It's Valentine's Day, so your humble narrator wishes you and yours the best V.D. ever shared with a loved one! That out of the way, let me quickly recount my epic experiences from last night's culinary class. We continued our evisceration of dead sea creatures and their attendant carcasses (or is the plural carcassi?) and even performed a live execution upon 2 innocent lobsters. Then again, how can anything with claws that big be "innocent?"
We started off with demonstration on how to shuck oysters and clams. Prying open the shells of these varmints is tougher than it looks; they literally clam up as you try to invade their space. The tightness is so pronounced that it provoked several untoward sexual comments from guys and gals alike (none of which I'll share with your delicate eyeballs; your minds are dirty enough to come up with your own double entendre anyway).
And the reward for all that effort? Well, oysters provide you with a half shell full of what appears to be a huge glob of snot. And of course people pay high prices for the privilege of swallowing that crap after dousing it with Tabasco sauce or lemon sauce or whatever. Cover it with hot fudge and whipped cream, and it still looks like some guy hawked a loogie in a shell. But that's me. Maybe I just don't give a shuck. Rain Man actually did swallow that raw oyster and said it had a slightly metallic aftertaste. Yum. The clams presented the same difficulty in opening their shells but for some reason these disgusting little globules of sea life are not consumed raw. Go figure.
We also learned how to prepare shrimp and squid. Shrimp is fairly easy to clean. Until you have to extract the intestinal vein. That is, you have to clean out the creature's poop, which comes out in a long, thin line. Doesn't that whet your appetite?
I just had to ask our instructor, Chef X, if shrimp sh*t wasn't considered a delicacy by some demented gourmands. He had no comment, so I take that for a 'yes'. And if it isn't it should be. For some reason, some of the world's delicacies also happen to be some of the most repulsive foodstuffs I can imagine. Fish eggs, frog legs, escargot, ousters, liver, kidney, and so on ... It's amazing that people will pay big money to eat this crap. Hey, any bids on a recipe for fresh, steaming squirrel vomit?
(I mentioned we also cleaned and dressed squid but I decided to bail on that assignment.) Then it was on to the evening's main event: Live execution of 2 lobsters. Chef X informed us that the most humane way to kill the creature was to stab it quickly in the head, then slice it down then middle -- which he proceeded to do with frightening precision. As the lobster's legs twitched from nervous reaction, to turned it over and cleaved the animal in twain, lengthwise, obliterating its protective armor with meaty crunching noises.
Then he split the creature into two halves and provided us with a cutaway view of the internal viscera. Really, it seems that being a chef is as much about being a coroner as a cook. He scooped out globs of green and yellow organs, some of which were -- you guessed it -- considered delicacies. There was a thick, mustard-like substance that Chef X couldn't identify. He said it resembled sperm, but these lobsters were female. I conjectured she either had a late night tryst or was a hermaphrodite. Seemed reasonable to me. But as usual, I was ignored.
(Doesn't it seem odd that so many sea creatures seem to have an insectoid appearance? Lobsters in particular seem like overgrown cockroaches, which is one reason I can't imagine eating one. Seeing a lobster makes me want to grab a giant-size can of raid and spray it to death. Shrimp, squid, crabs all look like they could be distant cousins of our common household pests. Actually, my third wife used to refer to me as a household pest but that's another blog.)
All these dismembered species of the sea were eventually hacked, boiled, cooked, stir-fried, and formatted by the class for consumption. Alas, I cannot divulge details on this because your humble narrator was taken ill. No, not by the sight of mutilated animals. Rather, I was apparently bitten by a flu bug of sorts which, shall we say, kept me running. I informed Chef X as to my condition and he advised that I should stay out of the kitchen to avoid infecting the food.
Actually, that is common practice among food handlers: At first sign of potential diarrhea or vomiting, a worker is sent home or told not to report for work. Now, some might find it odd that I was so stricken on a night in which I had absolutely no interest in the subject matter. Some might think, 'Hm, that's awfully convenient, isn't it?' But I tell you, o my readers, that I speak the truth. I honestly forgot I would be forbidden from completing the night's assignment due to such an illness.
Frankly, the notion that I couldn't stay in the kitchen never entered my mind. I spent a few hours wandering around the campus and eventually joined the rest of my classmates for the trip back to the Salvation Army shelter. Oddly enough, I had no further intestinal discomfort.
There have been some other issues swirling in my brain, but I'll save that for a future column. Suffice to say that you might not guess one of the things I miss most about having lost my domicile. Was it the privacy? Not necessarily. The freedom? More or less. No, what I really miss is playing with my XBOX and Playstation 2. Those were the days ...
Now before I get all weepy and misty-eyed, I promised to tell you about some of the full moon fever that hit the SA populace recently. It seemed to start last week during out culinary class when some teammates had a falling out about tasting food made with alcohol. Several of my classmates are in alcohol recovery programs, so they can't eat food made with booze. One girl took exception, and that instigated a loud argument between her and a male colleague who called her a "fat bitch" then seemed to take some menacing steps toward her while growling, "Step off". Which prompted Chef X to intervene and admonish them for bad form, since another class was gawking at us.
That wasn't all. My roommate B. who has a dry sense of humor at best called his teammate (a dotty 60 year old woman) "a freak", whereupon she started caterwauling about calling the cops on him. (She showed up in the kitchen the following morning to confront him saying "This isn't over!" to the amusement of those assembled) B, also incurred the wrath of my teammate Rain Man when he commented that anyone could take our equipment because "These p***y fa***ts won't do s**t about it!" B. said he meant it as a joke but when he tried to apologize to RM he was blown off with a gruff "F**k your apology!"
As if wars on two fronts weren't enough, B got into it with a large black woman (AJ) on the van ride home. AJ was outspoken enough, shouting that she was going to "kick y'alls asses"; not sure exactly what set her off, but she was off and running. B happened to bump her as he moved to the rear of the van and she shouted, "You don't stop that, I'm gonna bitch-slap your ass." He told her to shut up and she replied, "Boy, I'd be afraid of you if I though you could beat a man. You couldn't beat this woman, I'd knock your ass down."
And B said with a grin, "I would smash your f**kin' face in. I would beat the living s**t out of you, AJ." She shouted, you hear how this motherf***er is talkin' to me? Bitch, you better stop before you get a beat down." Things seemed to quiet down when someone either kicked her seat or started throwing things at her repeatedly. "All right, whoever doin' better chill or I'm gonna slap all y'asses!" The warning didn't take and she yelled, "I done told you to stop it! Or else you gonna find out real quick how this lady can fight like a goddam straight-up motherf**kin' n***a!" Say what you like, she does have a way with words, no?
(Later in our room, B vented on his true feelings toward AJ and black people in general. Let's just say he won't be voted the NAACP Man of the Year anytime soon.)
All this activity resulted in a flurry of emailings about the incident from the Chef to the SA caseworkers (the arguments in the van were reported by the driver). The upshot was a mandatory meeting in which all classmates were scolded for our behavior. It was a hand slap, really, delivered by JF our EES instructor who must have seen "Stand and Deliver" one time too many. He said that those who caused the disturbance should be ashamed of themselves. And so should the people who "stood in the weeds and let it happen." Let it happen?
I thought it was gutless to lump everybody in with the troublemakers including your humble narrator, who has dome nothing but follow the rules from day one. It's like certain caseworkers who tell you, 'If you see a crack pipe in your brother's hand it's your responsibility to take it away'. Right. And what happens when your brother sticks a knife between your ribs? If I got involved with the dispute(s) of others, don't I effectively become a source of disturbance? Sometimes makes you wonder why you try at all.
I see my time is winding down and I have to prepare for yet another challenge in culinary class. Fear not brothers and sisters, the end is in sight with only the final exam looming. Yes, the journey can be painful but sometimes it's best to follow the teaches of Peaches. Click here and she'll tell you how to deal with the pain. For now, that's a wrap!
Quote of the Day:
"How do you deal with overpopulation? Start a war every now and then, drop a few big nukes and wipe out a few hundred million people. Problem solved." -- Chef X
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