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?