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?