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.