters, not mains...anyway. In this sense, it meant 'mains'. I felt well, prepared & ready for the week. I should have known this sense of control would be challenged. As little food was being ordered to avoid stock-piling, this meant every day Chef K would be letting us know the same day what we'd be making. So forget prep- it's just a slog that you fumble through the best you can.
Thursday, he did let me know I'd be making seafood risotto for small plates. I have to be honest, & say although I was excited to be making something that wasn't some hideously outdated, oily recipe from our text 'Professional Cooking', which invariable tasted like hopelessness. The bummer that niggled at me was the word 'seafood'. OK, 'seafood'. It's a word so broad, it reminds me of a cat can. (Actually, cat cans are much more specific these days...) It's like reading the words 'Mixed Grill' on a menu that comes with a picture of the item.
It's knowning you've spent three more months working at something you adore & want to be better at, only to be absolutely uninspired.
So I attempted to edit 'seafood', as in pretending I didn't see the 3-lb sack of bay shrimp. Do you know what those things remind me of? Dead baby's fingers. I thought calamari, mussels & bay scallops were a decent combo. He caught me negkecting the sack though, & he wasn't amused.
Chef K also had me make my risotto 'restaurant style'. This means after sweating your aromatics & toasting the rice, you dump in all of the stock, cover it, throw it in the oven & cook it 80% through. Then cook it the rest of the way as needed on the stove with the seafood. OK, I could see how this works, but I can also the the potential for this dish to be good is diminished. Risotto isn't something you can treat like a step child & expect to be delicious. Or can you? The results I got were mixed. The first batch was fine, but with the carry-over cooking, the following batches were over-done before I finished them on the stove. It didn't have the same creaminess. More like bloppiness. So I suppose you would only do that if it was going faster than mine was. Let's just say I hope the homeless shelter that gets our Friday left overs like bastardized Italian cookery.
I admit it's good I'm did this warts'n'all exploration, but I'm looking forward to cooking on the line next quarter. There's been so much chatter about who will come back, who won't make it, but I most interested in who just talks a big talk & who actually can put out a lot of quality food quickly. There are those there who go out of their way to leave the rest of us with the impression that they're light years ahead. If that's the case, I wonder why a person would be in culinary school if they're so talented.
My feelings on Chef K are just as mixed. On the one hand, he's good at pushing a person. On the other, he's difficult to understand & you can never know where you stand with the guy. He had me making up suki yaki plates on the last Wednesday, & never told me that I needed to make 2 quarts of rice. (We have a separate starch station, & to be 100% honest, I didn't know what exactly what suki yaki was comprised of, or that I was even making it until forty minutes into something else I was originally making.) Of course, he was pissed, & I was confused, then annoyed he assumed that I know what fucking suki yaki is. I had prepared noodles, so I didn't know about this other rice component- pardon me! I like sushi & noodles, but Japanese cuisine isn't my forté. At this point, I don't have a forté, but this was the least likely candidate. At least my cuts were nice & my carrot plum blossoms weren't wonky!
Chef K & I have a history of instability. I did make him hopping mad once when I couldn't understand what he was asking me. The angrier he got, the more inscrutable he became. The funny thing is, I had answered his question, rather accidentally, but he was so obsessed with being understood he couldn't have cared less. I think this incident locked-in his perma-irritation with me.
It probably peaked before that, when during class he asked what puttanesca was. I answered that it had garlic, anchovy, tomato, capers, olive. 'No bacons?!' he replied. 'Uhm, no bacons.' I think I should have left that one hanging. The look of complete disregard I'd become more familiar with had left me puzzled. Why so pissed? It doesn't have bacon.
But do I really care if he liked me? No, nor do I care if I like him, though I don't dislike him at all. I'm not one of those people who extolls on 'Chef is soooooo great, blah blah blah,' just because he's the chef instructor. I barely got to know the guy, & him me. This contingent of students in the program who think their ability is on par with how buddy-buddy they are with the instructors is so lame. & frankly, it's off-putting & self-important to go around acting like you have something over on anyone else because you drank a beer with Chef once.
This is what I know about myself: I have a long way to go, a personal style to develop & need to learn to trust my own instincts more than recipes or instruction. I really hope that being in school will give me the kind of space to cultivate these abilities. In the meantime, I've got to get a job.
The last week of school was more hectic & higglety-pigglety than I would have imagined. It was understandable that we had to deviate from the assigned menu because our main objective was to clear out what was still left in the walk-in fridges & freezer. Not only is the program closed for Spring Break, but until fall quarter. There's remodeling interrupting us, as I found out by letter last September, as I was training the person to take over my job I had just quit. Haha.
So my group is on Entrée, which is funny because 'entrée' refers to starters, not mains...anyway. In this sense, it meant 'mains'. I felt well, prepared & ready for the week. I should have known this sense of control would be challenged. As little food was being ordered to avoid stock-piling, this meant every day Chef K would be letting us know the same day what we'd be making. So forget prep- it's just a slog that you fumble through the best you can.
Thursday, he did let me know I'd be making seafood risotto for small plates. I have to be honest, & say although I was excited to be making something that wasn't some hideously outdated, oily recipe from our text 'Professional Cooking', which invariable tasted like hopelessness. The bummer that niggled at me was the word 'seafood'. OK, 'seafood'. It's a word so broad, it reminds me of a cat can. (Actually, cat cans are much more specific these days...) It's like reading the words 'Mixed Grill' on a menu that comes with a picture of the item.
It's knowning you've spent three more months working at something you adore & want to be better at, only to be absolutely uninspired.
So I attempted to edit 'seafood', as in pretending I didn't see the 3-lb sack of bay shrimp. Do you know what those things remind me of? Dead baby's fingers. I thought calamari, mussels & bay scallops were a decent combo. He caught me negkecting the sack though, & he wasn't amused.
Chef K also had me make my risotto 'restaurant style'. This means after sweating your aromatics & toasting the rice, you dump in all of the stock, cover it, throw it in the oven & cook it 80% through. Then cook it the rest of the way as needed on the stove with the seafood. OK, I could see how this works, but I can also the the potential for this dish to be good is diminished. Risotto isn't something you can treat like a step child & expect to be delicious. Or can you? The results I got were mixed. The first batch was fine, but with the carry-over cooking, the following batches were over-done before I finished them on the stove. It didn't have the same creaminess. More like bloppiness. So I suppose you would only do that if it was going faster than mine was. Let's just say I hope the homeless shelter that gets our Friday left overs like bastardized Italian cookery.
I admit it's good I'm did this warts'n'all exploration, but I'm looking forward to cooking on the line next quarter. There's been so much chatter about who will come back, who won't make it, but I most interested in who just talks a big talk & who actually can put out a lot of quality food quickly. There are those there who go out of their way to leave the rest of us with the impression that they're light years ahead. If that's the case, I wonder why a person would be in culinary school if they're so talented.
My feelings on Chef K are just as mixed. On the one hand, he's good at pushing a person. On the other, he's difficult to understand & you can never know where you stand with the guy. He had me making up suki yaki plates on the last Wednesday, & never told me that I needed to make 2 quarts of rice. (We have a separate starch station, & to be 100% honest, I didn't know what exactly what suki yaki was comprised of, or that I was even making it until forty minutes into something else I was originally making.) Of course, he was pissed, & I was confused, then annoyed he assumed that I know what fucking suki yaki is. I had prepared noodles, so I didn't know about this other rice component- pardon me! I like sushi & noodles, but Japanese cuisine isn't my forté. At this point, I don't have a forté, but this was the least likely candidate. At least my cuts were nice & my carrot plum blossoms weren't wonky!
Chef K & I have a history of instability. I did make him hopping mad once when I couldn't understand what he was asking me. The angrier he got, the more inscrutable he became. The funny thing is, I had answered his question, rather accidentally, but he was so obsessed with being understood he couldn't have cared less. I think this incident locked-in his perma-irritation with me.
It probably peaked before that, when during class he asked what puttanesca was. I answered that it had garlic, anchovy, tomato, capers, olive. 'No bacons?!' he replied. 'Uhm, no bacons.' I think I should have left that one hanging. The look of complete disregard I'd become more familiar with had left me puzzled. Why so pissed? It doesn't have bacon.
But do I really care if he liked me? No, nor do I care if I like him, though I don't dislike him at all. I'm not one of those people who extolls on 'Chef is soooooo great, blah blah blah,' just because he's the chef instructor. I barely got to know the guy, & him me. This contingent of students in the program who think their ability is on par with how buddy-buddy they are with the instructors is so lame. & frankly, it's off-putting & self-important to go around acting like you have something over on anyone else because you drank a beer with Chef once.
This is what I know about myself: I have a long way to go, a personal style to develop & need to learn to trust my own instincts more than recipes or instruction. I really hope that being in school will give me the kind of space to cultivate these abilities. In the meantime, I've got to get a job.
3.16.2009
New favorite (French) word: 'Pamplemousse'
There's less than a week and a half left of the quarter, & I'd be fibbing if I didn't say I looking forward to the next. Cooking giant quantities of one dish at once is so...lunch lady. Not that there isn't a place for lunch ladies- you just don't go to culinary school to do this. Unless your aim is to do buffet brunch at the Red Lion.
One major lesson is reconciling myself to repetition. It turned me off at first, but I realized it gives me an opportunity to improve my technique. (If you don't reproach yourself over it, your instructor will seize the chance.) You can easily get caught up in doing so many things, you forget to critique yourself. Or just ask yourself if you could have simplified your approach. At any rate, repetition is unavoidable, so it's best not to get too rankled by it.
I've been avoiding the whole navel-gazing thing on here since school got a bit difficult for a good three weeks. I had two overlapping sicknesses, one more freaky than the other, both since resolved. I had constant nausea & dizziness, which made just standing in the kitchen a nightmarish assault on my senses. I missed some days of school (I missed none last quarter), & under-performed more than my share. Well, my food was good & got out, it was just LATE, which embarrasses me to no end. Partly, this was missing school & not having my prep done. The other part was trying to discretely dismiss myself to barf. Let's just say my rotation in the dish pit could not have come at worse time (burnt food smells now occupy a special place on my list of dislikes).
The good news: Ladies & gentlemen, I am nearly restored to my healthful, robust self. I had Paul & Friends to take care of me, very good care. &...we're going to France! Paris & Epernay for spring break. The funny thing is, I can't have one drop of alcohol until I'm there. I can't envision a more perfect place to break a drink-fast. If only my doctor had prescribed a better pain reliever than 800mg of ibuprofen, it wouldn't seem so difficult. Paul did ease my troubles by taking me shopping though. Sorry- I hate braggarts too! It's just that I know I'm lucky when my husband understands that Alexander Wang has healing properties.
Enough about that: I'm just excited that I did well on this quarter's knife competency, breaking down a chicken. Again, that morning I was not feeling too hot, so I didn't do the lollypops. Somehow, pulling flesh inside-out was making me shudder. & the minute I spent bracing myself cost me two points. But the rest was spot on! Knowing that I would have done super-well if I hadn't been sick gave me more confidence to force myself to push through the rest of the week. I needed something; I almost folded & gave up a few times.
Next week, my group's last rotation is Entrée. I will ROCK the shit out of it. I'm no longer compromised, & I want to prove to myself that I am the cook I think I am.
Aside: I had to be sous chef (ugh, again!) last week. I wound up locking horns with someone who was going to lunch without putting food out. As we had next to nothing for s'lunch, this & my low blood sugar had me almost take a nose-dive over the edge into Slapabitch Canyon. He had plenty of excuses & colorful turns of phrase for me. I then got Taylor Dayne's 'Tell It to My Heart' in my head. Only it was more like 'Tell It to My Fart'. I didn't tell him to do that, but in future times, I will. If only to remind myself not to care that much.
One major lesson is reconciling myself to repetition. It turned me off at first, but I realized it gives me an opportunity to improve my technique. (If you don't reproach yourself over it, your instructor will seize the chance.) You can easily get caught up in doing so many things, you forget to critique yourself. Or just ask yourself if you could have simplified your approach. At any rate, repetition is unavoidable, so it's best not to get too rankled by it.
I've been avoiding the whole navel-gazing thing on here since school got a bit difficult for a good three weeks. I had two overlapping sicknesses, one more freaky than the other, both since resolved. I had constant nausea & dizziness, which made just standing in the kitchen a nightmarish assault on my senses. I missed some days of school (I missed none last quarter), & under-performed more than my share. Well, my food was good & got out, it was just LATE, which embarrasses me to no end. Partly, this was missing school & not having my prep done. The other part was trying to discretely dismiss myself to barf. Let's just say my rotation in the dish pit could not have come at worse time (burnt food smells now occupy a special place on my list of dislikes).
The good news: Ladies & gentlemen, I am nearly restored to my healthful, robust self. I had Paul & Friends to take care of me, very good care. &...we're going to France! Paris & Epernay for spring break. The funny thing is, I can't have one drop of alcohol until I'm there. I can't envision a more perfect place to break a drink-fast. If only my doctor had prescribed a better pain reliever than 800mg of ibuprofen, it wouldn't seem so difficult. Paul did ease my troubles by taking me shopping though. Sorry- I hate braggarts too! It's just that I know I'm lucky when my husband understands that Alexander Wang has healing properties.
Enough about that: I'm just excited that I did well on this quarter's knife competency, breaking down a chicken. Again, that morning I was not feeling too hot, so I didn't do the lollypops. Somehow, pulling flesh inside-out was making me shudder. & the minute I spent bracing myself cost me two points. But the rest was spot on! Knowing that I would have done super-well if I hadn't been sick gave me more confidence to force myself to push through the rest of the week. I needed something; I almost folded & gave up a few times.
Next week, my group's last rotation is Entrée. I will ROCK the shit out of it. I'm no longer compromised, & I want to prove to myself that I am the cook I think I am.
Aside: I had to be sous chef (ugh, again!) last week. I wound up locking horns with someone who was going to lunch without putting food out. As we had next to nothing for s'lunch, this & my low blood sugar had me almost take a nose-dive over the edge into Slapabitch Canyon. He had plenty of excuses & colorful turns of phrase for me. I then got Taylor Dayne's 'Tell It to My Heart' in my head. Only it was more like 'Tell It to My Fart'. I didn't tell him to do that, but in future times, I will. If only to remind myself not to care that much.
2.20.2009
Sous pressure.
My group this week was in sous chef rotation. Oy to the vey, you guys. It was all of the work- if not more- without out any of the fun stuff. I did occasionally delight in transforming leftovers into palatable food for student lunch (or 's'lunch' as I like to call it). What I did not enjoy was the sass I received when I had to ride people. Or when I told them they screwed up & needed to fix it. At least the following day it was all history.
Weirdly, the thing that bothered me the most today was when I sauteed some garlic in butter & olive oil for a ton of leftover fettucini. Chef said it needed cream (it had a sufficient amount of parmesan, fercrissake- gross pre-shedded American, anyway). I take issue with people who expect creamy, viscous sauces all of the time. Fuck, my favorite noodles are with butter & mushrooms. The older I get, the less I like those goopy, blobtacular foods. You just can't taste the food as well with all of that rich dairy coating your tongue. I'll save it for dessert, fanks.
I was so pained at the end of school today, I stopped for a couple of mimosas & a marzipan peach on my way home. I'm all better now.
Weirdly, the thing that bothered me the most today was when I sauteed some garlic in butter & olive oil for a ton of leftover fettucini. Chef said it needed cream (it had a sufficient amount of parmesan, fercrissake- gross pre-shedded American, anyway). I take issue with people who expect creamy, viscous sauces all of the time. Fuck, my favorite noodles are with butter & mushrooms. The older I get, the less I like those goopy, blobtacular foods. You just can't taste the food as well with all of that rich dairy coating your tongue. I'll save it for dessert, fanks.
I was so pained at the end of school today, I stopped for a couple of mimosas & a marzipan peach on my way home. I'm all better now.
2.09.2009
Dumb gorillas in the midst.
The past few weeks of school have been kind of boring. Two weeks ago, my group was on starch/soup/veg. Basically, we cooked what the first quarter students had prepped for us. That week was so dull I don't even feel like giving those days any distinction from each other here. I did learn that while grilling polenta cakes, one must use tons of oil or the cakes will stick to the grill like crazy glue. (Did you think I was going to say '...stick like crazy [period]'? Well, I wasn't.) Cleaning the grill isn't a big deal, but the grill marks that are supposed to be on the cakes won't come with them when they're removed from the grill. Good thing they have two sides to choose from for presentation!
Last week, we were in the bake shop. I was sort of annoyed at first because all we get to do is bake cookies & simple cakes. Never you mind that I forgot about three trays of cookies in the oven one day. I don't get it. I like cookies a lot, so I don't understand why I burn them half of the time. I never burn anything else I put in the oven. JUST COOKIES. I didn't learn anything new last week, but it was relaxing & the ambient temperature was very comfortable.
(Aside: [Pardon the Seinfeld Ovaltine/Roundtine tinge to this, please.] Cookies- they aren't cooked. Shouldn't they be called 'bakies'? Bakies even sounds better, besides relieving my minor irritation with that dumb other name. If I call them 'biscuits', everyone will just accuse me of being a Madonna because my husband's English. By the way, I still haven't heard her speak since her divorce, & I'm extremely curious to know if her adopted accent stuck.)
This is stupid for me to even mention because it's just so damned silly, but to flesh this post out, I'm gonna! Allow me preface what I'm going to say with something I learned during one of those ' The Making Of...'-type shows that featured Planet of the Apes. During their lunches, the actors wearing the gorilla costumes sat with those wearing the gorilla costumes, & the same for the orangutans & chimps. Silly! but there it is. It's ridiculous, but people tend to people like them. Anyway. There can sometimes be this...unease between the culinary students & the bakery students. I don't want to take sides because it's beyond moronic. My best guess is that it's mostly perpetuated by mean jokes about the pastry students that somehow make it back to them. Then again, there are a few who are plain weird (who I think a lot of these jokes are based on). During an assignment in our purchasing class, I was attempting to explain in very bare, simple terms an assignment to a pastry student. She looked at me with this blank expression, her mouth slightly hanging open, in the kind of way my cat does sometimes. The part I was attempting to get across to her was so doy, I instantly thought, 'No wonder you're in pastry.' Then there was the time I laughed at a truly cruel & stupid joke about them before feeling badly about it. I shan't repeat it! Well, e-mail me if you really want to know. I just don't need everyone who reads this to know how truly base my funny bone can be.
I know it's dumb to malign them all when it's really just a couple who are truly bizarre &/or dim-witted. Pastry is very exacting & requires a lot of precision. I suppose we dis them as much as we do because I've yet to see them work they asses off the way we (chose) to. That being said, they have plenty of joke material to mine off of us considering the dumb-dumbs in our midsts. There's actually a not very young man in first quarter for the fourth time. !!! I mean, don't you think it's greedy that the program keeps accepting his tuition money? I had to remind him three times in fifteen minutes to wear gloves when handling ready-to-eat foods. It went from a gentle reminder to a something very jarring. I heard what he called me, but it's not nearly as funny as what we call him. That's not so surprising considering his name for me was pretty humorless. Still, how many times will it be before all of this takes in his walnut-brain?
Besides that guy, there are the jerks & h8rz in culinary. Some of them are even pretty rude the the newer quarter students. Like me! But naturally, after a minute or two of shit talking, I don't care about the condescending students. I figure that if someone is taking that long to make me feel like I'm not doing it right, they're probably burning something. It's just unprofessional to try to lord over someone in such a pronounced way- I mean, you're still a student too, shit slice. At least I a. stab you in the front & b. wait to do on my free time in the bar. Like a lady!
Last week, we were in the bake shop. I was sort of annoyed at first because all we get to do is bake cookies & simple cakes. Never you mind that I forgot about three trays of cookies in the oven one day. I don't get it. I like cookies a lot, so I don't understand why I burn them half of the time. I never burn anything else I put in the oven. JUST COOKIES. I didn't learn anything new last week, but it was relaxing & the ambient temperature was very comfortable.
(Aside: [Pardon the Seinfeld Ovaltine/Roundtine tinge to this, please.] Cookies- they aren't cooked. Shouldn't they be called 'bakies'? Bakies even sounds better, besides relieving my minor irritation with that dumb other name. If I call them 'biscuits', everyone will just accuse me of being a Madonna because my husband's English. By the way, I still haven't heard her speak since her divorce, & I'm extremely curious to know if her adopted accent stuck.)
This is stupid for me to even mention because it's just so damned silly, but to flesh this post out, I'm gonna! Allow me preface what I'm going to say with something I learned during one of those ' The Making Of...'-type shows that featured Planet of the Apes. During their lunches, the actors wearing the gorilla costumes sat with those wearing the gorilla costumes, & the same for the orangutans & chimps. Silly! but there it is. It's ridiculous, but people tend to people like them. Anyway. There can sometimes be this...unease between the culinary students & the bakery students. I don't want to take sides because it's beyond moronic. My best guess is that it's mostly perpetuated by mean jokes about the pastry students that somehow make it back to them. Then again, there are a few who are plain weird (who I think a lot of these jokes are based on). During an assignment in our purchasing class, I was attempting to explain in very bare, simple terms an assignment to a pastry student. She looked at me with this blank expression, her mouth slightly hanging open, in the kind of way my cat does sometimes. The part I was attempting to get across to her was so doy, I instantly thought, 'No wonder you're in pastry.' Then there was the time I laughed at a truly cruel & stupid joke about them before feeling badly about it. I shan't repeat it! Well, e-mail me if you really want to know. I just don't need everyone who reads this to know how truly base my funny bone can be.
I know it's dumb to malign them all when it's really just a couple who are truly bizarre &/or dim-witted. Pastry is very exacting & requires a lot of precision. I suppose we dis them as much as we do because I've yet to see them work they asses off the way we (chose) to. That being said, they have plenty of joke material to mine off of us considering the dumb-dumbs in our midsts. There's actually a not very young man in first quarter for the fourth time. !!! I mean, don't you think it's greedy that the program keeps accepting his tuition money? I had to remind him three times in fifteen minutes to wear gloves when handling ready-to-eat foods. It went from a gentle reminder to a something very jarring. I heard what he called me, but it's not nearly as funny as what we call him. That's not so surprising considering his name for me was pretty humorless. Still, how many times will it be before all of this takes in his walnut-brain?
Besides that guy, there are the jerks & h8rz in culinary. Some of them are even pretty rude the the newer quarter students. Like me! But naturally, after a minute or two of shit talking, I don't care about the condescending students. I figure that if someone is taking that long to make me feel like I'm not doing it right, they're probably burning something. It's just unprofessional to try to lord over someone in such a pronounced way- I mean, you're still a student too, shit slice. At least I a. stab you in the front & b. wait to do on my free time in the bar. Like a lady!
1.23.2009
Pret à manger.
Last week was sort of a shock because I had no idea how difficult it would be to make so much food in a couple of hours. Tuesday, I was on sandwiches being sold to whomever it is that eats at the community college. I just hoped they would sell.
What I did: fresh mozzarella, arugula, roasted red peppers & tapenade on foccacia.
What I wish I could have done, but didn't due to lack of time: Thinly-sliced, roasted leg of lamb, mayo, red leaf & black pepper chips (yes, inside the sammie) served warm on a multigrain. Also would not have worked because the stuff garde manger makes is kept in a refrigerated case.
Le sigh.
Well, life sure ain't fair, but I'll tell ya: I'm relieved I didn't choose to go with a meat-focused sandwich. I didn't have a day prior to do prep, & having to roast meat would have eaten up too much time. I sold all but two, so you know, things turned out OK for my meatless one. A fifth quarter student really dug my tapenade, but I didn't agree. I decided to leave out the anchovy so there was no mistaking that it was vegetarian, so it lacked that depth.
Wednesday I cringed about twelvety times a minute. I was on salads, which couldn't be more straightforward. First quarter does most of the prep, so it's a matter of assembly & making some dressing. Whoopty shit, you're thinking. Well, I was in a flop sweat because the amount I was told to make of the "Pacific Rim (job) Salad" wasn't enough. I attempted to bolster it with a lot of Chinese cabbage, but even then it was still as flat as my grandma's ass. Chef K read me the riot act, so I let him know that was the amount called for on the menu plan. He tells me I needed to put mixed greens under it. So basically a salad under that salad. I knew it wasn't worth pointing out that made no sense at all, so I just did it all over again with frilly pieces of lettuce underneath the cabbage underneath the actual salad. Hrm.
My Thursday/Friday sushi rotation went much better. Fridays are our small plates day, when all kinds of weirdos buy 55¢ tickets that are exchanged for, doy, small plates. It's a total steal because nothing is over few dollars. Thursday, I did passably well on the maki, but on Friday everything clicked into place. I maki stayed sealed when I cut it. It had the right amount of filling to rice. The ends were as good as the center cuts. Everything made it out on time. It looked pret-tay, pret-tay, pret-tay good. My inner Larry David, which is always quite pronounced, was intensely smug.
What I did: fresh mozzarella, arugula, roasted red peppers & tapenade on foccacia.
What I wish I could have done, but didn't due to lack of time: Thinly-sliced, roasted leg of lamb, mayo, red leaf & black pepper chips (yes, inside the sammie) served warm on a multigrain. Also would not have worked because the stuff garde manger makes is kept in a refrigerated case.
Le sigh.
Well, life sure ain't fair, but I'll tell ya: I'm relieved I didn't choose to go with a meat-focused sandwich. I didn't have a day prior to do prep, & having to roast meat would have eaten up too much time. I sold all but two, so you know, things turned out OK for my meatless one. A fifth quarter student really dug my tapenade, but I didn't agree. I decided to leave out the anchovy so there was no mistaking that it was vegetarian, so it lacked that depth.
Wednesday I cringed about twelvety times a minute. I was on salads, which couldn't be more straightforward. First quarter does most of the prep, so it's a matter of assembly & making some dressing. Whoopty shit, you're thinking. Well, I was in a flop sweat because the amount I was told to make of the "Pacific Rim (job) Salad" wasn't enough. I attempted to bolster it with a lot of Chinese cabbage, but even then it was still as flat as my grandma's ass. Chef K read me the riot act, so I let him know that was the amount called for on the menu plan. He tells me I needed to put mixed greens under it. So basically a salad under that salad. I knew it wasn't worth pointing out that made no sense at all, so I just did it all over again with frilly pieces of lettuce underneath the cabbage underneath the actual salad. Hrm.
My Thursday/Friday sushi rotation went much better. Fridays are our small plates day, when all kinds of weirdos buy 55¢ tickets that are exchanged for, doy, small plates. It's a total steal because nothing is over few dollars. Thursday, I did passably well on the maki, but on Friday everything clicked into place. I maki stayed sealed when I cut it. It had the right amount of filling to rice. The ends were as good as the center cuts. Everything made it out on time. It looked pret-tay, pret-tay, pret-tay good. My inner Larry David, which is always quite pronounced, was intensely smug.
1.19.2009
Re-cap of past weeks I've neglected this blog & then some.
The knife competency happened & it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. The problem was everyone (esp ME) was so nervous it felt like doing well was impossible. I'm not saying if I was in complete control of my nerves, I would have gotten 100%. I do know that when the person who was student chef that day attempted to push me around, & I let it rattle me. I can only speak from my own experience of being student chef of first quarter students in a culinary program of a community college, but somehow I didn't let this dizzying glory go to far to my head.
(I will admit I really wanted to slap a bitch when it was my turn to oversee our kitchen. She's the type that's all talk & no effort. She rolled her eyes at me when I told her to pick up the pace as she took thirty minutes to peel a couple pounds of carrots. Could you imagine someone rolling their eyes at moi? Needless to say, I repeatedly ignore her Facebook requests for friendship, & she has recently dropped out of the program. Don't let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya!)
Now it's the second quarter, & I feel a lot less intimidated by the running around & mental organization & giant mixers. In fact, using the equipment is the easy part because there's only one right way to do it. With food, there are so many variables & details that rely on the cook's skills & judgment, doing it one way every time will get you into trouble.
In case I was under the impression that I may have some taste & ability, I have the second quarter chef instructor to put me in my place. He's the kind of person that can tell when you have a question, & you can tell he's put out by having to be the one to answer it. He's an old Japanese man with a great sense of humor & humanity...which is what makes his criticisms so much more harsh. He shares them with an immense amount of displeasure, & you're left feeling horrified that the guy who is nearly a cartoon character he's so buoyant is bent out of shape by your dumb question about how much bread to order. Obviously he just wants to inoculate us against the sort of treatment we should expect to receive, rise above it & all that, but that's easily forgotten when he gives you that look of intense irritation.
Tomorrow is actually my first time back in the kitchen. The first week was just going over a zillion syllabuses, & for me, getting used to being upright in the morning. Last week, I had to wait tables in one of the school's cafés. Having done this for a living, I think it's stupid there's no way to opt out of this. I don't have to have to take the measurements class because of my math credits. Can't I bring in a list of references & not pay tuition for it? It's just silly to have to dress like I work at The Keg & "learn" to remember to bring peoples' food to them. If you can't already do that, you might just be lacking common sense.
This week, my group & I are on garde manger, responsible for ready-to-eat items. I've read the recipes, listed the equipment I need to pull, what my first quarter gopher can take care of. I've also written in my tiny steno pad a bunch of salad dressing ideas I can do in my sleep so that I'm not stumped about it when I'm balls-to-the-wall busy. Or to hand off to whatever poor first quarter is stuck with me. Successful quantity cookery = mental (preparedness + agility) + speed.
(I will admit I really wanted to slap a bitch when it was my turn to oversee our kitchen. She's the type that's all talk & no effort. She rolled her eyes at me when I told her to pick up the pace as she took thirty minutes to peel a couple pounds of carrots. Could you imagine someone rolling their eyes at moi? Needless to say, I repeatedly ignore her Facebook requests for friendship, & she has recently dropped out of the program. Do
Now it's the second quarter, & I feel a lot less intimidated by the running around & mental organization & giant mixers. In fact, using the equipment is the easy part because there's only one right way to do it. With food, there are so many variables & details that rely on the cook's skills & judgment, doing it one way every time will get you into trouble.
In case I was under the impression that I may have some taste & ability, I have the second quarter chef instructor to put me in my place. He's the kind of person that can tell when you have a question, & you can tell he's put out by having to be the one to answer it. He's an old Japanese man with a great sense of humor & humanity...which is what makes his criticisms so much more harsh. He shares them with an immense amount of displeasure, & you're left feeling horrified that the guy who is nearly a cartoon character he's so buoyant is bent out of shape by your dumb question about how much bread to order. Obviously he just wants to inoculate us against the sort of treatment we should expect to receive, rise above it & all that, but that's easily forgotten when he gives you that look of intense irritation.
Tomorrow is actually my first time back in the kitchen. The first week was just going over a zillion syllabuses, & for me, getting used to being upright in the morning. Last week, I had to wait tables in one of the school's cafés. Having done this for a living, I think it's stupid there's no way to opt out of this. I don't have to have to take the measurements class because of my math credits. Can't I bring in a list of references & not pay tuition for it? It's just silly to have to dress like I work at The Keg & "learn" to remember to bring peoples' food to them. If you can't already do that, you might just be lacking common sense.
This week, my group & I are on garde manger, responsible for ready-to-eat items. I've read the recipes, listed the equipment I need to pull, what my first quarter gopher can take care of. I've also written in my tiny steno pad a bunch of salad dressing ideas I can do in my sleep so that I'm not stumped about it when I'm balls-to-the-wall busy. Or to hand off to whatever poor first quarter is stuck with me. Successful quantity cookery = mental (preparedness + agility) + speed.
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