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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.