Cats On Toast

In response to Veracity Flog.

2011-06-24T20:04:00.000-07:00

It's never what you think it's going to be, & that is doubly so when you aren't certain of something to begin with.

"This is childish. You're so concerned with having the last word, aren't you?"

It's not as much as I wanted the last word as much as I wanted there to be no more words. How could someone I had only known for a few weeks rankle me so badly that I wished for a shelf of tchotchkes I could knock down in one fell swoop. So I also wish I had hardwood floors instead of this remnant carpeting. Brown can hide a multitude of sins, but the nap will absorb your energy without making a sound to show for it.

While I half-listened to Wallace rant on about my decidedly— to him— puerile behavior, I searched in my head for signals that I may have missed along the way which would have indicated that it was going to unfold like this. A mutation in the genetic structure that made this pairing unsound & would have eventually meant cancer. It was there all along, but it was too small to notice until things went south suddenly. The symptoms picked up speed at a breathtaking clip, like a shiny thoroughbred approaching the first gate.

I could live without any of this. The tedious graciousness of listening to someone I'm barely familiar with dissect my personality made my bones ache. It's not as though any of us is beyond admonishment, but how often do we get to receive it from someone we know socially who doesn't even know an eighth of our lives? An eighth of an understanding of me is all I'm asking. Can't this task be reserved for those who have seen me through much more than some tacos & a magic show?

I think I used to feel things more for people to this over-the-top degree. I remember taking a bus across town in the pissing rain to see a boy seven years ago. I was wearing a thin coat that didn't do much other than make it appear as though I was covered when I was suffering from about the same amount of exposure as I would without it, & a pair of flats I knew would fill from puddles & never be the same. My father would not approve of such an impractical choice of footwear, & I would think to a pair of pink sneakers he insisted I wear in 1993. The flats were not the same after that- the leather lost some luster, & the stress wrinkles were slightly puffier. It was worth it, to give up a few more months with those shoes that I had to work five hours to pay for just to have seen the expression on the face of that person who took me in & appreciated my effort. That expression might have been the entire point of our relationship. This memory, stood on its own, does suffice for me, after all that was said & done.

I would not do that any of that now. Now, I would expect someone to meet me at some halfway point, & if it rained, I would just wear boots. I have more sense & less abandon, & I couldn't expect Wallace to understand this. Had he an inkling of twenty-three-year-old me, she would be his preference. She was volatile & self-sacrificing to a fault; these days, I try to be more measured. She spent the last of her paycheck to fly to be with someone for only four days. I no longer cringe when I look back on it, but I cringe to think of those missed signals that stated in all capitols not to board that plane, absolutely so.

Baudrillard says we find the value of something in the differences from other somethings, and the value of Wallace & that of myself was decidedly stark. It had all been a process of elimination is all, & the code for protein in a fruit fly is going to be the same code that is within us. You start with the similarities until you find the fork. Now I veer left, you go right.

I knew I had arrived at the part of the fork where I could no longer see him going his other way as I listened to him start a yarn on a yogi. His tone took that of a substitute teacher trying to endear himself to a class full of children who regarded him with mild contempt for being so unfamiliar. It made me squirm, but I was too curious about how he was going to bring it home to cut him off. "It was a gift to know this yogi." Yogi what, I was dying inside to ask, but something in me said that maybe he never knew a yogi, that this yogi was a means to illustrate a point I hoped for him to arrive to faster. "The yogi was always performing acts of charity, & while he improved a lot of lives with his acts-" 'his acts'? He's saying this like he's giving a eulogy. OH WAIT, I get it, this IS a eulogy, which means the end is so close you can nearly grasp it like a fruit dangling near your reach! You've grazed its skin, so you know at some angle, some way, it will be yours!

"...while he improved a lot of lives with his acts, there was something in his...his manner...it...it just didn't sit well with me. Like...like there was this egotism to his charity. I respected what he did, but I just felt a certain impersonal, kind of detachedness from him." I felt this hotness spread through me, like phantom hives as I began to understand the parallel he was drawing. It was too late to stop him because my curiosity, as it is wont to do, had already dug its dirty claws into me. Apparently the faithful way I cling to my personal truth is off-putting to the lad in such a way that I throw off some kind of chill. I'm a freezer, preserving my hermetically-sealed notions, & when opened up I will emit some arctic blast that compels those well-intentioned, warm-bodied men curious about my insides to slam me shut after some minor investigation. Brace yourselves boys, she's a frosty one!

The end came before I saw it. His tone shifted from grotesquely ginger to warp speed so quickly it could snap a calf's neck. "Itwasnicewhileitlastedgoodbye," call ended. His was the low-hanging fruit of the last word, that acerbic, wormy little crab apple of a thing. I walked into my bathroom to watch myself laugh in the medicine cabinet mirror, laughing more when I noticed how big my teeth look.

Cleansiness*

2010-07-28T10:14:00.000-07:00

Preface to my post:

I have to admit, I've been taken aback by how many people have been asking me why I haven't been updating my blog. Thanks, dudes! I didn't know that many people read it (I don't usually get much feedback in the way of comments...clearly my old LiveJournal spoiled me). I mostly wasn't updating out of sheer laziness, & to a lesser extent everything I felt compelled to write about was far too personal. I know! I used to write about whatever I was peeving or exciting me at that moment (again, LJ), but when you're married, you have to be a little more discreet. (Now, I just relegate those topics to conversation with a handful of like-minded friends.) Apparently, in my head, UTIs are fair game. But that's as far as I'll go! Though I'm about to mine some other somewhat personal territory. My treat to you!

A few weeks ago, a trusted adviser recommended that I do a Candida cleanse. (If you don't know what Candida is, I hope you're a gay male.) I took her suggestion seriously, despite the fact she decorates her office with crushed velvet (OK, I sort of find that charming). I knew she was onto something because I'd been feeling a bit low & tired, & if this cleanse was going to help correct any of this, I was more than willing.

Willing, but nervous. The last time I had to follow strict dietary advise was almost exactly a year ago. It was handed down to me from my acupuncturist, & for a month I was supposed to eat from a very narrow list of foods that excluded dairy, sugar, anything fermented (read: BOOZE) & some other strange items I forget. The information & list were poorly translated from Japanese, & suggested I do eat frog legs, ume & carp amongst other things. (I did wind up getting a hold of some ume.) I lasted two weeks of the month I was supposed to adhere to the diet before completely losing my shit. Barley congee for breakfast, followed by a handful of radishes? I could barley handle it. (Sorry.)

Here's the gist of the current diet: No dairy unless it's cultured cottage cheese or plain yogurt, nothing fermented, no sugar, no fruit except Granny Smith apples (which aren't in season here, so forget that too unless you enjoy mealy fruit that's been shipped from Chile), berries are OK after the first week, no starch, not even whole wheat or spelt, no mushrooms, no processed anything. At first, it just sounds kind of daunting, but when you realize how many things are fermented- vinegar & soy, for example- & how many things contain vinegar & soy or how palatable those two items make vegetables, it almost makes you think your best bet is to skip the store & just start foraging at the park for your meals. I'm sure grubs & crab grass are alright!

Thankfully, my vegetable & whole grain cooking game is solid. I don't see how anyone who doesn't like to cook or lacks a general grasp of recipes could stick to this. You have to prepare everything yourself usually, & if you're staring at a salad of under-seasoned/spiced, over-cooked quinoa & mushy broccoli, you're bound to get depressed & chuck the whole program with your sad failure of a dinner. Variety is key, but if you can't see the possibilities residing in your greatly-reduced list of comestibles, you're shit out of luck.

I went straight into it on the morning of Monday the 19th, & I've been faithful to the regime for the past week & a half (I can start incorporating foods back into my diet on the 5th of August). About three days after I started, I found this herbal kit that was also recommended to go with the cleanse. I've taken Chinese herbs before, which worked well for me at the time, but I was skeptical of this kit at first that I could just buy at a health shop, without a practitioner writing a prescription of a blend of things best suited for me. I did decide to give it a go after I noticed on the site that customer reviews aren't screened, & they were mostly really positive with a few bummer ones. That kind of transparency usually puts me at ease.

Paul & I have the kidlet for a weeks of summer from his mom, & I thought that if I'm going to have to go booze-free, the easiest time would be when I'm responsible for the well-being of a child, amirite? Haha, that's a fucking joke, dummy. Wine is one of the best ways to decompress after the demon seed is put to bed. Of course, I did this also realizing that I'd be making my own meals along side theirs, but I've become adept at making what I need in advance so that I'm not cooking anything with divided attention. No one suffers, mostly!

For the first three days, I felt haggard. It's hard to tell if that's because I was with a seven-year-old all day, just the two of us, or withdrawal from sugar & delicious drank. Most likely both. My teetotaler step-mom had told me the worst part of giving up drinking was lying in bed, being kept awake by the myriad of thoughts she used to be able to ignore with self-indulgence. Yes, exactly this. It's hard to explain exactly- I'm not an alcoholic, & I don't drink every night- but it seems like booze & certain foods that are starchy/sugar, "comfort foods" really are precisely that. This fog of false comfort makes everything seem so much easier going, until you realize you're vaguely sick all of time. I hadn't realize how many bad habits I had accumulated.

It's not as though I had been routinely devouring crap; it's more like a lot of little things that built up. I've been totally aware of this for a while. The thought to do something similar had crossed my mind many times since my past failure at balancing my overly-wet qi. It seems every time I've attempted to plan to do this (yeah, not exactly throwing myself into it), there were upcoming lunches/dinners, someone's birthday, a show, SOMETHING that made me decide it wasn't a good time. Also, we all have had some friend or acquaintance who undertakes such a thing & cannot shut their fucking faces up about it long enough for you to change the subject. That's the last person I want to be. I know this girl who was hanging out with our mutual friends & me one night who wouldn't stop prattling on about her macrobiotic diet (what is that, anyway?) that we essentially dropped her off on the street corner & headed for a bar. OK, there was a lot more to it than that, but self-obsession was the source of it. So I made a rule for myself not to discuss it if someone asks me why I'm not eating a hot dog or drinking at the show.

In case you still think I'm a lunatic, or that my Naboo facilitated some kind of soul-switching between me & Susan Powter for the sake of my physical health, let me list for the benefits of this cleanse so far.

1. The mental health bit

So part of my problem was mostly emanating from my impetuousness. As in, if I want a little something, I'll have a little something, even if it's a poor, thoughtless choice. This never just applies to food or booze. Being more mindful of my choices & their consequences reminds me just how much control I can have if I care to wield it. I know that sounds incredibly cheesy, but it does because it's so very true. If you're living in a fog, you can't see clearly. TRUTH.

2. Self-awareness & acknowledgment of what I had been doing to myself all this time

Also, you start to re-prioritize a lot of things. I thought I was going to starve, initially, even though I'm getting everything I need from my food without everything I don't. I've remembered why a treat is called a 'treat'- because it's supposed to be something you don't usually enjoy, not something that comes after every dinner, or just because you feel like it. Though a treat isn't just something sweet, a treat can be as simple as a nectarine or a hunk of crusty baguette with a smear of demi-sel beurre. Those two things aren't horrible taken on their own, but when you realize much of what you eat consists of such simple pleasures, you realize you haven't done much to substantiate having them. You get free bread at the restaurant, so you eat it. You have to order a side of veg extra, so you don't. I order a glass of champie because lunch with so-&-so can be slightly unbearable otherwise, which is why I excused having three. Every little concession you make is usually representative of five others!

If you've ever made a lot of meals at home, you're usually more conscious of how much say, cream you're adding to your sauce. (In a restaurant, they add as much salt/cream/butter as it takes to make you feel delighted at full at first bite, but compel you to eat moremoremore.) This cleanse takes cooking a step further from being judicious about 'naughty' ingredients. You have to get creative to make things delicious. I like this. Also, all of that vegetable chopping puts you in a meditative state. See, it's all good for you!

3. You knew I was going to go there...regularity

I think this speaks for itself. Women, you know you're more sensitive to your diet than men. I'm sorry to point this out to you, but you know it's true. No, I'm not discussing weight- in fact, I'm not discussing that at all in this post.

4. Enjoying myself in a genuine way

Like I mentioned in 2., drinking can get away from you. DUH. I met up with an old, dear friend I hadn't seen for months the other night, as it was her birthday & she's leaving the country soon. I was going by myself (as I get older, it's harder to convince friends to come out on a Monday night), & I do suffer from social anxiety a lot. If I'm not drinking. & I hadn't seen her for a while, so was sort of worried that I might run out of things to say. I was also concerned that I wouldn't be able to relax & be myself without a nip of nectar if I had to talk to people I don't know well or never met before. Yeah, I was just fine. OK, so I did wait for her & her boyf to arrive outside the club because a room full of strangers sends me into a flop-sweat, & I did leave at 12.30a because I was began to feel claustrophobic. I still had fun despite my hang-ups, so there you go. I'm sure it takes some practice getting use to anyhow.

5. More energy

Tons more, & I feel less frazzled. I can focus a lot better too. Hell, I've written this straight through, pausing only to feel out the next part & re-read/edit.

6. Skin

My face is- BONG- clear as a bell. Also, believe it or not, my cellulite as improved after just ten days.

I won't lie to you though. It's been a challenge, even though it's gotten easier. I had to make a dessert for a lunch at my parents' house, not to mention, bring my own lunch. I've had to watch my loved ones eat luscious-looking food. I can't stop thinking of the variety of sheep's milk cheese we had at the local Basque joint a few weeks ago. The worst has actually been not be able to taste my cooking if it's not intended for me. I had to ask Paul if the Bolognese I made for him & Nick had enough salt. I'm thinking that maybe though, instead of just hitting the re-set button on my body that I'm also doing that to my palate, my approach to food indefinitely.

*In case you didn't know, 'cleansiness' was an eggcorn somewhat famously spoken by this horrible person on the show, The Real Housewives of New Jersey, in lieu of 'cleanliness'. If you already knew that, I love you that much more.

A couple of things regarding my previous post.

2009-11-16T09:39:00.000-08:00

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?

Patient, heal thyself!

2009-11-16T00:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Thicker skin, thinner pasta.

2009-07-13T10:20:00.000-07:00

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.

The oher shoe did drop.

2009-06-10T22:11:00.001-07:00

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.

Amusing Freudian slip for you.

2009-06-09T22:09:00.001-07:00

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.

Helter Swelter.

2009-06-03T14:54:00.000-07:00

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.

Clarification & some other things.

2009-04-27T13:33:00.000-07:00

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!

Feeling disenfranchised

2009-04-26T02:20:00.000-07:00

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.

Long pause.

2009-04-03T14:58:00.000-07:00

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.

New favorite (French) word: 'Pamplemousse'

2009-03-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

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.

Sous pressure.

2009-02-20T16:29:00.000-08:00

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.

Dumb gorillas in the midst.

2009-02-09T18:32:00.000-08:00

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!

Pret à manger.

2009-01-23T14:59:00.000-08:00

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.

Re-cap of past weeks I've neglected this blog & then some.

2009-01-19T11:35:00.000-08:00

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. Do~~n'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.

About that Turkey breast...

2008-11-21T00:10:00.000-08:00

...I'm stealing an idea from Alex Guarnaschelli & covering it with cheesecloth dipped in melted butter. OK, I'm set then!

"'Cause it's all about control..."

2008-11-18T21:06:00.000-08:00

Should I really be feeling as triumphant as I am for scoring what I did on the MarthaStewart.com "Which Thanksgiving Side Dish Are You?" quizzle. A score only 5.99% of those who took it received, beeteedubs:

You are undoubtedly
Savory Sweet-Potato Souffles.

You aim to impress with everything you do. You appreciate elegance and showmanship. You've been planning your Thanksgiving feast for weeks now. This holiday season, there'll be no canned soup in your kitchen.

Oh, I've been planning. This Thxgv'g is a special one because Paul & I will soon be in a new place that will accommodate the fucking amazing dining table & chairs making their way to us now. I ordered my organic Diestel turkey a week ago not even knowing where we'd end up because I knew this year was going to be the year. What year?

THE YEAR I'M THE BOSS OF EVERY THXGV'G COMESTIBLE. In my home, anyway.

First things first: do I brine the bird or not? Well, I was going to, until Harold McGee disabused me of this plan. Like I'm going to let watery gravy happen in my kitchen! I'm not bummed about the breast getting dry because I eat that 1 part meat to one part canberry sauce. Oh, that's no typo. I only like Ocean Spray cranberry sauce WITHOUT chunks. It's so delicious, I can eat it with a spoon. I also love the "fffwop!" sound that happens when it comes out of the can in one semi-solid, indented mass. LOVE.

Next is gravy. I'm making stock for it as soon as I can unpack my big pot. & just like my Grandma Nadine, I'm augmenting this viscous delight with the neck meat & giblets. Meat with a side of meat, y'all.

Dressing. Yes, 'dressing', not 'stuffing', which is what I would call it if I was to shove it up my bird's cunt. But I'm not. Ciabatta, mirepoix, some of that affore-mentioned stock & pancetta. OK, I ganked this from Giada de Laurentiis. So what? I would add the chestnuts, but Paul does not like them (weirdo! I think the soft texture & nutty flavor is perfect). Just because I'm the boss of this endeavor doesn't mean I can't be benevolent.

The green beans I'll cook with combination steam/sauté. Sautéing 100% makes the beans wrinkly, & 100% steaming is just...so sad. I plan to dress them with minced shallots, mustard, & butter they will cook with. I cannot abide by the horrific gut-bomb that is green bean casserole with the canned onion thingies. Unless if maybe we're talking bechamel instead of cream of mushroom soup. That I can't accommodate on my stove top room-wise.

This next component is an homage of sorts to a good friend of mine who I've spent Thxgv'g with the last four times. Waldorf Salad, with spicy roasted walnuts. What's not to like? Thin slices of tart Granny Smith apples, sweet & earthy carrot, spicy walnuts, creamy dressing. If I was one of those people who spent more time & energy on salads, I would make this at least once a week.

Lastly, in a nod to Paul's birth place, he will be making Yorkshire puddings. I would say we're having these in lieu of dinner rolls, but dinner rolls are the dog's breakfast compared to Yorkshire puddings. A little turkey drippings in the muffin tin, batter, in the oven, & out comes the most poofy, soft & satisfying starch I've ever stuck in me gob.

Whoa! I said 'lastly', but I forgot about the cheesecake. No pumpkin pie because apparently I'm married to a total hater. W'evs! I like cheesecake more anyway.

I have a mental list of everything I can prepare in advance to avoid collapsing under the weight of my own expectations on the kitchen floor. Wine should help, though.

Stained & drained.

2008-11-13T22:29:00.000-08:00

Staying up to do laundry, yeah yeah! (I was singing that more than saying that.) What an ass-pain white is. They (as in the faculty) have really put the screws to us about our uniforms being spotless & pressed. Sometimes, I iron in the morning before class because the night before I was too lazy to bother. As I'm pressing half-awake, occasionally still drunky, I think I'm seeing stains, or that my coat isn't really white & I won't notice until I get to school. Ugh! Besides inducing paranoia, the uniforms are messing with some of us.

I'm not afraid to admit I'm still not used to mine. The pants are of this heinous-anus small b&w check fabric that hasn't softened despite repeated washings. The cut is ridic; exaggerated hips, & the legs are far too short. If only I could transfer the superfluous hip fabric to my ankles. The coat is OK, though for a small, the trunk is very baggy on me. The hat...oh, the hat. It's a white skull cap that threatens to pop off my head from my hair being shoved up in it. The thing leaves a mark on my forehead when I'm finally able to take it off. Makes my small head look even tinier, which contrasts the hip-y pants & apron on top of them. Top everything off with a pair of skid-resistant clogs, & my friends, you've got yourselves the most sexless outfit you've ever done seen.

I get that "it's not supposed to matter," & ultimately, it doesn't matter that we look silly. It's fairly clear that the men-folk couldn't care less... Of course, the uniform was made for men, so why should they? Some of them look handsome in it, but most just look well-suited.

I, on the other hand, feel like it enhances everything I try to play down. I have my own system of doing this in my "street wear": Got a small head? Have lots of big hair. Hips kinda wider than your bust? Wear tight pants. Even though I'm not even thinking about what I look like when I have to meet deadlines prepping & cooking food, when I catch a glimpse of myself in uniform, I recoil internally. I know some of the other women feel the same. It's nothing worth dwelling on, but it's a reminder that stings & serves a purpose. It's not about sexy (or more to the point, if anyone can tell if we're hot underneath the layers of fug), but that we have an opportunity to be obscured enough physically for everything else to matter so much more.

God help ya if you're a butterface.

Now I promise never to use "butterface" ever, ever again.

You better WORK.

2008-10-13T16:05:00.000-07:00

So my day as group leader was the most fun I've had at school yet. We finished our prep early, & we did well. (So where were our props, Chef Instructor G? I mean, let a person know sometimes.) I actually wish we spent more time doing prep because I'd actually like to get to the point that I'm not questioning my technique. I mean, that's primarily why I chose to go to school instead of working from the bottom up in some grimy kitchen. The lectures are just so completely dull & ramble-y I wish I could peace-out of them without failing. I mean, tell us something we can't learn on Wikipedia!

I also find myself biting my tongue a lot during lectures so that I don't sound like some shit-heel know-it-all. Por ejemplo, he spoke about white pepper & wine, but didn't even mention rotundone, a chemical responsible for the fact that I think white pepper smells of cat feces. I learned that by subscribing to the Dining & Wine section of the NYT on my Google Reader, homies.

No matter. The humbling thing about devoting yourself to learning about food is that if you lived in every moment of humanity's doomed existence, you still wouldn't have learned a tenth of it. As many times as I hear, "It's all been done before," I can't help but think, "Good thing most of us don't know about it."

Aside à propos of nothing: Everytime he demonstrates with his hands the difference between the sides of a sauteuse & sautoir, he reminds me of RuPaul. "Sauteuse, sautoir," might as well be "Sashay, sauté!"

Picture yourself as a weed whacker...

2008-10-07T20:02:00.000-07:00

You guys ever hear the phrase "in the weeds"? It's an oft-used phrase in kitchens to describe the lonely, anxious state one finds his/herself in as they struggle to complete tasks they are not doing fast &/or good enough.

It was also how Chef Instructor G described my group today.

I will preface this with an admission of guilt: I did not have my mise en place list prepared for tomorrow, when I'm group leader. Pulling the products from the walk-in was easy, but quickly & accurately forecasting every piece of equipment nearly was ridiculous. I had to make an extra trip to the stockroom (not very economical with the movements, are we?). When I went to the second quarter chef instructor for my protein, I was thrown a curve ball. The menu's protein was changed, so I had to exchange equipment & products, not to mention dig like mole to find enough pork tenderloin. THIS IS EXACTLY WHY PREPARATION IS KEY. Had I come prepared, the protein switcharoo wouldn't have been as much of a set back.

This evening, as I prepared my plan of action for the group tomorrow, I realized I hadn't forgotten to pull anything. That means I won't start my day with what Kathy Griffin refers to as "pre-diarrhea", which for someone like me, could turn to actual diarrhea that I won't have time to deal with!

Tomorrow will be an easier going day, or so I hope.

Things get interesting.

2008-10-06T12:08:00.000-07:00

Blogger's block! I need to be more diligent about this.

So the first quarter of the program works out thusly: when you aren't in classes, you're spending time in the kitchen prepping, assisting second quarter students, bussing, stocking, doing dishes, filling in where you're needed most in any of those groups (tournant), or acting as the sous chef. Yes, 95% of it is bitch work, & that's a point. I get nervous knowing I won't be spending a lot of time with my knives. I have a knife competency looming above me at the end of the quarter scares me when I take two minutes on one onion. However! I rock at suprêmes, so there's that.

I spent most of last week in the second quarter kitchen. I decided not ask for things to do, but find things to do. If you have to ask, I think it's more of a statement that you don't know what you're doing. I may grab the wrong utensil or take too long to sautée carrots, but I'm inspiring more confidence that if I was standing around looking flummoxed, ya know?

So I wasn't sure if the second quarter students I wound up under were entirely disinterested in my extra pair of hands, or if they just weren't organized. I found myself gravitating to other students to answer questions, or demonstrate something for me. That is, when they weren't stepping in to do so without solicitation. It's kind of nice knowing who's going to be your rock when shit hits the fan. I also appreciate that never at any time has someone mocked my unhoned skills.

At least not to my face, which is also awesome!

The more rocky experiences were valuable exercises illustrating the importance of preparation (mise en place really is everything) & learning economy of movement. There's a reason why the good ones make it look easy— because they spend a good deal of time planning every aspect of every dish down to the peppercorn. I wouldn't even be surprise to know if they learn to time their bowel functions to avoid interruption.

Tomorrow, I'm back to prep in the first quarter kitchen, which I admit to being relieved by.

Coffee, forced socialization, orientation, quails' eggs.

2008-09-29T16:36:00.000-07:00

Without any reasonable excuse, I've already fallen behind on my project of documenting my culinary school experience. Yeah! that's what I'm doing here.

Last Tuesday (the first day of school) started in a very diarrhea-inducing way. Everyone was e-mailed about a mandatory orientation that started at 8.00am. There was a meet'n'greet sort of deal with coffee & pastries, during which I spoke to no one. I'm not my most effervescent with strangers if alcohol isn't available. I largely spent the first half hour glancing around, sipping coffee (which I didn't have much of because more than six ounces will give me the shits) & getting out of the way of people who were clumping together near me. I unsuccessfully avoided one chick who kept swishing her hair around, telling everyone about her ten days in France. People who act braggart-y about travel sicken me because they like to make their audience think they're more well-rounded then them, ignoring the fact that most people can't afford to travel.

An assembly followed, & all of the instructors said a little something along the lines of being passionate culinarians, sustainability, yeah yeah. One woman in particular stood out. I'm not sure of her association with the school, being that she is a restaurant critic. I'm sure it was mentioned, but I didn't start paying attention until she had the mike. (I'd prefer not to say who she is as she struck me as they type who gets Google alerts on themselves, & for the obvious reason that I'd rather not burn bridges before my career begins.) She started out by telling us what she had made her child for breakfast, which she called "Mommy's Muffin" (sounded pornographic to me, but to a woman wearing a banana clip in her hair...obviously not). "What I do," she said, "is take a cwah-sont [note: I don't mind that she pronounced this correctly, but her emphasis was absolutely ridiculous, like she was trying to remind us 'this is how it's said'], slice it in half, fry quails' eggs, QUAILS' EGGS. Yes, my child eats QUAILS' EGGS." She went on about how well her child eats, & how she hopes he/she becomes a chef.

I'm not sure if this struck anyone else in the theater the way it did me, but it seems awfully assinine for her to want her child to do anything in particular, & more so that she thinks cooking her offspring specialty items will encourage it. (For the record, as a child, I was lucky if my mom could afford Kraft Cheese & Macaroni, which was infinitely superior to the Western Family three-boxes-for-a-dollar kind. Of course, WF was better than having to rely on whatever ancient Hamburger Helper some suburban fam donated half-heartedly to the food bank we sometimes relied on. If anything, this make me appreciate that I am now lucky enough to eat as well if not better than mommy's muffin muncher.)

She then went on to give us her life story (which illustrated how well some Americans luck into shit, yet act as though they worked their way there, ha. I'll be nothing if not candid, my friends. I wouldn't even be in culinary school if my husband didn't do so well, though the rest is up to my ass). At one point, she discussed her writer's block on a Valentine's Day article, which then led to her singing lyrics she made up about wanting nothing but a good meal, sung to the tune of "My Romance". You know when you get the feeling someone's going to sing, & do so in a sincere manner? & it makes you feel extremely tense & uncomfortable? That was how that was for me.

After the show, we shuffled off to our classes, where we read many syllabuses.

(Week one, to be continued...)