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.