It was the best of times ... well, you know the rest of that quote. Suffice to say that it fairly sums up my recent experiences with the culinary class I've been attending. As you recall, I have no experience in the food service industry. What I may have neglected to add is that I also have no experience in cooking ... period. That's right, your humble narrator is a chap who never found the time -- or more importantly, the inclination -- to buy ingredients and prepare them at home.
To me the idea of cooking seemed like a waste of time; still does. Why bake a cake, broil a roast, fix various cookies, etc. when you can buy all that stuff ready-made? To me, the idea of cooking simply represents a hassle, one that I can easily avoid. While this might make James Beard turn over in his grave (or giant-sized rotisserie as the case may be), I find cooking to be a tedious and needless task.
Seriously, I cannot comprehend the fascination of standing over piles of raw ingredients, measuring them out (makes my brain hurt just thinking of all the damned math involved) and chopping stuff into microscopic bits with razor-sharp knives. If you've read anything about my experience with sharp objects, you know why I'm antsy around knives and/or other sharp objects. Unfortunately, kitchens are crammed with sharp objects (although some of the cooks can be dull) and other various machinery that can cut, maim, crush, pulverize, or otherwise send an unsuspecting worker to the hospital, if not the grave.
And getting back to the standing around bit: I'm talking about hours of standing, with minimal movement except for the upper body. Your legs tend to stay put. I've found that whether I'm cooking something, standing in the serving line, or working the dishwasher, the result of all that standing is the same the next morning I wake up with a sore lower back and feet. It takes the better part of a day for the pain to recede and by then, guess what? Right, it's time to go back to work.
These are just my experiences since last November working in the Salvation Army kitchens. I can't imagine the toll such standing around would take on my body were I employed in a "real" job (ie, one that involves a paycheck). These are some of the reasons I don't like the idea of working as a cook of any sort. I don't like the work because its very nature strains my patience to the point of breaking. And because of the physical discomfort, you'll forgive me if I refer to the process of cooking as a literal pain in the ass.
Yet, there are plenty of people out there who do love to cook usually, these are the same people who love to eat, and can appreciate fine food as befits a true gourmand. Notice you don't see a lot of svelte cooks out there; my guess is their customers would questions the food quality of a skinny chef (that is, unless they specialized in healthy cuisine). Such people view dining out as an experience. So be it. They live to eat.
I'm not here to say they're wrong. But I've always been more of a 'eat-to-live' chap. Give me the basics and I'm fine. I don't need my food to look like a work of art; it doesn't have to look like a tiny sculpture. Anyway, the shape of food has never influenced its taste, at least not for me. Maybe some people are susceptible to a form of 'culinary hypnosis.' Or maybe they just want to be thought of sophisticated. I guess it's no accident that so many food shows like Hell's Kitchen are so popular.
Anyway, why am I ragging on (and on) the culinary industry? just to put my viewpoint in perspective for you as I now rag upon the culinary class I'm taking. Last Tuesday was a good class as I managed to follow along with my 2 teammates in making carious basic soups. Our consomme turned out very nice, very clear. It's yellow clarity prompted Pitbull to comment, "It looks like fresh, steaming piss." While I doubt it would be described as such in a menu, his observation was accurate. (In fact, it makes me think of how odd it is that so many foods and ingredients tend to resemble human bodily fluids in color and texture. Remind me to comment on this in detail in a future post.)
Our teacher, Chef X, was pleased by our work, saying it was "fine." That's about as good as it gets from this guy, trust me. Some students find Chef X to be a prick because he's so blunt and direct. Personally, I don't mind being told the truth, even if it hurts. This chef is also very demonstrative, using his hands whenever he talks. He has an accent that I pegged for Eastern, perhaps upper Midwest; but he says he was born and raised in California. He spent a year in Oklahoma and "my dad said I came back talking like an Okie."
Whatever. With his burly, overweight build, direct manner and propensity for cursing (upon leaving a stove on too long and burning one of his recipies, he shouted, "S**t! I f**ked it up, godammit!") he makes me think The Sopranos would've loved this guy. One thing that he didn't love was my effort(s) on Wednesday night. We had to work individually to make mashed potatoes. He said my potatoes were too thin, too cold, and didn't have enough salt (nobody's effort had enough salt, apparently). Other than that it was fine. The rice dish I made was undercooked and basically inedible (tasted okay to me, as did the potatoes).
A lot of the students were anxious about the grade he was marking down for them, and even asked what grade they were receiving. A check mark meant 100, which my teammate Rain Man received for his efforts. Then again, the guy has 15+ years experience in the culinary field and managed a McDonalds. PB is likely getting B+ grades. And your humble narrator? I expect I'm lowering the curve, to put it kindly.
The bad thing is, I don't especially care. And this plays in with my general lack of interest in the subject matter. I've found that in the past I did best with subjects in which I had a great interest and/or aptitude: Writing, art, history would be examples. I had some interest in math but had no aptitude for anything past simple algebra (even that was a hassle). With cooking, I have no interest OR aptitude in the subject; what should I expect would happen in such a circumstance?
This is a classic case of wrong student, wrong subject and wrong class. The overwhelming majority of my fellow students have at least some degree of culinary experience. In addition to RM, a couple of them attended the Cordon Bleu school (but dropped out for various reasons, like criminal behavior). Even those with no formal experience have done some cooking at home. As you know by now, I possess no such culinary background (if you listen closely you can hear the world's tiniest violin playing.
So why am I there in the first place? Because the SA caseworker told me that my culinary inexperience didn't matter. Yeah. And this was told to with a straight face, so I accepted it. This class might be called basic cooking, but some degree of experience is required to fully understand it (at least for me). I needed a ground floor class that assumes the student has no knowledge of cooking. As in, this is a spatula. This is a mixing bowl. These are eggs and here's how to crack them. Simple stuff, right?
I don't know what to do about it just yet, but I'll take the weekend to mull it over.Likely I'll have to plead my culinary ignorance to Chef X or my SA caseworker to see if I can be graded on a lower standard. Right now, the only thing I'm learning from this cooking class is how to cook my own goose.
Let's move on to another subject: Co-worker relations in the SA kitchens. As you know, your humble narrator is an easy going bloke, never looking for trouble when it can be avoided. I'm happy to say I've gained a rep for being personable and easy to work with. That in mind, I had decided to practice with a knife any try to become comfortable using it but cutting up a couple of potatoes. I took a spare cutting board and a chef' knife and went in the dining room adjacent to our kitchens and cafe dining room.
This area (known as the homeless dining room due to the free meals given out here) is always empty during my morning shift (5a-1p). With some downtime, I set up shop in the room and commenced practicing. About five minutes later a co-worker named Harry walks in and decides to watch me. Understand that Harry has some personality quirks that require strong medication. He has a tendency to babble, twitch and make odd facial contortions as a result of his affliction. I asked him nicely if he would move on, as I wanted to practice alone. He complied.
A few minutes later another co-worker appeared. This was a short, rotund black guy who looks like the late actor Godfrey Cambridge. He stopped by to watch as well. When I told him what I was doing he said, "Hey man, you doin' it wrong" and stared at me. I politely asked him if he would leave me be as his presence was distracting. He too complied.
A few minutes after that, yet another co-worker shows up. What is this, Grand Central Station? This is a middle-aged black volunteer named Jackson, who is known for wearing a cowboy hat. He walks over and advises me that the lead cooks will "kick your ass if they find you in here doing that." Now irritated I mumble something like, "We'll see" and continue cutting the potato.
Jackson walks over to inspect my work and says in a snide tone, "Who you makin' that for? It's gotta be for you."
"No," I say, "I'm making it for the troops overseas."
"You don't have to be a smartass about it! I only asked a question!"
"And I gave you an answer." I continued cutting the potato.
"You said it was for troops overseas!" Jackson said, louder.
"That's what I said." I made the reply as quietly as possible, not wanting to ignite a shouting match. After that I said nothing but continued practicing, ignoring him. He finally got the message and left without another word. While he likely thinks I'm an asshole, I like to think I successfully defused a potential problematic situation with my calm demeanor. My only regret is that I massacred an innocent potato while practicing upon it.
So that'll wrap it up for this installment. More fun next time! Y'all come back now, hear?
Quote of the Day: "Fat is flavor", Chef X
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