Ice, Ice Baby

Day 28

There's nothing sadder than walking into frozen dessert day and discovering the ice cream machine is broken. However, our dismay quickly turned to delight when a chef strolled into the classroom with a canister of liquid nitrogen proclaiming a substitute lesson.

We were like kids in a candy shop—er, an ice cream parlor.

The chef poured creme anglaise into the KitchenAid stand mixer and doused it with the liquid nitrogen. Smoke billowed from the machine like a witches brew, and the class was in awe. Within minutes, we were on our way to something scoop-able.

A lesson that could have been plain wasn't so vanilla after all.

Besides ice cream (and grapefruit sorbet, which was done in the same manner), we made two dishes with meringue: a frozen fruit souffle and meringue chantilly. The souffle used Italian meringue—where hot sugar syrup is drizzled into whipped egg whites—combined with whipped cream and raspberry puree. The meringue chantilly involved swiss meringue, or egg whites and sugar initially incorporated over a bain-marie and then whipped off the heat until it's finished.

The latter recipe involves piping, a technique I have come to despise. I know some people find joy in decorating cakes or making pommes duchesse. Not me. "It looks like doodoo," chef joked in Level 1, the first time I used a pastry bag to pipe out potatoes. I'll be the first to admit my skills could use some work.

Since we had some extra time, chef showed the class how to prepare pate a choux. It's the only pastry dough that's cooked twice, and it's commonly used for eclairs. We made profiteroles, which involved—you guessed it—piping. However, I can handle this technique; all you have to do is keep the pastry bag in one spot.

Right now, creating perfect rosettes seems like a pipe dream.

Control Your Temper

Day 27

I never thought I'd say this—savory person as I am—but here it is: After eating so much meat over the past couple weeks, pastry will be a nice reprieve.

Today, we were introduced to the sweeter side of things with custards. The first recipe was creme caramel, which I know as flan. The caramel—made with sugar and water—is poured into ramekins and, when set, is topped with a custard; finally, it is baked. After they've chilled, the desserts are popped from the ramekins and—as chef says—voila! You've got yourself a creme caramel.

Next, we made creme patissiere (pastry creme). Anyone who's eaten an eclair is familiar with this starch-bound custard. Creme anglaise (vanilla custard sauce) followed for good reason: It's a bit trickier, considering the custard is stirred over heat until it thickens—without a starch to speed up the process. If the heat is too high, you've got scrambled eggs.

It's also important to temper the egg/sugar mixture with the boiling milk (which are initially added together, then stirred in the pan over heat together to form the custard). You don't want breakfast when you've ordered dessert, right?

The final recipe was Bavarian creme, which is creme anglaise with gelatin and whipped cream. I'm pretty sure I could eat that every day. Of course, it would have to be accompanied by a cheeseburger. After all, I do favor savory over sweet. Hmm... Maybe I'm already missing meat.

It's OK. I know we'll meet again.

Our class was ahead of schedule, so after we wrapped up

custards, we started the dough lesson. We prepared pate brisee (flaky tart dough) as well as pate sucree (sweet tart dough). We'll be working with these later this week—stay

posted.

With all this sugar in my system, I felt like I

needed to tone things down a bit and eat a dinner on the healthier side. I picked up an organic split chicken breast at Whole Foods, which I seared and roasted. With the pan drippings, I made a white wine mustard sauce (with a dribble of heavy cream—but who's counting?) I also stuffed some black mission figs with Maytag blue cheese, wrapped them in prosciutto di Parma and drizzled over a balsamic reduction. (Thank you, mom, for that recipe.) For good measure, I added an arugula and heirloom tomato salad.

It will entitle me to licking my ice cream bowl clean tomorrow.

Get Crackin'

Day 26

If asked to list my top five favorite foods, eggs would likely make the cut. So it's no surprise that I've been looking forward to the day dedicated to the incredible edible protein ever since I cracked open the Level 2 book.

My preferential egg is either sunny side up or over-easy; either way, the yolk is extremely runny. I love them straight up with salt and pepper, paired with a hamburger, or atop a pile of hot pasta. That's what I call a good egg.

The lesson succeeded in teaching me some new techniques. We started class with a couple demos. Chef made us oeufs brouilles, or French-style scrambled eggs. They are much better than the American style, which I associate with being dry, neon yellow and under-flavored—probably the result of one too many bad hotel continental breakfasts. French scrambled eggs are soft, a bit runny and light yellow, due to the addition of cream and butter. Yum.

Chef then showed us the proper way to poach an egg and sent us on our way. I love the "swirl" technique, where you stir the simmering water and distilled vinegar mixture and drop your egg in the middle of the mini tornado. It forms the best looking poached egg you've ever witnessed. I will definitely be more apt to make eggs Benedict (Ryan's favorite) on Sunday mornings.

Oeufs cocotte a la creme (baked eggs with cream) came next. The eggs were placed in a ramekin dish with heavy cream and a bit of either chorizo or foie gras, and the dish was set in a bain-marie for gentle cooking in the oven. It's a great dish for entertaining.

Of course, we also worked on our omelet-flipping skills. For me, this is going to take some practice. Every time I flip, the omelet breaks. Chef said the key is to brown the bottom of the omelet and use a significant amount of olive oil. I prefer the rolled omelet (not the flat, Basque-style one) not only because it doesn't require flipping but also because the eggs are supposed to be a little runny on the inside.

The class ended with stuffed eggs, Chimay style, which are basically amped up deviled eggs. The stuffing is a blend of the hard-boiled yolk, mushroom duxelle and Mornay sauce (a bechamel with gruyere). The egg halves are covered with the sauce and shredded cheese, then placed under a broiler until they brown.

At this point, I should be egged out. Instead, I went home and made sabayon and spooned it over fresh berries.

It was egg-actly what I needed.

The Price is Right

Day 25

Everyone said costing would be a nightmare. After our lecture today, however, I'm convinced that it won't be too bad. I suppose I shouldn't jinx myself before the test, though, considering I haven't taken a math class since 1999.

But anything has to be easier than turning cocottes.

The idea behind costing is that it helps a business regulate its bottom line. A series of formulas help restaurants price their menu items so they can turn a profit. Costing can be the determining factor in whether a restaurant stays afloat.

Our class had a lesson in these formulas today, along with some recipes that demonstrated how to stretch food to its max. As it turns out, stuffing is one of the best ways to do this. I'm not just referring to Thanksgiving-type dressing, although that can certainly be a part of it. Mousselines, duxelles and other fancy stuffing preparations—known as "farce" in French—can all serve this purpose and are often made from vegetable and protein trimmings.

We prepared paupiette de volaille—a butterflied chicken breast stuffed with sausage and a mushroom duxelle. It was reminiscent of dishes my mom prepared during my childhood, which is always a good thing.

You can't put a cost on the comforts of home.

Tongue and Cheek

Day 24

Kidneys, sweetbreads, tongue and liver. Too bad there weren't some fava beans and a little Chianti to wash it all down.

I've never been extremely squeamish about organ meats. I've eaten most of them—including a huge plate in Buenos Aires, Argentina, filled with bull testicles, lamb's tongue and trotters. I've tasted tripe from a street cart in Chinatown, scarfed down house-made foie gras in Paris and enjoyed brain from a freshly butchered lamb. My thought is that most food is worth a shot because you never know if you'll love it; even if you don't, at least you can say you've tried it.

Today, however, I wasn't feeling as adventurous. I mean, I tried each dish (which was more daring than most people in the class), but I hesitated before every bite. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that many of my fellow students were disgusted by the dishes, or perhaps because we ate so many organs throughout the day.

It was an awfully large amount of offal.

I think the real reason I was turned off, though, was because of the first dish. Chef demoed rouelles de rognons—or for those who don't speak French—sauteed kidneys. Before he put them on the fire, he passed around an uncooked veal kidney so we could smell the "freshness." "Fresh" smelled like urine to me—and it tasted like urine, too.

After that, I didn't want to eat much. Unfortunately, it was too early for that, as we had three dishes ahead of us: foie de veau (sauteed calf's liver), braised lamb's tongue and pan-fried sweetbreads. I was thankful the latter was prepared with a goat cheese polenta because the creamy yellow starch was my lunch.

There was something off-putting about seeing the organs in their raw form. When I've eaten them in the past, someone else has prepared the dishes. Cooking them yourself makes you think even more about what you're actually consuming. And when you walk into a kitchen first thing in the morning and have to fetch uncooked lamb's tongues that are thawing in the sink, your mind races. (By the way, isn't there something completely ironic about eating a tongue? I chuckle every time I think about it.)

When I arrived home this evening, I was hungry, but nothing sounded appetizing. I decided on a familiar choice: crunchy peanut butter and apricot preserves on potato bread. It was perfect.

I won't dismiss organ meats from my diet. I just can't stomach them regularly or eat them continuously one after the other.

I'll put it this way: Organ meats are not something I would give my left kidney for.

Hare Today, Gone Tomorrow

Day 23

For me, one of the saddest things about my grandpa having to sell his house was that he wasn't able to take most of his belongings with him. He had to pare down—and that meant leaving behind his smoker.

Anyone who knew my grandpa pre-move knew about his smoker. It was a contraption he constructed from an old oil drum, handy as he was, and it made the best ribs I've tasted in my life. He'd use it to prepare other items, too, including fish and rabbit.

So I was psyched when I found out rabbit (specifically,

rabbit ragout with vegetables and pommes puree) was one of our recipes, because I knew it would bring back good memories. Of course, nothing will ever compare to my grandpa's rabbit, but I have to say this dish succeeded in satisfying my taste

buds. For the dish, the rabbit was prepared three ways: The legs were braised (the hind legs were served whole while the meat was taken off the front legs to make a ragu) and the loins were sauteed then roasted along with the tiniest rib racks I've ever seen.

The class also made jarret d'agneau braise (braised lamb shank). We slow cooked the shanks in red wine, veal stock, tomatoes and rosemary and then served it over couscous with a reduction of the braising liquid. We kept the shanks on the bone, caveman style. Sometimes there's nothing more appealing than a huge hunk of meat on my plate.

There was so much food by the end of the day that we wrapped up the leftovers for lunch tomorrow. Good idea, considering we'll only be cooking organ meats.

Besides both rabbit and lamb dishes, the class scarfed down a strawberry tart provided by the Italian culinary class as well as a blueberry peach crumble I promised to make weeks ago for two Southerners yearning for a taste of home. To top it all off, I headed to a pie-making demonstration after class and consumed slices of both blueberry and sweet potato.

I definitely ate more than rabbit food today.

The Veal World

Day 22

There was a period when I was little that I didn't eat veal. I was probably about 8 years old or so, and I asked my mom what it was. "Baby cow," she responded. "I'm eating a baby!" was how I processed it, which was unsettling for a grade-schooler whose favorite thing to do was go to the zoo.

Refusing to consume veal was the closest I ever came to vegetarian status. (Don't get me wrong: I continued to eat beef, pork and chicken, the latter which we seemed to eat often because my parents were trying to watch their cholesterol. I got so tired of chicken at one point, I remember not wanting to eat that as well; I think my parents felt the same.) It wasn't long before I got over the baby cow thing, though. If veal parmesan—or a veal ricotta meatball, which I ate last night—is on a menu, I'm probably going to order it.

As I write about this, I'm casually popping chunks of veal blanquette in my mouth, cold. (I'm impatient—and obviously hungry.) We made the dish, known in French as blanquette de veau, in class today. I have to say that the sauce, a creamy veloute, is what made it. Normally, the veal would be the star of the dish for me, but this recipe calls for blanching, rinsing and simmering it in water, and all of that just sucks so much flavor out of the meat. What a shame.

I felt the same way about dish No. 2: pot au feu, sauce raifort (simmered beef with horseradish sauce). The short ribs—which I also order almost every time they're on a menu—went through the same blanching/rinsing/simmering process. They were tender in the end but lost significant flavor; however, the horseradish sauce made up for it.

I'd rather brown the meat in a saute pan or the oven any day. But I guess that's the veal deal for classic French cuisine.

Game Time

Day 21

I'm game for game.

The last time I remember having venison was in January 2006, when I attended a close friend's rehearsal dinner in South Carolina. She and her now husband are from a small town where you're probably not considered a real man until you've gone hunting. (Before the two got married, he begged her to go with him. After much pleading, she obliged—and killed a deer on literally her first shot. She doesn't have the desire to ever go again, but I think that sealed the deal for him.)

Anyway, I decided to have the true Southern experience at the rehearsal dinner and opted for the venison. It was served in a large martini glass over grits and topped with a brown gravy. Amazing. It tasted like nothing else I've ever had, and I still think about it to this day.

Today I was reunited with vension, both wild and farm-raised. (Here's a tidbit for you: According to the USDA, "venison" refers to meat from deer, elk, moose, caribou, antelope and pronghorn.) The wild venison I ate today and at the rehearsal dinner was whitetail deer; the farm-raised venison was elk.

The class agreed: Wild venison has so much more flavor than farm-raised. It's a shame animals hunted for sport are banned from commercial use.

We sauteed the farm-raised elk loin and then finished it in the oven. It was served with Bordelaise sauce and pommes darphin (a potato pancake). Good stuff, but I preferred the chef's deer, which he personally hunted with a bow and arrow, grilled and served up with just salt and pepper.

I'll be on the hunt for game meat that wasn't raised in captivity.

Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3

Day 20

My couch has never felt so good. In a few hours, my bed will feel even better.

Level 1 practical and comprehensive exam: I'm done with you. I made it through 90 minutes of hand-crippling tournage and taillage, followed by a written test covering the first sixth of the program. My back is stiff, my feet are sore and my mind is numb.

Going into the test, I wasn't sure what to expect. I mean, I knew what tasks were ahead of me, but I didn't know how I'd react to the time limits and pressure of the chefs' watchful eyes. I was visibly shaking during my first few cuts—as told to me by an observant fellow student who had to sit out because of a finger injury—but I made it.

The hardest part, for me, was taking apart the artichoke. I had a feeling it was going to give me trouble, and it did. Its prickly leaves (which can seriously hurt you, by the way) were flying everywhere as students used kitchen shears to expose the flesh. As I was evening out the sides with a paring knife (obviously a bit too quickly), I slipped and sliced a portion of the heart.

Hopefully, they didn't notice, 'cause I don't want to choke.

To celebrate our conclusion of Level 1, some classmates headed to The Meatball Shop on the Lower East Side. The beef meatballs with mushroom sauce, a side of polenta and an Ommegang were exactly what I needed to rest my brain.

Tomorrow begins Level 2. We have new books, new recipes, a new chef and a new kitchen. I'm pumped—especially because this section includes pastries, pasta and wine tasting. I'm ready for a new ball game.

And I could go for another one of those meatballs right about now...

Mutton, Honey

Day 19

Our class had a little lamb—and it all went in our bellies.

For the final Level 1 lesson, the chefs demoed a roasted leg of lamb with Provencal herbs; we prepared cotes d'agneau avec ratatouille (marinated lamb chops with vegetable ragout and roasted garlic butter) and navarin printanier d'agneau (lamb stew with seasonal vegetables). Good thing my chops came out a perfect medium-rare, because that was my entire lunch. And boy, were they good.

We served the stew with carrot, turnip and potato cocottes, which gave us a little extra practice for our practical tomorrow. For the test, each student is required to turn potatoes into cocottes, break down an artichoke, cook tomato fondue, and make specific cuts (julienne a carrot, jardiniere a turnip, ciseler a shallot, emincer an onion, etc.). After all that, we'll take a comprehensive written exam.

I can do this.

The most stressful part, for me, is the fact that someone will be watching over our shoulders while we complete the tasks. Why is it that when you're being monitored, you're more apt to make mistakes?

I can't believe it's almost been a month. With two shakes of a lamb's tail, Level 1 is just about complete.

Hog Heaven

Day 18

For some reason, I always veer away from pork whenever I'm conjuring up dinner.

I'm not sure what it is. Maybe I associate The Other White Meat with a super-dried out chop that has virtually no flavor. Or perhaps it's just the opposite—falling-off-the-bone St. Louis-style ribs—which are delicious but ultra-time consuming.

What about bacon, you ask? It's a no-brainer the fatty slabs of meat are amazing. I cook with bacon frequently (I even put it on ice cream, as you may have seen in my "Getting Corny" post), but I just have trouble aligning its awesomness with the same animal as a pork chop.

When I eat pork, someone else is usually preparing it. A few of my favorites off-hand are Michael Symon's smoked Berkshire pork chop at Lola, a good rack of ribs from anywhere that does it right, carnitas tacos, and my mom's bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin.

Today proved that a little something extra, such as a sauce, can take a familiar (and awfully boring) piece of meat to the next level.

For the first recipe, we made cotes de porc charcutiere (pork chops with sauce charcutiere). The pork was seared and placed in the oven to finish cooking. Then we turned a bland dish upside-down with a sauce made of demi-glace, wine, onions, mustard and cornichons. The second recipe—rosettes de porc au gingembre, sauce aigre-doux (ginger-marinated pork fillet with sweet and sour sauce)—was also a hit. I took an entire portion home so I don't have to cook Wednesday night.

Despite a long day, which included test No. 4, I came home only to study for our Level 1 final on Thursday. It features a comprehensive written exam as well as a practical, where we're judged on knife skills and basic cooking techniques. I'm worried about the cocottes; apparently we have to turn a potato into eight of them in 15 minutes.

Yeah, when pigs fly.

Beefing Up

Day 17

I thought emulsified sauce day was heavy on the heart. But add a slab of compound butter to a New York strip steak, throw in a mound of shoestring fries, and you've got a dish that would have any cardiologist tsk-tsking.

That was the pre-lunch dish.

After lunch—which I skipped so my heart would continue to lub-dub—we made a filet with Bordelaise sauce (which comprises red wine, demi-glace, shallots and bone marrow). On the side

were pommes frites. I was tempted to eat steak No. 2 but instead decided to wrap it up for my hardworking husband. He and my heart will thank me.

Tonight, I will be an herbivore—save for a small bite of the beef medallion that will be on Ryan's plate. Just call me Iron (Wo)man.

Chef taught us some basic beef butchering, which I found to be pretty interesting. It was especially entertaining when he called on a volunteer to stand next to him so he could point out a cow's various cuts of meat.

Glad it wasn't me. I'm feeling a little beefy.

Fowl Taste

Day 16

I wish life was just ducky right now. It's not.

I'm writing Friday's post two days late, in the hopes that I would locate my Canon PowerShot that I've had by my side throughout this culinary adventure. (The camera is actually a gift my husband received from my parents, and we've used it on endless vacations and food-related jaunts.) Hopefully, I'll return to school Monday and the point-and-shoot will be waiting for me in the lost-and-found. I don't want to be a Debbie Downer, but I'm not so confident that is going to happen. In the meantime, my phone will serve as my replacement.

There is some good news, though: I've downloaded pretty much every photo on the camera. However, I am missing game bird day.

I'm on a duck hunt.

Speaking of ducks, my class prepared the Long Island variety (a descendent of the white Pekin, just for some random knowledge) with a classic orange sauce; we sauteed the breasts and braised the legs. Yum. The chef's demo dish was a roasted duck with the same sauce. Double

yum.

The final recipe was pan-roasted quail with rice and sausage stuffing. I have three words for that: good yet impractical. The tiny birds look cute on a plate but have virtually no meat. "You would need three of these for a meal," the chef commented. Apparently, he doesn't think big of the little ones either.

Next class will feature my protein of choice: beef. Just to get a head start, I ordered steak tartar for Sunday brunch at L'Ecole, the school's restaurant where I will spend the final two months of my program. It was totally worth the extra cholesterol. Ryan went for it, too, with a ratatouille burger.

Beef. It's what's for dinner—and sometimes for brunch.

Whine and Dine

Day 15

For me, there's not much more satisfying than a good meal. On the flip side, there's not much more disappointing than a bad one.

Unfortunately, I was fork-deep in a bad one this evening.

After a long day at school spent trussing and quartering chickens—not to mention an early morning test about filleting fish—I was ready for a relaxing evening and a great meal. Ryan and I opted for a restaurant we hadn't tried in the neighborhood (which I will respectively keep unnamed) and we were completely let down.

I knew it was bad news once the waitress replaced my glass of skunky wine with another glass of skunky wine. (Restauranteurs: If your place doesn't have air conditioning and it's consistently been 90-plus degrees outside, keep the bottles somewhere cool—or don't sell wine at all. It's not rocket science, people.) The appetizers followed, and I'm almost certain the advertised truffle oil wasn't in the dish. Our bland entrees came last.

Ryan wanted to blame his cold, and I wanted to blame my burnt tongue, which I injured today tasting court boullion (a short broth) that was just taken off the burner. However, I'm fairly confident it wasn't our taste buds fooling us. The food was bad. Period.

I'm sure there are plenty of poor restaurants in this city, but I don't often find myself eating at them. Whether a dive or a Michelin star joint, I usually rely on friends' requests, NYMag.com or Yelp.com. I'm not usually led astray. Today was an exception.

We needed a quick recovery. The tasteless meal led us to Brix, a great little wine store on 9th Street in the East Village. We settled on a white blend from Bordeaux.

Wine saved me from my whine.

Shell-shocked

Day 14

I survived the drill; the lobster didn't.

Today, I killed my first crustacean. I wasn't sure how I'd do. People go on and on about how traumatic their first experience was and often suggest ways to make it less painful for the bottom dweller, such as sticking it in the freezer or stabbing it through the head. I'm fairly confident those are both BS suggestions and they're just trying to make themselves feel better about doing the dirty work.

Turns out it wasn't so bad—for me, at least (I did hear a few squeals throughout the room.) I covered its eyes, twisted the tail in the opposite direction of the head and the job was done. The most distrurbing part was afterwards when the segments continued to squirm on the cutting board in front of me.

Besides lobster, we swam our way through a sea of shellfish: We practiced searing scallops, simmering mussels, sauteing snails, and shucking clams and oysters. I was more nervous about accidentally stabbing my hand for the latter than I was about ending the lobster's life. I guess you could call me selfish (or shellfish, perhaps).

After three days of eating aquatic life, I'm over it. Don't get me wrong: I love a great seafood dish. But when your stomach feels like the sea itself—with bits of fish floating around in a tide of butter and white wine—it's not appetizing anymore.

I'm personally making a motion to stop eating from the ocean for awhile.

No Floundering Here

Day 13

Any night that ends with fried chicken has to be a good one.

I just walked in the door and, although I'll likely be paying for it in the a.m., I have to say it was worth it.

My friend has been obsessing over BonChon Chicken for what seems like a couple years. For some reason or another, we never got around to eating it together—until tonight. It all started with a good bottle of Chilean white wine and moved on to a variety by Trader Joe's own Charles Shaw. (Sorry wine snobs, but there's nothing wrong with a little 2 Buck Chuck.)

Before my friends and I knew it, we were ordering a bucket of Korean fried chicken from BonChon's Financial District outpost. Even after all the fried food this week, it was extremely difficult (and maybe impossible) to pass up the double-fried legs and wings.

I have to say that eating amazing, cheap food while hanging with your buddies on a rooftop late night (with a perfect view of the Chrysler Building and Brooklyn Bridge, nonetheless) is one of those quintessential New York moments. I love this city.

The get-together was a nice distraction after Fish Lesson No. 2. Today we filleted flat fish (flounder, to be exact), which proved to be a bit easier than the previous lesson's round fish butchering. Either way, it would be nice to know how much money you're actually saving by doing it yourself versus having a fishmonger provide you with the prepared cuts.

I think I'll pay a little extra for the labor.

My new partner and I made it through the lesson unscathed. Let me add that she rocked it today, even with her one-gloved, bandaged hand. (Please read the previous post if you want to find out what happened to her.)

Tomorrow is shellfish day, otherwise I would say: Give me back that filet-o-fish, give me that fish.

Fishy Situation

Day 12

I've never had a fish dish prepared a la meuniere, but now I know why Julia Child fell in love with it at first bite. I sure did.

It tasted especially good since blood, sweat and tears were expelled not only in the cooking process but in the early preparation. Today marks the first time I filleted an entire fish. It is at this moment that I want to give props to fishmongers everywhere: I think your job is really tough, and I'm envious of your ability.

Note to self: Hug the fish guy at the market next time I see him (or her, of course).

Thankfully, only sweat—not blood and tears—was part of my equation. Unfortunately, not everyone could say that. One poor student severely cut her finger with a chef's knife and was forced to spend the entire day in the ER. As the doc was stitching up her wound, she was told she might lose the top of her finger; it was, appropriately, the middle one. She came back at the end of the day with a smile on her face and her appendage wrapped in gauze. Glad she's OK.

It looks like I'll be getting some much-needed filleting practice, as said student is my new partner tomorrow.

But back to the a la meuniere. (Hungry anyone?) For the dish, we made trout in a version called "a la Grenobloise," meaning that capers, diced lemon and croutons were added to the brown butter sauce and then poured over the fish, which was also cooked in butter. Yum.

The other recipe came in a close second, likely because it contained a bit less butter. A fillet of striped bass sat atop a mushroom duxelle (finely diced mushrooms and shallots cooked down in butter) and a tomato fondue (finely chopped tomatoes, shallots and garlic also sweat in butter). It was topped with julienned carrots, leeks and celery (prepared in—you guessed it—butter), a sprig of thyme and a few splashes of white wine. The entire dish was wrapped in parchment paper and baked.

I've said butter more times than I can count. Tonight, I will be enjoying a butter-free dish, full of fresh veggies from the Tompkins Square Greenmarket.

You butter believe it.

Hot Potato

Day 11

What would a French culinary education be without a french fry lesson?

For the first time, I used a deep fryer and a mandoline—two kitchen items I've stayed away from for fear of hurting myself. (I can be a mess in the kitchen. Luckily, I've never needed stitches, but Ryan is constantly picking up onion pieces from the floor in front of the cutting board.)

Well, I got over my fear of the mandoline as I practiced slicing frites, gaufrettes and long cylinders. I'll definitely be investing in one of those. As for the deep fryer, it still freaks me out. I'm pretty sure I won't be experimenting on my tiny, four-burner stove in my 500-square-foot apartment. It just seems like a bad idea. I'll save french fry making for a bigger kitchen someday...

In addition to fries, we also made a gratin dauphinois (potato gratin), pommes anna, pommes puree (mashed potatoes) and pommes duchesse. For the latter, we piped the mixture out of pastry bags with a star tip. That's one technique I'll be practicing at home—I can't bear to have the chef tell me a second time that my piping looks like "something else," a.k.a a dog turd. No one wants their food to resemble poop.

The chefs said they could easily spend another eight hours just talking about potatoes, but it was time to go. We were starched—and parched.

Several classmates decided to quench their thirst at a bar down the street from the school. I threw back a couple dirty Grey Goose martinis and then headed home to meet Ryan. He surprised me with reservations at Minetta Tavern, a restaurant in the West Village that's been on the top of my must-eat list for awhile. We split the roasted bone marrow with shallot confit as an appetizer (awesome), Ryan opted for the New York strip, and I ordered the famous Black Label burger (amazing). Made with freshly ground prime dry-aged beef and topped with caramelized onions, it was worth every one of the $26.

Afterwards, we met back up with culinary school friends. It was nice to finally introduce Ryan to some of my classmates. We reconvened at Bookmarks at the Library Hotel—one of my favorite midtown bars where a fellow student works. The evening ended with probably one too many Old Fashioned cocktails.

I think I deserved it this week.

Chlorophyll Borophyll

Day 10

Simple salads, mixed salads, composed salads... either way, it's just a salad.

I'm not thrilled with making salads; they don't do anything for me. It's the meal I make when I'm too lazy to think of anything else or I've been eating red meat all week. It's the closest thing to diet food—and who likes diet food?

But salads are part of the curriculum, so I suppose we had to cover them.

The most interesting part of the day was the final demo where we learned how to extract chlorophyll from spinach. Who knew? Chlorophyll is used to color certain foods like pasta dough. I felt like I was in high school biology all over (I still remember the day when I removed the DNA from an onion).

Exciting as that was, however, I was ready for class to be over so that I could be a human again (not to mention cool off a bit—it was 95 degrees outside today and what felt like 195 in the kitchen). I happily headed with Ryan to Dobbs Ferry, N.Y.—Westchester County for those who aren't familiar—and met some friends for Greek night at an intimate restaurant on the main drag called Mykonos.

I stuffed myself on tzatziki, skordalia, spanakopita, saganaki and moussaka—all sopped up with pita. Some red Greek wine was an added benefit. If it sounds like a lot of food, it was. It's OK, though, because we burned some calories dancing to live Greek music and throwing napkins and dollar bills in the air.

Opa!

Lamb Chop Shop

Day 9

"I feel normal here."

That was the quote of the day, whispered to me by my partner. We chuckled over the remark, said during an in-class demonstration where one of the chefs was showing us how to make pastrami, followed by a lesson on curing pork belly for bacon. Many of the students noted how excited they were to go home and try it themselves. I was one of them.

I had to smile because her comment was so true. For me, one of the coolest things about attending culinary school is that people are here because they want to be here. Of course, you'll always get the student who was forced into the field, but most genuinely have a love affair with food. It's great to be around people who feel the same way I do.

One guy who certainly has a love for it is Daniel Holzman, executive chef and co-owner of The Meatball Shop in New York. I was so excited when I heard he would demonstrate how to butcher a lamb that I signed up for his event prior to the the first day of class. In general, I imagine most people wouldn't care to see a lamb taken apart. In culinary school, it's abnormal if you don't want to have a look.

If you haven't heard of Holzman, it's about time you do. Long story short: His cooking career began at age 15 at Le Bernardin, when renowned chef Eric Ripert suggested he head to The Culinary Institute of America (CIA). He eventually opened his first restaurant, SPQR, in San Francisco and received a 3 1/2 star rating (out of 4 by The San Francisco Chronicle) for the laidback Roman cuisine; later he created a novelty ice cream company, KB, where his crispy rice marshmallow ice cream sandwiches were picked up by Whole Foods; and most recently, he debuted The Meatball Shop, which sells sliders, heroes and the balls themselves as well as sides like risotto and polenta.

I love that Holzman has reinvented classic comfort food in such a way that people wait hours to eat it.

I think much of Holzman's success lies behind his willingness to try anything. Today, he used virtually every part of the lamb, spitting out experimental remarks like "Why don't we try this?" and "I've never done this before, but it might be the best thing we eat all night." Eat we did: The list of lamb parts I tried included belly, shoulder, tenderloin, tongue, liver, heart and brain. All were worth a shot—especially the brain, which had the texture of cream cheese.

Hopefully all that iron will provide lots of energy for tomorrow so I can bring my "A" game to Day 10. I won't be the lamb that is led to the slaughter.

If You Can't Take the Heat...

Day 8

My mom said it would happen.

There was no doubt, she told me, the chefs in culinary school would scream at you, put you down and make you feel like dirt. Well, eight days in, that time has arrived, and I'm pretty sure it's only going to get worse.

But that's OK. Really. I know the instructors are there to push you. How else are you going to make it if you can't multitask in an efficient manner? After all, the quote is, "If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen," right?

My partner and I were "f***ing behind" today, according to the chef. "Embarrassingly slow" I was told (loudly) in my right ear. Next time I make farmer's soup, I will be sure to focus less on my paysanne cuts measuring a perfect 0.5 cm x 1 mm and more on getting it done. "What farmer do you think focuses on perfectly cut vegetables?" the chef added as an extra stab.

We weren't the only ones, though. As a whole, our class was so far behind schedule that we couldn't really eat lunch because we were busy cleaning up and preparing for the second half of the day. We wanted to step it up—and we did.

Our beef consomme—the first either of us made—wasn't too bad. And we did it without falling behind.

I think this morning's test is what killed us. None of us knew what to expect, so many (including myself) were up late cramming every last bit of information into our memory. By the time our answers were turned in, our brain activity was already slowing down. In college, I would have headed back to my dorm and taken a nap before the next class. Here, we still had an entire day of soup making ahead of us.

Ryan would probably joke that it's time to suck it up. (It was his favorite line during his residency, initially told to him by his first-year chief.) The chefs would likely say the same—but mean it.

I'm slowly developing a thick skin.

Everything's Better with Butter

Day 7

It's ironic that my partner walked into class today with a pen reading "Plavix," a blood-thinning medication for people with coronary artery disease. After all, it was emusified sauce day; I'll refer to it as butter and egg day.

We made mayonnaise. Then we ate it. We made hollandaise. Then we ate it. Bearnaise followed, then beurre blanc, and finally, sabayon. At this point, I'm sweating butter. My arm is a condiment dispenser—just hand me your toast.

I figured out why my bearnaise on Friday night turned out foamy: lack of heat. I didn't cook the eggs at a high enough temperature. The problem with such emulsified sauces is that you don't want to scramble the eggs, as you're using an uncooked yolk. I witnessed many people today turn their egg/butter mixtures into omelets.

I have to say my bearnaise this afternoon was a thing of beauty. Even after a morning of tasting sauces, I poured the creamy yellow goo over my pork (does anyone eat bearnaise with pork?) and scarfed it down.

No heavy sauces for dinner tonight—just some chipotle tacos and homemade guacamole I whipped up to make myself feel a little healthier. I did snack on some cherry cheddar cheese, courtesy of my study buddy, while cramming for tomorrow's test. A test? Boo. I haven't studied for one of those since 2003.

Too bad it's not a test to see who could eat the most bearnaise. I think I might have a chance.

Getting Corny

Michael Symon is the man.

For those of you who only know him from "Iron Chef America," it should be made clear that the Cleveland chef was cooking amazing food long before his Food Network days. I grew up in Cleveland myself—proudly, I might add—and I can truly say I have eaten some of the best food of my life at his restaurants. When I go back to visit my parents, I (easily) convince them to hit up one of his places for some beef cheek pierogis, cheesy polenta or a double-cut pork chop.

So when I turned on the Cooking Channel (Scripps Networks' newest venture) and discovered Symon making sweet corn ice cream with caramel-candied bacon and popcorn, I had to give it a go. (Side note: Those close to me know that I'll typically try any food once. They also know that for some reason, I'm not a huge fan of two things: watermelon and creamed corn. I'll eat them, but I'd rather not.) Sweet corn ice cream sounded closely related to creamed corn, but I was willing to give it a try since it was one of Symon's recipes.

I'm so glad I went for it. I omitted the popcorn, but I didn't lose the bacon. Everything is better with bacon. It could make an old shoe taste good.

That has me thinking: What about watermelon and bacon?