Party Hearty

Day 6

It's time for a celebration.

I made it through my first full week of culinary school. I also flambeed for the first time (and didn't burn down the kitchen). On top of that, it's my birthday.

Today I turned 29—the last year in my 20s. Signing up for the day class, I wondered how my age would stack up compared to the rest of the students. I was told "older" students mostly enroll in the evening session. I feel like I'm probably older than most in my particular class (many are straight out of high school or college), but some are in their late 20s, 30s—even 50.

My thought is that it doesn't matter how old you are anyway. Julia Child was in her late 30s when she started cooking. And my mom—the best chef I know—graduated culinary school in her 50s, although she'd been cooking impressive meals for most of her life.

Although there are certainly learned techniques (you can reference my "Tourner Up the Heat" post), I believe cooking is an art. Thus, the name "culinary arts," I suppose. Once you learn the proper methods and find out what flavors complement each other, it's a matter of imagination. There's nothing wrong with recreating a popular dish—after all, it's probably popular because it's good—but I find it most fun adapting recipes or coming up with something entirely new.

OK, enough of those tangent remarks. Today, sauces were the name of the game. I was in charge of the chicken veloute as well as the sauce chateaubriand aux champignons (wine and mushroom sauce). Yum to the latter. Instead of dumping it in the vat with everyone else's, I

selfishly brought it home. It will be perfect to thaw out and spoon over some red meat when time is tight.

I couldn't have asked for a better birthday meal. Ryan put his heart and soul into a steak dinner with creamed spinach. Finding it hard to resist the kitchen, I told him I'd prepare the bearnaise sauce. It was good at first, but after trying to keep it warm for a half-hour, it turned foamy. Bearnaise foam? Sounds like something from molecular gastronomist Wylie Dufresne's kitchen. Guess I'll have to wait for Monday when we cover sauces part two.

A steak dinner wouldn't be complete without a nice bottle of red. We broke out one of the big guns (for us, at least): a 2004 Caparzo Brunello di Montalcino. I bought it

in Tuscany in June 2009 and have been saving it for the right occasion. This seemed to be it.

We ended the evening with a cappuccino—Ryan makes the best, thanks to Breville—and cupcakes from Butter Lane. We split two: banana cake with maple frosting (my favorite) and banana cake with caramel frosting, topped with popcorn.

Sweet conclusion to a sweet week.

Stock Options

Day 5

I was hoping for the fish stock and I got it.

Chicken and vegetable stocks I've got down. I wanted to try something new, and that meant either the brown veal stock, white beef stock with blackened onions (also known as marmite), or the fish fumet.

I've never prepared fumet de poisson. The name is probably more difficult than the process itself. Seriously. All you do is combine fish bones, leeks, onions, dry white wine, cold water and a bouquet garni (thyme, bay leaf, parsley and peppercorns), bring it to a boil, simmer for a half-hour and strain.

That's it, Fort Pitt.

However, we probably skipped the most difficult part: fileting the fish. We haven't arrived at that point of the program. To be truly honest, I'm intimidated. Not much longer before that day arrives.

We did get to clean the bones, which worked out well on our team's end. I picked the halibut carcass. Although large (the chef estimated it weighed 60-plus pounds whole), it was relatively easy to clean. My sympathies go out to those who picked the tiny cod. Lots of coagulated blood and guts.

Just to make myself feel like I didn't escape that easily, I volunteered to help the chef remove an eyeball from a fish head. He placed it on a plate at his station and said he was keeping an eye on us. Funny guy.

Afterwards, each team made vegetable stock. Piece of cake, minus the fact that my feet were throbbing through the entire process.

Mental and physical fatigue has set in. I'm exhausted. For the second time in a week, I took a nap. (I never take naps.) Thankfully, Ryan went to the grocery store. I made a rich sauce of shallots, white wine, goat cheese and heavy cream tossed with crimini mushrooms, asparagus and cherry tomatoes over fresh fettuccine. It hit the spot.

Now it's time to hit the sack.

Tourner Up the Heat

Day 4

My brain is turning into a cocotte.

I was warned for good reason: Tournage is hard. The French technique is used for shaping vegetables by, well, turning them in seven fluid motions. For me, it's more like 70 awkward motions.

There are five main sizes of tournage cuts, and each has a separate name; the most common (in our school, at least) is a 5-centimeter cocotte. The idea is that similar shapes and sizes are easy on the eater's eyes. It also ensures the vegetables will cook consistently.

After making cocottes from several vegetables, we turned them into a garniture bouquetiere, complete with an artichoke bottom cooked un blanc (a lemon, flour and oil solution) and filled with peas; pommes rissolees (potatoes simmered, sauteed in oil, baked in the oven and then tossed in butter); haricots verts a l'anglaise; lightly caramelized pearl onions; and carrots and turnips prepared glacer a blanc (simmered in just enough water to create a glaze, but not browned).

It sounds like a lot of work, right? It is.

So, I said I'd let you know if I was correct about the herbs. I got one correct (lovage). One out of two ain't bad.

What's bad is that I have to practice tourner tonight. How I'm going to fit that into writing down recipes for my next class and enjoying my time out with former co-workers, I have no idea.

Time to tourner up a notch.

Rat Race

Day 3

There's no rat under this hat. I didn't really need him, though. Except maybe to expertly slice my vegetables...

My first recipe at culinary school was ratatouille. I've eaten it plenty of times but never made it. I'm not going to say it was perfect (there's always room for improvement and it's way too early for that to happen, anyway), but I think my partner and I did a pretty damn good job. Can I get a rat-a-tat-tat on the drum?

Alright, one recipe down. I know they'll get harder from here—especially during exams when we have to regurgitate ingredients and directions from memory—but it feels good to complete a dish in school. The first day, I couldn't even hold a knife without visibly shaking.

The second recipe was a bit trickier because it dealt with presentation. We were asked to use a ring mold to make a layered beet and goat cheese salad, topped with frisee. Again, I think it came out well. But we were scolded for our knife skills. Macedoine, you're killing me.

But it's only Day 3, right? Anyone have 50 pounds of vegetables they want to donate so I can practice? I'll make you some ratatouille.

Spice and herb identification took the remainder of the day. Luckily, I knew most of the herbs—that is, except for two. The chef said he'd reveal their names tomorrow. If we didn't know them, we were supposed to go home and look them up. (I'll go out on a limb and guess lovage and watercress. I'll let you know if I'm wrong in my next post.)

I also tasted mace (the nutmeg seed's shell) for the first time that I was aware. Most of the times I've seen the word "mace," it has been in regards to pepper spray. My mom gave me a little black vial when I went off to college. Fortunately, I never had to use it. By the way, I'm pretty sure the spice mace and self-defense Mace are unrelated.

Tomorrow we learn how to tournage, or cut vegetables into faceted oval shapes. I haven't heard anything positive about it. A student in the locker room said she cried over it. Yikes.

I better add another 50 pounds of vegetables onto that previous request.

Dirty Job

Day 2

I will no longer buy ground beef from a questionable source. In fact, I might just grind it myself.

Today was our class' introduction to ServSafe, a program designed to keep the food you cook safe to eat. The instructor was right: The information isn't as dull as one might think. Learning about food-borne illnesses, as well as other forms of contamination, is actually pretty interesting. Perhaps not for the weak stomach, though.

For example, did you know that a recent Consumer Reports study found that more than 80 percent of chickens in the U.S. harbor salmonella? The poor farm conditions Stateside have basically bred it into them. You'll need to head to Asia for your chicken sashimi, where it's perfectly safe.

Or what about the fact that pre-made hamburgers—which end up in fast food joints, school cafeterias or your local grocery—might contain ammonia? Shards of bone and E. coli-infested intestines are bad enough (yes, that ends up in them, too). But ammonia? Really?

I needed a drink after that lesson. Perfect timing: ServSafe day was also Sixpoint Craft Ales day.

Happily, I joined a crowd heading to Red Hook, Brooklyn, to tour the brewery and sample some beer. Our guides were unbelievably knowledgeable, especially considering they were only in their mid-20s. I'm not sure how old founder and

brewmaster Shane Welch is, but he can't be too much older.

Welch founded Sixpoint in 2004 and its product has become so popular the brewery can't keep up with demand. It's great to hear that people are still following their dreams—and that they can come true with hard work. Cheers to that.

Oh, and thank you for the road pop. I was sent home with a bottle of Dr. Klankenstein, an experimental medieval-style beer that was crafted earlier this year but is no longer available to the masses.

Lucky me.

Chow Fun

A guided food tour of Chinatown? Yes, please.

The area of Manhattan can be intimidating. Its streets are extra-crowded (and extra-smelly) and finding a good place to eat can be tricky if you don't speak the language or have a recommendation. So when my school offered a Chinatown tour—not to mention it would be

given by a former reporter for The New York Times—I was immediately on board.

I was a little scared when I learned the mercury would rise past 95 degrees that day (Chinatown is not known for having the most pleasant smells), but nevertheless, I was excited to check out some diamonds in the rough. And that I did.

Without the help of a guide, I probably wouldn't have found some of these places. For example, she led us to a street cart on Grand Street that serves intestine-shaped noodles with tripe and fish balls. (I'm still not a tripe fan, but I'd give the fish balls another shot.)

She also introduced me to an amazing banh mi joint (Banh Mi Vietnamese), a dive that sells handmade pulled noodles with beef tendons (Super Taste), and a local chain offering Liang pi, or cold skin noodles (Xi'an Famous Foods).

I also discovered places to buy fresh tofu and frozen dumplings if I wanted to try my hand at cooking Chinese dishes. If I was really brave (and rich) I now know a place where I can purchase dried sea cucumbers. How much, you ask? $118 per pound. No offense, but I think I'll stick to truffles at that price.

There is still so much to learn about Chinatown, but the tour was a great chance to dig a little deeper. Don't worry, Big Wong, you'll still be my go-to restaurant in Chinatown—that is, until I can find Peking duck better elsewhere.

It's French to Me

Day 1

I didn't lose any fingers, but I did gain some humility. Note to self: Remember to button up my chef jacket all the way, learn how to tie a neckerchief and don't slouch when I stand.

Oh, and quickly pick up francais.

We got right down to business the first day. After receiving our tool kits (which are awesome—and awesomely heavy), we broke them open and began chopping. It was at this point that I wished I'd studied French instead of Spanish. Emincer, ciseler, macedoine, brunoise, paysanne... it's all foreign to me. Must learn immediately.

On top of that, my knife skills could use some major work. I feel as slow as a snail. Hopefully, practice makes perfect. I'm going to be chopping up more carrots than Bugs Bunny eats until I get it right.

Perhaps the hardest part, though, was getting used to standing all day. Yes, I knew that was going to be part of it, and yes, I knew the kitchen would be hot as hell. But after sitting on my bum behind a computer all day for the last seven years, it's quite a change. I've obviously blocked the years I spent catering from my memory.

I better suck it up.

When I got home, I zonked out. For like three hours. I got up because, well, I had to eat dinner. Ryan and I celebrated at one of our favorite pizza joints in New York, Michael Angelo's in Astoria. We cheered my first day of culinary school over wine, calamari, a thin-crust Sophia Loren pie, and a special pasta dish (with pear ravioli, grapes and a creamy gorgonzola sauce). Limoncello was on the house.

Salute! Or, I should say, 'Sante!' I made it through the first day. Now I've gotta locate that French dictionary...

It's Been Real

It's Thursday. Translation: Today is my last day of work, and tomorrow is my first day of culinary school!

I said my goodbyes and packed up my essential take-home items. Yes, there were some tears (What can I say? I'm sentimental—plus, it's the longest I've held a job post-college and the extent of my journalism career in New York City), but I was smiling inside.

I'm ready for a change. For the last two years, I've felt my job has been on the chopping block (thus, this blog's name). The economic downfall has hit virtually every industry, but publishing has been particularly affected as ad sales have dipped to pathetic lows. Unfortunately, my company was part of this. I lost co-workers to cutbacks.

Fortunately, I got to stay. But that doesn't mean I haven't felt threatened for the last year about the stability of my position or about the future of my career as a journalist. Plus, it hasn't been all that happy of a place. Let's face it: When a company cuts jobs—especially when those cut have become your friends—morale goes down the tubes. Not to mention the stress level increases with the workload.

I began to evaluate my career. I love journalism, but I was no longer loving my job. It was time to leave.

OK, you're thinking: She quit her job in an economy where open positions are few and far between. Well, yes. It may seem ass backwards, but I have reasoning. My theory is that I need a specialty to increase my marketability as a journalist. I plan to spend the next six months of school absorbing everything related to food. I will become an expert, and people will want to hire me. At least that's the plan.

So I randomly picked culinary arts, right? Wrong. Besides journalism, food is my other passion. I've been thinking about becoming a chef since I was in college. It just didn't seem like the right time to do it. Now is the perfect time.

My (now former) co-worker, Alex, has a tiny card posted in her cubicle that I didn't notice until today. It reads: "Begin Anywhere." How fitting.

The Butterfly Effect

Is 28 (going on 29) too old to get butterflies?

I'm not gonna lie: I certainly had them today. Walking into a quiet roomful of people I don't know—especially when you're a few minutes late because of work and the only seat is up front—can be terrifying. Stomach churning, I found my place and retrieved my pen and notebook from my purse.

Then, I breathed.

I'm officially a culinary student! While I was admitted to The French Culinary Institute about a month ago, it felt real today because I was sitting amongst my fellow classmates at orientation. On top of that, I received my chef jacket, complete with my name and school.

It's hard to believe this is really happening.

Overall, orientation was pretty standard—a low down of the rules and regulations, expectations, etc. I dreaded the icebreaker (who doesn't?) but was particularly pleased when I found out it involved three quick answers: Your name, residence and last memorable meal. (I recalled the truffled grits I ate at Chive Blossom, a small, very impressive restaurant in Pawleys Island, S.C., on a recent family vacation.) If food talk is part of an icebreaker, I'm in the right place.

Not to mention food was part of post-orientation as well. Real food. Not food talk. Unsurprisingly, it was good—smoked salmon on toast, various pates, white and red wines, etc.—and all prepared by current students. I was a happy camper.

Then I had to go back to work. Not for long, though; Thursday is my last day. I'm ready to get this show on the road!