Smoked it!

The quarter has come to a close. Thank God. It really seemed like a long 10 weeks. It however, ended on a seriously good upnote. I smoked it!! Smoked it like a Cuban cigar, baby. It started with my proteins final. The practical went very well. We had to truss and clean a pork tenderloin. Then, fillet a fish, fabricate a chicken, and french out a rack of pork chops. I did well. I made all my yield percentages, kept a clean workstation, finished on time, and did a mighty fine job if I do say so myself. The very pierced TA was in charge of grading us. He was also in charge of grading us on our appearance. Ironic, coming from a man with giant rubber tires (minus the hubcaps) in his ears and several barbells in his face. His jacket looked like it had tea stains on it and there was a hole in his pants. A hole big enough to put a fist through. Really? You thought I should press a "T" into the back of my jacket? I think you should go back home, take a look in the mirror and start your day over. Now, if you gave me a good grade--more power to you. Pierce away. Oh, did I mention I got a 96% on my written test? Brag, brag, brag...

Breads was another matter completely. I usually consider a 65% a pretty good showing on her tests. I was nervous and studied pretty hard. I usually make up for my poor written grades by my practical exams and dazzling personality. Well, it was a backward week. I got a 100% on the written test. Yes, a 100%. It was a 5 page long essay test on the qualities and properties of breadmaking. I even remembered the names of the bacteria that give bread its flavor. I was astounded.

Our bread practical was a bit trickier. We submitted two bread recipes and then she messed with them. We were supposed to be able to predict what those changes would do to the breads and their flavor. I really thought I had a handle on it. In a way, I guess I did. I knew what went wrong when it did. And boy did it. The multigrain loaves were so sour and weird that they were inedible. She wrinkled her nose and started giggling. The brioche loaves were good though. They could have been better. I cut down the eggs when I should have added another. They weren't the worst loaves though. My friends came out grey--they looked like they were right out of a sooty fireplace. Grey is not an appetizing color for food. Ever. She said she's had it with this culinary business.

I did save myself with my bread dough plaques. They were mighty cute. I've included a photo--

Until next quarter--

Meat

This has been a weird semester. The two classes I'm taking are so different from each other--in both subject matter, class make-up, and hormone levels. Proteins last week was all about sausage. We were given a lecture last week and again this week about sexual harassment in the workplace. It did little to curb the mouths of the boys. I admit, inappropriate comments were on the tip of my tongue several times but I'm supposed to be a grown-up. When you are dealing with yards and yards of casings and fitting it over a long tube it gets difficult. The sausage shoots through this tube and fills the casing. The boys couldn't take it any longer. It started with snickering and then came the meat jokes. It was quiet but they were there. There are only 4 girls in this class so it becomes hard for these boys to keep it together. I think it's a whole mob mentality thing.

I will say that my little group made really great sausage. We were on veal and added cloves, nutmeg, sage, and a little fresh-squeezed orange. It may sound weird but it was really good. Now I don't eat sausage. Well, let me correct. I don't eat sausage in casings. I can't deal with that pop it makes when you break through. Not to mention the horror of what most sausages are made from. I can live a very happy fulfilled life without the sausage product. But Tuesday I took a risk. Not a big one--I had made the sausage and it wasn't in a casing but say what you will, I ate the stuff.

Our class of boys has begun to gel. It is loud and obnoxious and I wouldn't want to teach it. Frankie has begun singing again so she must be out of her funk. The "Frenchman" who stands in front of me is a soft spoken lovely man. He is called the Frenchman because he stands hunched over and looks like he should wear a beret. He may even wear a kerchief. I can't tell. But I think he might. The know-it-all is still telling us how we should do it but I've learned to tune him out. Our TA is a saber wielding, heavily pierced man who really likes to process meat. Really likes to. A lot. My table partners have been great. The woman next to me is a former military person and is as precise as you can imagine. The other table mate has been in the business for 25 years. I've learned a lot from both of them. Our final is tomorrow. It will be the same test as the midterm. Only faster. I'm not worried. I never get anything different than a B from this teacher.

Enough for today. My bread written final is Thursday. I will be lucky to pass. Bad idea to take a class from a doctorate in chemistry. I'll let you know how it goes.

Full Moon

I swear to God there was a full moon this weekend. More crazy shit happened that made no sense--so much so that I don't even know where to begin. So I won't. I will not bore you with tales of teenagers and tweeners. This is why I went to school right? To have a little bit of sanity all to myself? The kind you don't take home with you at night. The kind that doesn't wake you up in the night knowing full well you've failed at parenting. Every other day during the week I get to sneak away to my own private crazytown. A crazytown that makes me feel pretty normal and my problems pretty petty. I get to escape into a kitchen and work really hard for seven hours. I am an equal. I am not responsible for anyone but myself. I am free.

I listen to my fellow students lives and problems. Many of them have it hard. One student told me he had to save up to buy real vanilla extract. I realized how lucky I am. These people are just beginning their lives. They are getting married, boyfriends going to Afganistan, caring for young children. I have very little to complain about. It puts me in my place very quickly.

This week I made brioche. It is heaven that you make with yeast and eggs and flour. It is heaven that you eat with a smile that creeps over your lips and you aren't even aware of it. It is the stuff cinnamon rolls are made of--that don't come from a can. (Come on, we all do it.) I lined a pan with this wonderful dough and poured a sweetened custard on top so that it baked up like cheesecake. It was glorious. It takes, however, a long time to rise. It is so full of goodness that it takes forever for the little yeasties to make it billowy. I can't wait until tomorrow when we get to taste the fruits of our labours. One braided masterpiece was filled with almond paste and cinnamon. Oh, is that the angels singing?

Protein class just keeps getting more and more out of control. I think this is what happens when you combine a roomful of men and raw meat. The meat jokes just keep on coming. Put a whole baby lamb on a table and just watch the fun begin as the youngters play with the head. Isn't this just super funny that he is watching us cut him up? Yeah, if I was 16. And male. And retarded. Tell us, know-it-all science student how its muscle fibers work. Regal us, irritating boy with stories of how you do that at home. Please, talk over our instructor. I'm just here waiting breathlessly for your next witty comments. We processed lamb leg for what seemed like hours. Make sure your butcher does that for you. Not a do-it-yourself project. Then we took apart a whole rolled beef shoulder. Again, make friends with the butcher. It takes a long time. But one student works at Pizza Hut and brought us dinner again this week. But now we are all standing around talking and not working. For the love of God people, let's just get this done and get out of here! I want to go home to my family!! Wait, did I say that? Out loud?

Edna

Forgive me dear readers, for I have been out of town. I am sure you wait patiently each week for my exciting new post, but alas, I had to run away for the weekend. But before I left I had the joy of attending my bread baking midterm. Or, in other words, The Thursday Massacre. Oh, I had such high hopes. I had gotten an 11 out of 20 on my quiz. Actually a fairly decent grade for one of these quizzes. My extra credit answer saved my grade from being a 50% to a much higher 55%. I was baking bread with confidence. I was working my baker's math with precision. Baker's math is a complicated seeming way of figuring out how much of everything you need to get a one pound loaf or ten loaves or whatever the baker needs according to the baker's percentage. Simply put, the flour always equals 100%. So, you got it, the formula may be a total of 312% or 249%. Confused? Yeah, me too. But not so much any more. I aced my baker's math test. I was confident. Flying high.

We were told to produce 6, 12 ounce baguettes. I whipped out my pencil. I did some quick calculations. I am a superstar. Looking around the room I'm feeling even more confident. It seemed everyone was working with 5 pounds of flour. It sure seemed like a lot though. I mean a lot. When it was fermenting it grew to even more. It was really getting big. I was sure I could feed most of Whole Foods with the amount of dough I'd made. I'm thinking at this point my math was off. Way off. But so was everyone else's! Surely the test must be flawed! Which in this chef's class is kind of like saying my computer must be broken. It couldn't possibly be operator error. It is ALWAYS operator error. I forged on anyway thinking that more was usually better but I was wrong. She just shook her head as she always does with me.

I formed my cute baguettes, I thought magnificently. She thought otherwise. I thought my bread was tasty. She thought it was tasteless. I thought my raisin bread was really well done. She said it was supposed to have really big holes. It was a massacre. I was not alone. There was blood on the walls after she got through with us. I am, though, a good slasher. I make nice slits in my bread. Everyone needs a little something to hang on to, I guess.

Do you know the movie "The Incredibles"? Disney, superheroes, red suits? Great movie. One of my favorites, I have to admit. Edna, the character who makes the super suits, dahling--is my teacher. She is a living, breathing, carbon copy of Edna. She is fantastic to watch. Especially now that I've put two and two together and gotten Edna. I couldn't figure out for the life of me who she reminded me of. I am not alone--someone from another class sculpted her out of marzipan. She is fabulous dahling!

Gary

It was pointed out to me that I haven't written for a couple of weeks. I don't know what I've been doing that was more important than informing my faithful readers as to my doings. I'm sure you all wait breathlessly each week for my new post. I think that perhaps there are fewer weirdos and crazies in this semester's classes. Or worse, I'm just becoming used to the nuttiness. Or worse than that, I'm becoming one of them! (gasp!!) My midterm in protein fabrication was Tuesday. We had to do a group project about a different protein. It was silly. I love technology but this seemed like just busy work. We had to make a power point presention about this protein. Then we had to break down said protein in front of the group. This took forever. Then each class member had to ask a question. Painful. Then we got down to business. We broke down a chicken, cleaned up a pork tenderloin, and filleted a flat fish. I rocked the chicken (70% yield, thank you very much), kinda sucked a little bit with the pork, and almost threw up while filleting the fish. It smelled so nasty that I had to breathe through my mouth. I'm sure that made my breath bad and for sure chapped my lips. I could hardly concentrate on what I was doing because of the smell. I got through it though. I can never figure out how this chef grades us so I can't tell you how I did.

I really like my breads class. Gary, our boy student, has been a source of constant humor. He is married (!), a construction worker by day, and seriously ADHD. He is about my age, very tall, dark skin, and majorly flighty. He killed his baby bread starter the first week. I'm not sure how but it was a smelly soupy mess. We put a pinch of malt in it the first day. We were told to take one cup of the total mess out, throw the rest away, and to that add a cup of water and a cup of flour. Do this twice a day and voila! You get a bacteria ridden, sweet smelling mess. Okay, not right away. It smelled like vomit and smelly feet. It was horrifying. It grew out of its container and tried to take over my kitchen. However, after a few days it smelled like good beer. Always a pleasing smell. Now Gary didn't exactly do any of this. I don't know what he thought he was supposed to do but he ended up putting carnation instant breakfast or something in his because he said it contained malt. He never dumped out the excess. He added water and flour and the carnation instant malt. I was put in charge of teaching Gary how to take his starter and start over. We did a walk through of what to do at home. He saw someone outside our class and ran off. We started again. Then his phone rang. Started again, disappeared again. This time I got serious. I said that he was acting like a toddler and so I was going to talk to him like one. He laughed so hard I thought he was going to need psychiatric help. We got the job done though.

Every single class Gary screws something up. He puts his fermented dough on the ovens. "No Gary", chef says. He adds fruit and extras. "No Gary", chef says. He soaked raisins and oats in warm water for some strange reason. "No Gary", chef says. He laughs at himself for being such a loon. But every bread he has made has been my favorite. Hands down. I don't know how they turn out so well. It's a mystery. Chef just shakes her head. We all gobble his bread.

Gary asked me the other day why I wasn't in class on Tuesday. He told me he asked everyone in the class where I was. He said he looks forward to having me in class so that he can listen to my voice. I don't take class with him on Tuesday. He laughed and said that explained why everyone was looking at him like he was nuts. I told him I didn't think it would be the last time. Oh, Gary...

Grown-Ups

When i was 22 and fresh out of college with my psychology, art history, french degree I was thinking I was pretty hot shit. I guess we all do when we are young and don't realize we are stupid. I had written papers on soaring cathedrals and the ability of art to change thinking and hence, the world. Pretty heady stuff, i assure you. And I could do it in french. And also predict how that would make you feel. Take that! How things change...This week I wrote a paper about pork. Yes, pork. Now, I did talk about the social ramifications of the barbeque in the antebellum South. But still, pork. I look back at myself at 22 and I'm a little embarrassed for me. I feel that way about some of the youngsters in my protein class. There are two men who for some reason feel they need to bang on their chests during every class. They need to let you know how they do (insert task) and why it is better than the way you've been doing forever. These two men wanted to let our chef instructor know how they do things now. Not in her day. Which I might add was not that long ago fellas. We need to site studies, for god's sake, about red meat preferences for the kid who said he likes his well done. Who cares how he likes his! Are you eating it? I was mopping at the end of class and one of these whippersnapper kids came and took the mop away from me. I thought it was to be polite to the old lady. Oh, no. I was doing it wrong, he told me. If I turn it this way it will work better, he said. I said, "mop's all yours, kiddo". I apologize to all those I showed off to. I apologize for every Newsweek article I sited with glee. No, I didn't become the french speaking, psychoanalyzing art historian that I had planned on. But I think I'm much less annoying than I would have been. I am starting to appreciate being an out of work, mom-student that I said I wouldn't become. I like sleeping in and watching The View. I didn't change the world with my brilliance. I think I'm the better for it. I know my family is. And I've learned to keep my mouth shut sometimes. Not everyone wants to hear what I have to say all the time. I know, it's hard to believe. I wonder what will be the topic tomorrow that the boys will compete over to be the smartest and bestest at doing. I hope they can dazzle the old farts in the class about, say, chicken skin.

My bread class is mostly women so we don't have these beat your chest competitions. We are all dressed the same so we can't judge each other's outfits. Our heads are covered so we can't gawk at each other's hair. So we get along. We bake. We eat. We converse. There are no competitions. And on a lighter note, Gary told me I had a voice that could be on radio. "Girl," he said, "I could listen to you talk all day." He is my new best friend.

Feed Me Seymour

I know, I know. I said I was done with the bakeshop. I couldn't help it. What's not to like about bread? Other than the excessive chemistry and math, what could go wrong? My chef instructor already knows I'm not super talented in the baking department and she still seems to like me. She gave me a B last quarter even with all the crazy pastries I produced. I think bread could be a good thing for me. I like to work with my hands. I loved beating on the puffed pastry and danish doughs. I sense success.

This class is full of the same 4 girls from my proteins class. The lovely girl that was my partner last quarter is by my side again this class. We are a group of all women. Except for the one very tall, slightly effeminate man. I don't know if we should even count him, to be honest. There is as much estrogen in this class as there is surging testoterone in the other. I may even be able to reverse the inevitable menopause that is surely creeping up.

We made baguettes today. Yummy, fresh, yeasty baguettes. Gary (the boy) made honey butter to go with. I can feel myself getting fatter. We also made a starter for some sourdough bread we will be making in three weeks. It is like a little science project that we get to take home. It consists of two kinds of flour, water, and malt. It will grow and ferment. It will become alive! I took it home and I need to feed it every day. Twice a day for 9 days, I will need to feed this thing more flour and more water. It will grow and bubble from the yeast it gets from the air. And it grows bacteria. Yes, all you germaphobes, bacteria. It is what gives bread its flavor. Who knew? I named mine Edgar. I really like the book Edgar Sawtelle and felt a good way to honor Edgar was to name my starter baby after him. But on second thought I should have named it Seymour. Then I could shout "feed me Seymour" at will. Loudly. Maybe I should visit the bread started baby office and have its name changed.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

It's been a while! School started yesterday and with the beginning of school I think it appropriate to write the traditional "What did you do on you summer vacation" essay. It was an interesting summer for sure. Unlike other summers of pool sitting, washing beach towels constantly, and applying sunscreen. I worked hard. I stupidly enough volunteered to help with our kitchen and dining room where we spend our summers. I knew it would be a bit challenging but I was naive. The first cook we hired was so perfect on paper I figured this was going to be so easy. I wouldn't have to do a thing! Silly me. She was nuts. She couldn't cook. Everything came out raw. 'Cause everybody loves themselves some raw chicken! That lasted a week. On to the next chef. This guy was great. He is an ex-navy cook and was willing to do anything or learn anything. We enforced some rules, tightened up the ship, buckled down, and brought down that budget. What I didn't expect was to be actually working in the kitchen. I baked my ass off. I prepped meats and veggies. And although I complained about it, I rather enjoyed myself. My family, on the other hand, did not think all of this was swell. "You're going back down there? How long this time???" But the summer ended on a good note.

School started for the children so crazy early that I have had several weeks to get really bored. I have been baking like crazy. I've made some meals that came near to making me weep. (The wine never helps the weeping.) I murdered some lobsters on my own because I had a craving for a really good lobster roll. I watched a lot of CSI reruns. I have grown fat and lazy. And just when I thought I might melt into my couch I started back to school. Thank God.

This fall brings us Protein Fabrication and Artisan Breads. I started yesterday with the proteins. This class teaches the student how to cut up meat, fish, pork, chicken, and other tasty morsels. We started class off with a bang. After a rather long lecture--you know the one, it begins every class since the beginning of time--the syllubus, policy and proceedures, dealing with students on the waitlist, what to expect this year, etc. I spent my time looking around at my fellow students and sizing up the group. There are a lot of men in this class. It figures though. They are all a bit bloodthirsty deep down. The singing pastry student from last quarter joins me. I can't wait to hear what will inspire her singing for this quarter. Probably heavy metal. Or something from Sweeney Todd. Most of the group looked rather overwhelmed. I know I was. We started lab by butchering a whole pig. The blood didn't bother me. Seeing his poor little head with his eyes closed as if sleeping didn't bother me. The smell did get to me a bit. What really bothered me is that I was hoping to eat some of this really fresh pork. I hadn't had a snack in anticipation of our feast. But no. Other classes get to eat it. Other, less deserving classes. We'd done the work, damnit. We prepped pork tenderloin and ground fat and meat for sausage. We frenched bones for beautiful pork chops. Then we sopped up the blood and went home.

Tomorrow is my bread class. It should provide some interesting things to write about. It might just be worth staying in the baking classes so that I have something funny to say. It is always a most interesting group. I'll keep you posted.

Oddity #2

So this weekend was a doozy of yuck. It was off to a great start. It was utterly gorgeous here and after a lovely dinner and sitting on the porch, I said good night to the troop spending the night and went to bed. Then I realized I had forgotten to get the stain out of my white pants and I headed to the laundry room. It was darker than usual, as all the timers had kicked off. My dog is big. Really big. And he has a habit of laying right in the threshold of doorways. It was dark, the floors are dark, he is dark, and I was in a hurry. Not a good combination. The whole calamity ended with me either breaking a rib or severely bruising one. Not fun, I assure you. Thank god school is out and there is nothing to do but stare at your toes. Great way to kick off the summer! Not as bad as showing up on the first day of summer school at 8am when school actually starts tomorrow. Bummer for you Owen. Hee Hee!

School's Out

I've been very anxious this month. Can't seem to catch a deep breath. You know, once you start worrying about catching a deep breath, you can't seem to do it. I thought it was because of the kitchen remodel but once that finished the anxiety didn't go away. My kids are actually being fairly delightful (I know, right?) so that doesn't seem to be it. A huge amount of the anxiety went away after my soup/sauce final and low and behold started to build again right before the pastry final. I think it is starting to abate now but I think it may take a day to come down from last night.

If you'll remember we had last week to prepare all of our doughs for the big test yesterday. After a tricky written final about all sorts of crazy details related to pastry, we headed into the kitchen. All the groups seemed really organized. Even the dream team was hoofing it. When I was studying for my test it came to my attention that perhaps I had over folded and over worked my puff pastry and danish dough. I warned my team that this could be a full on disaster but there was nothing I could do about it now. I had never made the egg, bacon, cheese pockets I had planned to wing either. This was my entire group of items I was in charge of. No safety net whatsoever. The other groups were having their series of failures as well. Poor Bob the Anesthesiologist. He had these lovely financiers that were baked perfectly and someone shoved a tray in on his rack and they popped out the other side--face-down on the floor. Luckily for Bob he had extra dough. Unluckily for Bob it happened again. A girl in our team ruined this batch. At that point he just picked them up, dusted them off, and presented them anyway. Good for Bob. I would have done the same thing.

My egg, bacon, cheese hot pockets turned out splendidly. The baked up all golden and lovely. I don't eat eggs but I was told they tasted great too. I had a ton of danish dough so I made a lemon and blueberry braid. It was really pretty so I made two of them. I whipped out some pinwheels which came out looking a little crazy but it is amazing what you can do with blackberries and glaze. We had a huge grouping of really tasty desserts all laid out in a big spread for grading. Overall we did well. My danish dough turned out awesome and the folks were impressed. Not bad for the second time I'd ever made it. Nothing was perfect but I'd have given us a solid B+. I'm pretty proud given that we started out in the dumper.

I can't say I'm going to miss this class but I learned a lot. I learned that I really like making Danish dough. It is very physical and really fascinating. I don't think I will ever be in a class with so many kooky personalities. I will miss Nick's ascot and furry driving goggles that he wears for his moped. Frankie's singing even grew on me. She says it has been a problem in her other classes. Cocoa Carol dropped at some point but I appreciated her physical comedy. Bob was always enjoyable to chat with across the table. I'm sure the dream team has another class in mind to take next quarter. They are good hearted and loved to bring us little presents. I like presents.

I'm looking forward to having a break. I know I'll be chomping at the bit to get back once the summer is over. I'm ready for the pool and the lake and maybe singing lessons?

Time

So, my birthday was yesterday. A fairly insignificant one (41) but I got to thinking about what has happened since the last one. A year ago I was newly unemployed from a job I dearly loved and at a bit of a crossroads. I was turning 40, my kids were fairly settled, and we were in our home for just about a year at that point. I had been working in the art gallery with gorgeous jewelry and paintings all around me for the past few years. I loved who I worked with and the customers I worked for. Not all the customers, there were some real bitches that came in that store but for the most part it was positive. The idea of going to culinary school had always been in the back of my head. I had attended some classes and really enjoyed them but they seemed "home chef" speed. I wanted to know how to really debone a chicken. For real--not just the grunt and pull garden variety deboning. The real deal. Why? I don't have a clue. I wanted to really know how to make all those fancy desserts. Not just the Wilton class at the craft store. So I went for it. I had success in the intro classes but I haven't learned a ton up until this quarter. This quarter kicked my ass. I felt stupid for the first time in one of these courses. Both of the courses. I learned a lot.

My soup/sauce class finished up last Thursday and I am still processing that final. We were stagger-started so that we all weren't showing up with our finished products at once. The best part? We were given a commis. I know, what's a commis...A commis is a fancy term for kitchen bitch. We had a student that started later than us to assist. Then we, in turn, kitchen bitched for him. Thankfully I got Kevin who knows his way around a kitchen really well. He anticipated everything I needed. We had to start with the sauce we made the previous week and bring it back to life. I kinda forgot about that so I didn't get mine warmed up as well as I'd liked. It tasted good though. Then we had 2 hours to make a caramel sauce, chile oil (took me 2 tries--the first attempt looked like burned crap at the bottom of some red oil), and put two plates on the table. Each had to consist of a meat, starch, veggie, and a sauce that we'd made from the pan. We were completely in the dark as to what the vegetables and meat would be so I had to drum up several scenarios in my head. I went with a summer salad as the protein was steak but the veggies were slim pickins. Luckily I was in the first group so I got a half a pepper, some brussels sprouts, and a potato. I roasted the potato, pan seared the meat, yummified the veggies and served it all with a too-warm vinaigrette. I really wanted everything to be room temperature but I ran out of time. It looked really pretty though. All pinwheeled beneath the meat. I was slightly impressed with myself. After my evaluation, I went to work for Kevin. He hardly needed any help so I ended up in the dish pit. That damn dish pit.

Tomorrow is my last final of the school year. I am taking the summer off. Next fall I'll take protein fabrication and artisan breads. I know I said I would never take another baking class but I like the idea of all that yeast and kneading. This summer has such a different feel to it. I think it is because of this new direction of mine. Last summer I was at a crossroads but this birthday I have a plan. Albeit a loose one with no end game but I look forward to the journey.

Floating

You know that place somewhere between sleep and being awake? Usually happens when a cold is on the horizon? That was me last night. Even though I was pretty convinced I had not been asleep last night I'm also pretty sure that I wasn't in a kitchen making sauces either. Especially given that the baker supreme in our class was next to me all night frantically making chocolate sauce to go with her meat. She was convinced it would be great. That leads me to my classes this week. Pastries was extremely relaxing for a change. We did meringues. I think they are a waste of good sugar and lots of eggs. They are fun to make however. I did find myself getting into the batter because it tastes like frosting. Once baked though they are a bummer. The ovens at school are really large pizza-like ovens. So when you bake a meringue at a temperature that is too high they kind of ooze sugar bubbles. Or their insides ooze to the outside. It was fascinating. We made oeufs de la neige. Snow eggs. These are meringue blobs that you poach in milk and serve with creme anglaise. Basically it looks and kind of tasted like melted ice cream with a weird lump in the middle. Personally the texture made me throw up a little in my mouth. For real, I had to spit it out. Like a toddler. Our big worry is this huge final we have coming up in two weeks. Each team or 2 or 3 people has to prepare 12 desserts as if they operated a bakery. Some of these teams are full on freaking out. They are meeting this weekend to try things and do a practice run. Chef kept stressing that perhaps we were all getting a little worked up so my team is taking the casual route. We split up the work and are trusting that each of us can get it done. We have 3 hours on Wednesday to prep and 5 hours the day of the final to get done. It sounds daunting but I think 8 hours is plenty of time.

Soup/sauce is a completely different approach. We had a practice run yesterday. The final entails preparing a sauce that has to hold for one week, then has to be brought back to life and still taste good. Yes, it is refrigerated in a safe place. I really don't do leftovers so this is a real leap of faith for me. Then we have to make a dessert sauce and a flavored oil. We will not know which ones until we walk in. Finally, 2 plates need to be prepared with a protein, starch, and veggie. These need to be presented to chef within two hours. You have to use an intregral sauce with the dish and make sure it is plated well. I'm trying very hard to put myself outside my comfort zone so I went in yesterday with no plan. None. Usually I already know pretty much what I'm going to cook but I went in blind. I had some shrimp at my station so I started there. Then I went to the fridge and started digging around and grabbing things I liked. There is a lot I don't like. Carrots. Turnips. Green peppers. Root veggies. So I grabbed red peppers, zucchini, a yellow squash, mustard, my favorite herbs, a lemon, and cream. Always got to have some cream. I ended up grilling the squash and zucchini, cooked the shrimp in garlic and butter, roasted the pepper, and made a yummy mustard cream sauce. I topped it on pasta and fanned the green and yellow vegetables around. It was really tasty. I thought it looked good too but chef gave it the kiss of death. She used the words "olive garden" when she described the plating. I wouldn't have gone quite that far. I only served 4 shrimp and a tiny bit of pasta--not the vat that I see on the commercials. And certainly no breadsticks and never ending salad! She is very hard to please, I tell you. I hung around afterward for a little while and helped my neighbor with her polenta. Next week I might go in with a little more of a plan but probably not much. I'm thinking maybe summer salad. Sounds good right now actually. Anybody up for lunch?

We've Reached the Finish Line!!

Many of you have asked how my kitchen remodel is going. We're done. Finis. Thanks be to God. I thought it would be fun to see some before and after pictures. There are very few landmarks left so you'll have to keep your eye on the white marble counter top. It is about the only thing that hasn't changed. Remember, we took two rooms and made it into one. Well, it was really two spaces, not rooms. The long white marble counter top spanned the laundry and kitchen. The sink and ovens did not move so those are the only landmarks that essentially remain. These people who built this house had planned on having servants. The new laundry room is her old bedroom. Lucky her...

The old:





Now the new:

Monkeys at the Zoo

Wednesday was lamination day. Which would be fine, I'm sure, if I knew what that meant. We were supposed to learn this in our Baking Basics class but my chef instructor chose to skip that lesson. Everyone else in our class was talking excitedly about using "the sheeter". I was told we were never to touch that thing. After explaining my shortcomings and those of my partner (she was also in my basics class) to our instructor we proceeded to lab. So, although super intimitading sounding, laminating in just making a dough, pounding a big block of butter, laying it on half the top, and start rolling. Then, fold it and roll it again. After about 5 folds it's off to the sheeter. This is like a giant pasta machine and makes your dough into wonderful thin sheets. When this proceedure is finished you have a dough that has thin little layers of dough and butter. This is how you get puffed pastry and if you add yeast, danish dough. Even though we had never done this before, somehow we got done first. Shocking, i know. We made bear claws, a giant warrior princess necklace (not its technical name), big pinwheels, and big braids. We were really having fun making all these crazy shapes. We borrowed pastry cream from the across the table neighbors. He is the anesthesiologist and his partner is the singer (she hums constantly through class). I joined in today in a chorus of some song. I think it shocked her because I was quite loud. I completely cracked myself up. We cooked down some cherries and sugar to add to these creations. I mean cooked down--I forgot about it on the stove but it ended up delicious. We popped these babies in the oven with a sense of pride. First in the oven! What was taking these morons so long? Being newbies no one told us that the dough had to be nearly frozen before it went into the oven. No one mentioned that the butter melts to the bottom leaving a mutant layered crazy looking warrior princess necklace. The pinwheels were not spinning a happy dance. They looked like melted starfish.

We were careful with the puffed pastry. We had learned our lesson. We shaped it into little swirly cookies filled with cinnamon sugar. They were lovely. And really hot. That did not occur to Captian Obvious when they came out of the oven and I jammed one in my mouth. Well, I promptly spit it out into my hand after making a huge fool of myself. To make matters worse a tour had come by and watched the whole thing through the big plate glass windows. We are like monkeys in the zoo when those tours come by. I was laughing so hard at my complete imcompetence that I then made a bigger fool of myself. Just then my partner put her tray on a cooling rack but unknowingly pushed out a tray of baclava face down on the floor. Can anyone say "morons"? We are quickly becoming the go-to pair for what not to do in class. Somehow though our teacher still really likes us. Everyone needs a little comedy relief now and then, I guess.

It was dessert sauce day in Soup/Sauce class day. We rocked out chocolate syrup, ganache, caramel, butterscotch. We knocked out a bunch of stuff plus a batch of awesome sugar cookies by noon. We were all very punch drunk from all the sugar. Everyone was like a menopausal women--hot flashes, flushed cheeks, and bordering on very edgy by the day's end. But the day's end was at 3. Worth the sugar crash for sure!

Stream of Thought

So usually when I post an entry to this blog I have a great beginning sentence and for sure a funny story to tell. Today, not so much. Plenty of things this week made me laugh. The singing girl from my pastry class injured herself in a collision with the back of a chair while nodding off in class. She snapped her head back so far that she hit the back of her chair and made a huge banging noise. I laughed out loud during lecture and got a dirty look from chef. How could you not laugh? The female part of the dream team brought May day baskets with little bottles of flavoring for baking. I was super excited at first because it looked like bottles of airplane liquor. I was semi-dissapointed when I realized it was rose water flavoring. It was an extremely nice gesture on her part. Class was fairly uneventful. I made a wicked savarin. Okay, I didn't know what that was either so I'll explain. Then you, too, can spout some fancy pastry words and look that much more intelligent. It is a yeasted dough that when baked, is soaked in rum and filled with pastry cream. I don't like rum--yes, there is a liquor I don't care for--so I soaked mine in lemon simple syrup and served it with lemon pastry cream. Chef said my presentation was lovely--shocker! I actually can't wait to make it again. We also made strudel. This is an impressive thing to bake. The crazy church ladies who make this on a regular basis have their work cut out for them. The dough is stretched and stretched and then rolled with the yummy filling. Ours was a strudel with carmelized onions and potato. It was mighty tasty. We got out on time as well. Everyone did dishes. I don't know if chef had a chat with everyone or perhaps the class was possessed but I sure appreciated not doing everyone's dirty work.

Sauce class was extremely interesting. It was finishing sauce day. We made basil oil, red pepper coulis, pepper cream sauce, and several other red pepper sauces that I can't even remember the names of. The tricky part of this class was putting together a plate that looked and tasted great. Chef thinks I'm stuck in a rut. I always turn to the same old stuff to prepare. She's right. I think I'm in such a mode of cooking every night that I is really hard to come up with something new and inventive. These young childless students are whipping up crazy crap that would never even occur to me. I always go to my safety place. So, I learned how to take apart an artichoke which I then pan-seared in butter and garlic. Yummy in my tummy. I used the red pepper cream sauce and the basil oil with grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, and the artichoke. I would really like to know who the first person was that decided that an artichoke was edible. How hungry must they have been? Those things are like eating cactus. You have to dig so far into the thing to get anything you can chew through. Goodness. It was really fun to see everyone's creations. It looked like the cover of Bon Appetit--or close to it.

This weekend Bob was out of town this weekend chasing the elusive turkey. I probably put 200 miles on my car on Saturday driving kidlets around. I got most of my planting done and am geared up for the big party I'm hosting in June. It's a benefit for the Ronald Mcdonald House and we could have 200+ here for dinner and cocktails. I find myself checking every room for flaws and then end up scubbing walls, recovering chairs and generally worring that someone will notice my shortcomings. I don't know why I'm so worried. The guests will get dog hair in their food no matter how much I clean. Some things just can't be prevented...more on that later...

Two for Two

This week the angels must have been smiling on me. I found out my countertops that were no where to be seen might actually be installed the first week of May. They orginally didn't know when they would even show up in Omaha, let alone my kitchen. Then, I got out of class early on Wednesday night!! Can you hear the choir sing??? I know I was singing when I rolled in by 10 that night. 10! Not midnight, not even 11. I was home by the evening news--or Chelsea Lately--which is what we watch instead of the news for the third time. Love me some Chuy. Anyway, my midterm was on Wednesday night. I had it all planned out and had practiced which is unusual for me. Generally I like to let my adrenaline kick in and take me away or it could be that I'm lazy. Either way I should have trusted my instincts. I made a lemon tart, little butter cookies, and an apple and brie bite that I winged that night. We were given a half and hour to mise en place (set our stuff up) which allowed us to make some doughs that needed to be chilled and prepare some other ingredients. Then we had to stop for another half hour--the dream team worked straight through which I'm not quite sure about...chopping nuts, cooking something on the stove... Oh well, anyway, then we were off to the races. Literally people were racing around. Me included. I started with my lemon tarts, which, mind you I had practiced with great success at home. Well, the crusts puffed up too much in the oven and the lemon curd never fully set. Tasted great but a bit runny. Would have been great on ice cream. My cookies turned out but she didn't like the filling. Her tech that graded with her did, I did, but she did not. She gives the grades so that who counts. If I hadn't practiced at home I wouldn't have changed the recipe. See? No more practicing. She really liked them though. The apple brie bites were pretty good considering I made them in 20 minutes with no recipe. The only criticism was that I should have heated them a bit. I was finished at 8:30 without a minute to spare. I don't know why I hurried though. There were people putting stuff in the oven and cooking things on the stove at 8:30. There were only two of us done on time. If I knew I could take all the time I wanted, I would have slowed down and finished my damn curd. Chef had a chat with each of us about our project. I don't know if our chat was a C chat or a B-/B+ chat. No clue. You should have seen some of these people's things. Our class ringer produced tuille cookies shaped like ice cream cones and put them in a decorated basket like a children's birthday party. She is quite amazing and she works full time and she has kids at home. Wow.

When I walked in to class on Thursday I was coming off a full night's sleep. I hadn't prepared at all for our Hollandaise final. I just figured I'd work though it and hopefully everything would work itself out. This class has been one of my favorites. By far the hardest work and most taxing but I really like it. I think it really helps when you have a great group. Maybe it's a comfort level thing too. I'm just way more comfortable in front of a stove than an oven apparently. The practical exam was straighforward. Produce a nice tasting, beautifully textured sauce in an hour. Maybe even 90 minutes. I can't remember because we all did--in one try--in about 30 minutes. Even me. I, who broke six sauces last week, produced a nice sauce in no time. I think I even got one of the better grades too. Ken (the class hollandaise ringer) finished first and therefore got to skip dishes and go home early. I would have saved that chit for a day we were running late. There was some negotiating to do there. Maybe he is just a nicer, less devious person than I. After our exam we marinated and brined all sorts of things. We made salad dressings. Then we grilled and sauted and pan fried. My group was all women. The minute we stepped up to the grill every single man in the class asked us if we were doing okay. Did we know what we were doing? Did we need any help? Have you never seen a woman at the grill before? Apparently not. Our meat was grilled perfectly. Lesson of the day--never mess with a group of women at a grill. Noted. Thank god the meat was perfect or we would have never heard the end of it. Thank you Laura. We sat down to a feast. Dishes done, no problem. AND I was home by 4. Cue the choir...

Trail and Error

There were tears and such frustration that I didn't know if we would make it through class. It was hollandaise day. Mayonnaise day. Emulsion day. I figured we had to have an easy day coming after the last two weeks of crazy classes. I was pretty convinced I would make it to "the teenager's" soccer game at least in part. It started at 4:30. I was being optimitic, I know, but I figured we deserved an easy day. Wrong. I got together with a group that I knew could pound out some sauces and keep moving. We pounded through sauces all right but they were the same sauces over and over and over again. They broke--over and over and over again. The theory is simple. Add warm butter to warm cooked egg yolk that is ribbony in texture and ready to accept this butter. Add a little acid to the mixture and you've got hollandaise. But the reality is that you have to whip until your arm hurts at just the right time when the eggs are just the right consistency-- that got me. Over and over and over again. I am not kidding. I had to redo this stupid hollandaise about six times. I'm not an idiot most of the time. I got the concept. I could picture it in my head. It just wouldn't do it. It just wouldn't whip into that beautiful sauce. Then I'd get it halfway and look down and I'd have melted butter floating on top. Some students whipped this up with no problem. They filtted around the classroom with their beautiful sauce with big smiles on their faces. I was bitter. I needed a break. I'll do mayo. I'd done it before and it had gone well. Thank god it did today. Not so for my teammate. She was so frustrated by time seven that there were tears in her eyes. I knew how she felt. I took a look around the classroom and the mood had changed. Not so many smiles. Lots of buttery goo in the trash cans. Growls and frustration were slipping out from behind the stoves. I was not alone. We went through 40 pounds of butter that day. We had yummy chicken and shrimp to dip into our finished (!) sauces. It smelled like tarragon and butter throughout the kitchen. By god, we got out 15 minutes early. And I made the second half of the game.

I'm kind of getting used to the pace of my pastry class. I'm not saying I like it, but I'm getting used to it. 11:45 seems normal to me to be rolling in from class. The "dream team" wasn't even there with pots on the stove at 11. I did a presentation on plum pudding that went fairly well. Our class is starting to gel a bit better. I can tease the girl who sings the whole time now. I have gotten used to doing everyone's dishes. The upside to that is that I get out earlier than the rest of the class. We had to make cream puffs, both savory and sweet. We were supposed to make a gateau St. Honore, which is a puff pastry base with cream puffs secured to the top layer with cooked sugar. I sort of short cutted the process by directly attaching the puffs to the pastry before baking. I thought it was really clever. It came out looking like a demented Mickey Mouse. It looked even crazier when I stuck a puff on top of the whole thing with some sugar. It cracked me up and chef even giggled a little bit. The girl next to me made a croquembouche. That's the tower of cream puffs covered in spun sugar that you see in magazines. This didn't really look quite like that. A couple of us "helped" her. It ended up looking like a large chunk of concrete with a tumor hanging off the side. It looked even better with the sugar draped like garlands all over it. We named it Henri. It seemed fitting.

My midterm is on Wednesday. We have to cater a passed dessert party for 20 people. Three different desserts, all bite sized and pretty. I've been practicing. The cat enjoyed the lemon tarts. We did too before we realized she enjoyed them before us. My hollandaise practical is on Thursday. Wish me luck.

11:42

Note to self: when you're instructor tells you that she's allergic to a certain food, don't feed it to her. Ever. Frankly, it was just a grand ending to a very strange day of cooking. The day began with great promise. We had formed a plan, a very detailed plan, so that we wouldn't be in the dish mess and chaos of last week. We had such high hopes. Three sauces, three hours, one student to fix the proteins and oh, did I forget to mention they shut off the water? For real, no water. And not for the half hour we were promised. My anxiety level rose as quickly as the dishes. It was the most unsanitary day I can ever remember--outside my own home. We were literally just wiping them clean and carrying on. And by the end of class the rags were so dirty, because nothing could be rinsed, that it was disgusting. Not to mention the overwhelming thought that you had to use the bathroom but couldn't. It would probably never would have occurred to me to use the bathroom but you say the water is going to be shut off and I instantly have to pee. In all the chaos, I had forgotten that I put a smidgen of pork in one of my sauces. I'm usually very aware of the deadly ingredient because of chef's allergy but it is such a weird thing to be allergic to that I completely forgot. Until she began to get quite red in the face did it then occur to me. Holy shit, I gave her pork. A lot of it. She really liked the sauce and had it on everything that she was eating for lunch. Not a good way to up your grade, my friend. In keeping with the day the water was turned back on at 10 minutes to 5. Back to the dish pit with you...

11:42. That is what time I finally rolled in from baking class on Wednesday night. All we had to do was make three cookies/petit fours. This does not take long--or so I mistakenly thought. I made a yummy shortbread, a chocolate orange madeleine, and macaroons. Who knew there was so much to making the perfect french macaroon? They are not difficult and do not take long but a little overwhipping of the egg whites and you've got trouble. I had trouble. If I had been home and made these I would have though I'd done a pretty good job. This is what I mean about the precise thing. These people in this baking department really do want perfection. Anyway, three of us were done by 9ish and had washed everyone's dishes. Low and behold, I turned around at 10:55 and there are still mixers running! There was a man at the stove! WHAT???!!! I thought my head was really going to explode right then and there. And all over the squeaky clean and calm bakery. Luckily she let the dish bitches (us three) go after the long lecture about macaroons and our shortcomings baking them. Honestly, I don't know if I can make it through another week. I'll let you know.

Spring Has Shown It's Face

I'm whipped. Completely. I feel hungover without the pleasure of having had a kickass night. I think Spring's crazy arrival has my body confused. It feels strange to go to school when I feels like I should be going to the pool. I almost couldn't bear the thought of going to class Wednesday night when it was so beautiful. I would have rather been having a glass of wine on my patio. But, alas, it was not to be. Instead I was off to custard night. I hate custards. I think it's a texture thing. To make matters worse, the lights went off during lecture so we sat in the dark in the glow of the television/chalkboard. Half of the class was sound asleep in ten minutes. The girl next to me nearly snapped her neck; she nodded off so severely. Our assignment was to make two custard dishes and a roasted fruit dish. Doable. We made ice cream, pots de creme, and roasted peaches and raspberries. We were done by eight. Class goes until eleven. We were encouraged to plate the dishes as they would be in a restaurant setting. This is when I decided that perhaps the baking program is not for me. As I looked around the room, everyone seemed to be happily creating these fantastically decorated and beautiful plates. Not me. Or my partner. We got a nice plate, some whipped cream, gave the pot de creme a squirt and voila(!) we were done. Not so simple for the rest of the group. These people were making candied lemon peel, tying parchment around things, making strips of orange peel. I felt like a fish out of water. Maybe I just like it simple. It's not like I'm not artistic. I just didn't care. It''s going to taste great either way. I just wanted to go home. But no, I didn't get home until 11. People asked a lot of questions during the wrap up. A lot. Questions that are never going to be applied to real life. Way to many questions about how to cararmelize the top of a creme brulee. On a boat. In a storm. Not really but about that bad.

The next morning it was up and off to Soup/Sauce. I love this class. I feel comfortable and at home. In baking classes I get nervous and feel like I stick out like a sore thumb. I think I have decided to stick with the savory side of things. It'll be better for my mental health. And my waistline. I had a great group to work with. I learned how to use the commercial steamer from one of them. I love to learn from the students. We made a bechamel and veloute sauce. Then we made the daughter sauces of them. Not difficult if you know pretty much what you are doing. It was a lot of cream to constantly be tasting however. I wonder how many trips to the bathroom people made when they got home... With the sauces we had to prepare a protein to go with. Since I made the crawfish butter for the sauces, I used this to make my main dish. Celery, onion, garlic, parsley, rice, crawfish and the most wonderful sauce to make it all yummy. It was great. Chef had three helpings. That is a good sign. I just pulled the reciped out of my ass. It was a good day to be on my game. The dishes, however, were a site to see. I didn't know the kitchen had so many pots and pans. My gracious class let me go to take care of the kiddos. Bob had provided us a great dinner, though. I had gotten and email midway through class that said he had gone to the grocery. He had gotten dog food, steaks, and wine. What more do you need? Perfect!

Consomme and Muligatawny

This week has been a nutty one. Our kitchen was completely off limits and drywall dust had invaded everything. The dog's allergies have reached a critical stage. And we're cranky. Really cranky. Nothing is where it is supposed to be and when we find it, it's covered in dust. We've eaten out every meal for the entire week except for the night my mother took pity on us. We are pitiful.
There is a bright note in all of this. The pity party was interrupted by an exam in Soups and Sauce class. I didn't even have time to worry about it. I have pretty much failed all of the little quizzes to date so I figured this wouldn't be that bad. I'm better in the kitchen than in the quiz department. Consomme is a tricky and finickly little ditty to make. By taking a good stock, ground lean meat, mire poix, and a sachet of spices one can create a clear, lovely broth. It needs to be velvety smooth and clear as a bell. A crazy floating raft forms and makes all the magic happen. A little babying and you've got it made. Mine was yummy. I got a good grade. I needed it to balance out the shitty quiz grades.
After the practical exam I made a mighty fine Muligatawny soup. Curry and chicken and yum. Our group made a shrimp bisque worthy of a wimper. It was so delicious it made one sigh... The rest of the class took some pretty bad recipes and made them wonderful. It was a feast that day.
My kitchen limps along. I did, however, hang some mighty terrific wallpaper. If this cooking thing doesn't work out, I think I've got it made in the papering business. I'm trying to post some pictures but I can't seem to make it happen today. My computer is translating the photos into numbers and letters. Weird.

Oddity #1

Bob fell through the kitchen ceiling yesterday. Clean through. He thought he was being rather clever by replacing insulation that was missing after the electricians came on Friday. Why he didn't do this from the kitchen side as opposed to the attic side is beyond me. I'm sure he is rethinking this decision as well. I actually think he is kind of pround of himself. He almost fell on Owen who was standing there actually helping him. Yes, he was helping. I'm sure not by choice but still... He is fine this morning. A little bruised--his pride as well as his ribs.

Pastries Day One

Well, it was interesting--to put it mildly. When I walked in to my new pastry class I expected a class full of young skinny bakers. This was the only upper level first year baking class offered so I figured it would be populated by those in some of my other day classes. I was quite full of confidence that I would know many and again be the senior student. Wrong. Really wrong. With each new student that walked in, my mouth dropped a little more. I was smack dab in the middle age-wise. In fact, I was kinda on the young side. Where did these people come from??? My friend from my previous baking class was sitting next to me, which was comforting but that was as far as it went.

My teacher is brilliant. This is not just my opinion, mind you. She really is. She has her doctorate in chemistry and is a baker extrodinaire. She is smarter than I think I am on my best day. She did not think the class m

ake-up was odd. This must be typical in these night classes. The class runs from 4-11pm, you see. This is the time to take that baking class you've always wanted--maybe even with your husband. That nice couple was across from me in the bakery. There were several men th

at were over 55. They were darn good bakers, too. There were several women who sang to themselves throughout the whole class. One woman was covered head to toe in cocoa. I never used cocoa so I can't really explain that. But I mean head to toe.

The day was about pies and tarts. I have a very difficult relationship with pie. It hates me and I'm not so fond of it. However, I made one awesome pie. It was a blue cheese-apricot tart. It had a sour cream crust. Holy shit it was yummy. My partner made some nasty pie crust which made us both very giggly. We were finished by 9:30. Class, however does not end until 11. Off to do the dishes, I guess. At 20 minutes until 11, one man finally finished his pie and put it in the oven. I almost slit his throat. Really? Oh, but he was not alone. In went another pie. We still hadn't had the chat

about everyone else's pies. Chef is quite amazing when analyzing these baked goods so I really wanted to listen. But my bed was call

ing--loudly. All I could think about was going home and there were pies still baking!!! AAHHGGG! Luckily Chef let those of us who had finished aeons ago leave but it was still 11:20. Some girls still had homework to do for the next day.

I think it will be fine in the long run. We have to do a presentation of something we've made at home. These pictures are my kitchen in its' current state. Drywall dust does not make a pretty decor for a cake or pie. It might make a good thickener for my soup and sauce class however...

Homework

I have to write a 250 word paper about a chef. Very convienently I'm reading a book about Jacques Pepin. This man is amazing. His mother during WWII had to send him away during the summers to work on farms so that he could eat well. He was six. At around 12 he was sent to a hotel to apprentice in a kitchen. He had never even worn long pants and couldn't see over the stove. At 16 he has working in the finest kitchens in Paris. His army stint was spent cooking for Charles De Gaulle and other presidents of France. This amazes me. I can't even get my kids to take out the trash without a fight and this man is working for a living at 14.

Once he moved to America he was offered the job of cooking in the White House--for JFK. He turned it down to work for Howard Johnsons. He was responsible for develping techniques to keep standards consistent from restaurant to restaurant, state to state. But still--HoJo's? Ok, that's how far I've gotten in the book.

Here is his recipe for Onion Soup. I picked it because I'm taking Soups.

You will need 4 soup bowls. 12 ounces each.

2 T butter

3 onions cut into thin slices

About 7 C good chicken stock

About 1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp pepper, freshly ground

16 slices of baguette, each cut 3/8 in. thick

About 3 c. grated swiss cheese, preferably Gruyere, comte, or Emmenthaler

Melt the butter in a saucepan, and saute the sliced onions in the butter over medium to high heat for about 8 minutes, or until lightly browned. Add the stock, salt, and pepper, and boil gently for 15 min. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Arrange the bread slices in a single layer on a tray, and bake them for 8-10 min, or until they are nicely browned. Divide the toast among the bowls, and sprinkle 1/4 c. of cheese into each bowl. When the stock and onions have cooked for 15 min, pour the soup into the bowls, filling each to the top. Sprinkle on the remainder of the cheese, dividing it among the bowls and taking care not to push it down into the liquid. Press the cheese around the rim or lip of the bowls, so it adheres there as it cooks and the crust does not all into the liquid. Arrange the soup bowls on a baking sheet, and bake for 35 to 45 minutes, or untila a glorious brown, rich crust has developed on top. Serve hot right out tf the oven.

Last quarter I took several classes which required beaucoup homework. Cost Management was online which was a little tricky. Lots of work. Nutrition was also a bit of work but well worth it. Good God, we can all eat a little healthier. That class was fascinating in several ways. The student body was the perfect cross selection of Community College. Half of the class only showed up for tests. My favorite incident occured one morning early into the semester. We were working in groups. A young man who sat next to me announced that he was a grown-up now. Really? You could only be, like, 21. His girlfriend had just had a baby and he was now a new dad. On our way out of class we got to chatting. He wanted to show me his new tattoo that he had gotten in honor of his daughter's birth. Before I could protest, he was whipping up his sleeve and showing me this huge tattoo on his bicep. He said no one ever asks him why he choose blue and green for the artwork. Ok, I'll ask. He said the green was for the pot they had smoked that day. Holy crap. He told me the blue was for the blue babies (or something like that) that they had taken. I didn't even know what the hell he was talking about. So I asked. Silly me, it was blue exstasy! How could I not know that? Sheesh...

Day One, Quarter 3

This quarter began like any other, I suppose. White uniform (freshly pressed), checked pants, silly hat, and freshly bleached apron. I carried my giant baker's tool kit. I was late, though. Not like me--it makes my anxious. But today I had fifteen layers of dust in my kitchen, which was undergoing construction, kids on spring break and for some reason my giant dog decided to pee on the plastic between the new constuction on the existing kitchen. Really? Do you realize how much can come out of a 120 pound newfoundland? A lot. So it began...

This quarter begins with Soup and Sauce cookery. I am not a fan of soups. (Blasphemy!! so says my mother...) I like to chew my food. It gives my pleasure. I think I'd be quite skinny if I could just drink my lunch. I will have an open mind--I promise. As class begins, I'm thinking, so far, so good. Seems like a good group--which is critical because you work really closely with these people. I'm not the oldest one in the class for a change. There are several old farts like me. Old is anyone over 35 in these classes. Most of the students are fresh young things just out of high school. Yikes. Last quarter I had students calling me "mama".

Everyone seems quick with a smile and a helping hand. Each quarter I get more confindent in these big kitchens. For those of us who cook a lot it is still intimitating jumping to it with ovens you don't even know how to turn on. The day went well. I got the lovely task of digging through a vat of veggies to figure out what was still viable for stock. I would have thrown the whole lot out but waste not. The nasty moldy tomato had to go though...

The days are long. Five hour labs are nothing to sneeze at when your back hurts all the time and you are not 21. Those little young things can show up with a hangover, slug down a Mountain Dew, and work like dogs all day. I need a full nights sleep, a fiber laden breakfast, carry a snack, and when I get home I fall asleep in front of the 5 o'clock news. Pathetic. I'm only 40. This does not bode well.

I am learning. Each day I go to class. Some days more than others. Community college is the land of misfit toys. Everyone fits in. It makes me happy to work with ALL walks of life. All. Pastries starts Wednesday. I will fill you in as I go...