As I was studying for the upcoming lesson, I took note that there was no Lesson 2. Our books (bound photocopied sheets of paper in a 3 ring binder) did not skip pages, but it skipped lessons. How could this be? I figured I should just study the upcoming lesson. I read all about the foundation of French cooking. Stocks. Brown stocks, white stocks, fish stocks, vegetable stocks, and so forth. I took detailed notes and wrote down the recipes. I also reviewed some of Lesson 1, and I called it a night.
The reason we were missing lesson 2 from our books was because we were about to receive an entirely new book. It was the SafeServ food handling bible. And we were about to have an entire lesson on it.
Luckily enough, our chef, certified to teach this course, was full of charisma and made what could have been a boring hands-off lecture into a fun few hours.
I am having a hard time remembering his name, but I think it was Chef Tim (I won't try to remember his last name). He had his salt and pepper hair cut short, and a penetrating smile that looked like it could have been found on the cover of the American Dental Association annual publication (does this exist?). He had wide eyes and a booming voice that rose over the hum of the ventilation hoods. Apparently he was a personal chef for a few Hollywood celebrities, one of which he mentioned, though I will not disclose this information on the internet (he was probably violating his fiduciary duties in mentioning it to us... which was what made him more interesting, and according to that logic, not telling you makes this blog less juicy, oh well).
In brief, Bacteria is nasty, and so is the biproducts and viruses and all those other nasty things that can grow on food and make our poop turn into soup. I'm under the impression that they really want us to understand that proper food handling is a very real part of running a successful kitchen. I got it.
Oh, and its okay to eat spinach again. Especially if you cook it. At least I'm prepared for the next lesson.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Lesson 1 - French on French Action
Keep it in your pants. The only French on French action was our French chef explaining certain cutting techniques with their French names, in a French accent. It was pretty intimidating to say the least. Comical to say the most.
Before we jump ahead to the lesson, I arrived a bit earlier than suggested to ensure that my financial aid issues were taken care of. They were. I officially went into debt $30,000+. Whatever, right? I just have to convince my friends to buy me drinks from now on. No more crazy nights where I can't explain how I ran up $250 on my credit card. We're talking Pabst Blue Ribbon specials all night. I think its time to make an investment in a flask. I've seen an awesome cell phone looking flask which may be pretty practical. I think my roommate, Ian, owns it.
Anyways, I received my kit (clothing only, so far) with a "loaner" chef's jacket. I need to be sure to clean it, and return it like new. I definitely got some tomato gut on one sleeve. I'm not quite sure how well that comes out. But I will get it out. (hopefully my precious girlfriend knows a thing or two about this). I go into the locker room, and I explore my kit... The locker room is quite small, with some large men, not necessarily fat, but just grown men, on every bench getting dressed. In my kit, there are a few sets of pants, checkered.. stylish, a few triangle shaped handkerchiefs (neckerchiefs), some aprons, and these white rigid cheese cloth looking rags, which I'm still not exactly sure what they're for, though I did wear it at my side like a rag, but I don't think it was one.
The pants and jacket were easy. but the neckerchief... well, that was awkward. You basically roll this triangular kerchief into a thin tie, and then, apparently, you tie it like a tie. Its a little tacky, but so be it. Roll the apron up a little, tie it around your waist, and you're pretty much ready to go... and quite professional looking too. Oh, you also have to wear thick black leather shoes/boots, which I was fortunate enough to have just received (thanks dad, I bet you didn't think I'd end up needing those all-weather boots for the kitchen).
We're greeted by an admin person, wait on everyone to arrive in full chef attire, and make our way to our kitchen class room. This is it. Here we go.
I'm not exactly sure how to write with a French accent, but Chef Rogers (Ro-zhay) was definitely French. He said he was born in the Bronx, and raised in Paris... ("believe it or not"). I don't know if I've chosen to believe him yet. I did meet him on my tour the other day, and he does/did play rugby, which we discussed for a minute, and maybe that will give me some braising points (I'd say brownie if I was in the pastry program).
We chose a station with bags already resting on the countertops. In these bags were the tools of the trade. I will give a rundown of what I remember, but it would be more beneficial to show a picture.
There were the knives: chef's, paring, bread, meat knife (not a butcher knife), a loooong rounded end with grooves knife (slicing?), and filleting knife. Two whisks, a few spatulas, a dope pair of scissors, thermometer, pastry bag and tips, a looong needle with a hole at the end, um... a scooping ball maker, a chef's fork, and I'm sure many other things. $400 worth of equipment in a nice little bag. Its official now.
Man, I wish I took notes because there was a lot to digest. Besides the main lesson, there were little snippits of facts that he threw out in his French accent that I would have liked to have written down, but I didn't want to go and get my cards for notes. I hope to remember them as the need arises, but knowing me, I doubt it. Some of those snippits included the way you set up your station (3 metal bowls, one for cleaned unpeeled, pre-cut veggies, one for peels and scraps, and the last for the peeled, cut veggies. Note - They collect large CLEAN scraps for stocks and such, but they better be clean. And they have a compost bin for the rest)
Another note worthy snippit was when you boil something like a tomato to peel it, you must SHOCK it in ice water. First you boil it for NO MORE than 15 seconds, and second, you don't let it sit in the water for more than it takes to shock it (less than a minute). And I'm sure there were plenty of other things I should have written down.
Anyhow, the bulk of the lesson was on how you should look, a little bit of safety (when walking behind someone with a pot of scalding water you say something like "hot pot behind [, fooh]"), and most importantly, about 12 or 13 different types of cuts.
These cuts all had french names, which were barely comprehendible with Chef Rogers' French accent. Good thing our other Chef, Chef Wanda, born and raised in NY (wha-what?!), was writing some of these terms down and pronouncing them a little clearer. Thank you Chef Wanda.
The cuts ranged from slicing onion and shallots, cubing turnips, Julienne-ing carrots, Chiffinade-ing cabbage, and so forth. Some of them were easier to remember than others. As soon as I have time, I will take pics of everything, label the cuts with their proper names, and explain them.
The most important thing, however, is that these cuts should be consistent. When something should be .5 of a cm... it should be .5 of a cm. 1-2mm should be 1-2mm. Besides presentation, it ensures that when cooking for 5 minutes or so, they are all evenly cooked. None is more or less raw/firm than the other. Consistency, guys. Consistency. I know you don't need me to tell you this, but hey, its what I was told.
I must say, carrots are a BITCH! I never had as much trouble cutting a carrot as I did last night. We had to Julienne them, then cut some of the julienned pieces into little tiny 1mm by 1mm pieces. Out of a decent sized carrot, I got 1 good rectangular slice, about 4 or 5 good julienned pieces and from scraps I was able to get about 10-15 perfect little cubes. The chef didn't need to know that I got this little amount from a huge carrot, but its clearly something I'd like to fix.
I was working with a partner, somewhat. We were at the same station, and had our own cutting boards and Vegetables. Basically it was a partner to talk to. We helped eachother remember a few things, but mostly we chit chatted. Grace was from Bayside Queens and I believe she was a bit older than me, but had the asian youth look going on. She was pretty cool, and she made for a good partner, at the very least for the conversation. It was also nice to get to know my classmates a bit better. We do have 9 months ahead of us.
Well, Thursday is our next lesson. I'm doing a good job on these blogs (I think). I hope someone reads them?! But at the very least, I guess its a journal for my adventure.
By the way, we have a test in one week from Saturday. That blows. But bring it. This is better than any class I ever took in college (except maybe the fundamentals of conditioning) , so I will be prepared.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Lets Get Oriented..
Let me start by saying I am confused by this blog stuff. Sometimes I get a nice window to type my entry, other times I get a simple text box that has no formatting options. I guess I just gotta get over it.
So I got in a few minutes late. The stupid train (I love you, train) took forever to come. When the lady got to the part on lateness she was talking to me the whole time. But that's ok. I missed the most important part. A couple of chefs were talking to the class of 10. I was number 9. At least I even showed up.
First impressions... well, obviously, I'm late. I feel like a jerk, so I walk to the back of the room to take a seat quietly. But everyone from admin wants to talk to me. They want to take my picture, take care of financial aid stuff, ask for this and that. MEANWHILE people are addressing the class. I tried to insist that I should sit down and we can discuss it after. But they insisted that I address them immediately. Just makes me more of an asshole for being late.
We did a quick round the room introduction. I don't know why my heart started to beat quicker as they approached me. Why should I be nervous? These are my peers. I was also last to talk. So I had 8 other people to listen to, analyze, try to comprehend, and think about my response. The memorable ones are the ones you can a) hear in the first place, and b) tell you something interesting. There are only ten people, so the names will be easy (though I can only recall a couple right now). It looked like 2 of the 3 girls were right out of high school. I know one was for sure, she said so. I will refrain from describing denomination and shapes and sizes because, quite frankly, that's not important. But I will say, this isn't orientation to Vassar College. These aren't bright high schoolers with the only thing running through their heads being thoughts of how to get one of their classmates in bed, or "wow, that girl in my freshman group is really cute, I'd like to get to know her." Some of these people are more educated than others, older and wiser than others, with more or less people skills. Some people have traveled from Las Vegas and Pennsylvania, others from Staten Island and Queens.
We needed to say our names, where we're from and our favorite dish to cook and why we're here. I believe I said "Hi, I'm Edwin. I grew up about 20 minutes down Grand Street (pointing down the wrong block, I think). In college I worked in a deli and I made this grilled roast beef sandwich which was really delicious. All my friends loved it. Then I experimented with better cuts of meat and the sandwich just got much better, so I hope to make it the best sandwich ever.."
Corny, perhaps.. got a few chuckles when I mentioned how the better cuts of meat made it a better sandwich. But my heart immediately stopped racing, and I was able to focus.
I'll leave out the dry bits, which was basically the rest of the orientation, however, everyone had a black FCI duffle bag in front of their seat. I figured because I was late and walked straight to the back, mine was somewhere else. Not quite. Because I signed up last minute, and my loan had not been approved yet, they pretend that I'm not really signed up. Didn't get a bag, but did get to talk to a bunch of people about how I was going to pay, and why my loan doesn't show up on their administration sites... etc. I spent an extra hour with various admin, concluding that I needed to make some phone calls and figure some things out myself.
Luckily I have figured these things out, and everything is being processed. I think they will let me in the class tonight.
I am now in the hole for $33,500 bones, at a stifling, $600-$700 a month for the first 9 months, then $300-$400 for the next 10 to 20 years.
I did not sign up for that, I didn't think. I guess I did. I'll let you know how class goes tonight.
So I got in a few minutes late. The stupid train (I love you, train) took forever to come. When the lady got to the part on lateness she was talking to me the whole time. But that's ok. I missed the most important part. A couple of chefs were talking to the class of 10. I was number 9. At least I even showed up.
First impressions... well, obviously, I'm late. I feel like a jerk, so I walk to the back of the room to take a seat quietly. But everyone from admin wants to talk to me. They want to take my picture, take care of financial aid stuff, ask for this and that. MEANWHILE people are addressing the class. I tried to insist that I should sit down and we can discuss it after. But they insisted that I address them immediately. Just makes me more of an asshole for being late.
We did a quick round the room introduction. I don't know why my heart started to beat quicker as they approached me. Why should I be nervous? These are my peers. I was also last to talk. So I had 8 other people to listen to, analyze, try to comprehend, and think about my response. The memorable ones are the ones you can a) hear in the first place, and b) tell you something interesting. There are only ten people, so the names will be easy (though I can only recall a couple right now). It looked like 2 of the 3 girls were right out of high school. I know one was for sure, she said so. I will refrain from describing denomination and shapes and sizes because, quite frankly, that's not important. But I will say, this isn't orientation to Vassar College. These aren't bright high schoolers with the only thing running through their heads being thoughts of how to get one of their classmates in bed, or "wow, that girl in my freshman group is really cute, I'd like to get to know her." Some of these people are more educated than others, older and wiser than others, with more or less people skills. Some people have traveled from Las Vegas and Pennsylvania, others from Staten Island and Queens.
We needed to say our names, where we're from and our favorite dish to cook and why we're here. I believe I said "Hi, I'm Edwin. I grew up about 20 minutes down Grand Street (pointing down the wrong block, I think). In college I worked in a deli and I made this grilled roast beef sandwich which was really delicious. All my friends loved it. Then I experimented with better cuts of meat and the sandwich just got much better, so I hope to make it the best sandwich ever.."
Corny, perhaps.. got a few chuckles when I mentioned how the better cuts of meat made it a better sandwich. But my heart immediately stopped racing, and I was able to focus.
I'll leave out the dry bits, which was basically the rest of the orientation, however, everyone had a black FCI duffle bag in front of their seat. I figured because I was late and walked straight to the back, mine was somewhere else. Not quite. Because I signed up last minute, and my loan had not been approved yet, they pretend that I'm not really signed up. Didn't get a bag, but did get to talk to a bunch of people about how I was going to pay, and why my loan doesn't show up on their administration sites... etc. I spent an extra hour with various admin, concluding that I needed to make some phone calls and figure some things out myself.
Luckily I have figured these things out, and everything is being processed. I think they will let me in the class tonight.
I am now in the hole for $33,500 bones, at a stifling, $600-$700 a month for the first 9 months, then $300-$400 for the next 10 to 20 years.
I did not sign up for that, I didn't think. I guess I did. I'll let you know how class goes tonight.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Testing, one, two...
Like I said, I want to post about more than just food.
Before I've even showed up for orientation I find myself on the 11th floor of 50 Court Street, in Downtown Brooklyn. There is a clinic for pre-job/school disease and drug testing. I (they) needed to make sure that I did not have Tuberculosis or Hepatitis A.
I find myself sitting, and waiting, again. But this time its a little different. There are mostly ethnic woman, and most of them have little cups in their hands. I'm sure you can put two and two together without my spelling it out four you. (haha?) They were there for drug testing for their new jobs, and I was there for some blood work. After passing out for about 20 minutes with my head cocked back and mouth wide open (I wasn't going to see any of these people ever again, I hope), my name was called. "EDWARD CITRON!" The glory of being named Edwin Cintron is getting your name butchered in any way possible. The most common is Edward and Edmund, with an occsional Evan and e-win. Cintron is most commonly mistaken for Citron and Clinton. I've come to accept them all.
I pay my $45, cash only, and enter a room with a young hispanic lady. probably my same age(ish). She skillfully finds a juicy vein in my arm, and with a few opening and closings of the fist we fill up two vials with my luscious burgundy life juice.
Then I need a TB test. This, as I'm sure you know, consists of a slight injection under the skin of TB testing juice. Not sure of what it is, but it starts as a little bubble of liquid that soon dissipates under the skin. In 48 hours you need to return to have a doctor tell you that you don't have TB. I don't have TB.
I was supposed to have orientation on that same day (Friday August 17th), but I received a call telling me it was moved to Monday, the 20th. I had taken a day off from work for nothing. Though I did make the best of, I would have liked to have saved it.
We also need a pair of "chef shoes." These are black, thick leather shoes/boots, with rubber soles. My dad just gave me an extra pair that he had about 2 weeks ago. Maybe that was was a sign that I'm doing the right thing. I haven't worn them yet, but I don't feel like spending another 50+ dollars. I hope they're comfortable for the almost 6 hours I will be standing every night of class. I'm sure I'll let you know if they are.
Orientation is at 3:00PM today. I think I receive my culinary tools, locker assignment and I'll get to meet my peers and some other important people that will accompany me on my journey. I'm sure no one will miss me at work, but I will try to keep it under 2 hours. I'm skipping my lunch break to try and make up for it.
I'll let you know how it goes.
Before I've even showed up for orientation I find myself on the 11th floor of 50 Court Street, in Downtown Brooklyn. There is a clinic for pre-job/school disease and drug testing. I (they) needed to make sure that I did not have Tuberculosis or Hepatitis A.
I find myself sitting, and waiting, again. But this time its a little different. There are mostly ethnic woman, and most of them have little cups in their hands. I'm sure you can put two and two together without my spelling it out four you. (haha?) They were there for drug testing for their new jobs, and I was there for some blood work. After passing out for about 20 minutes with my head cocked back and mouth wide open (I wasn't going to see any of these people ever again, I hope), my name was called. "EDWARD CITRON!" The glory of being named Edwin Cintron is getting your name butchered in any way possible. The most common is Edward and Edmund, with an occsional Evan and e-win. Cintron is most commonly mistaken for Citron and Clinton. I've come to accept them all.
I pay my $45, cash only, and enter a room with a young hispanic lady. probably my same age(ish). She skillfully finds a juicy vein in my arm, and with a few opening and closings of the fist we fill up two vials with my luscious burgundy life juice.
Then I need a TB test. This, as I'm sure you know, consists of a slight injection under the skin of TB testing juice. Not sure of what it is, but it starts as a little bubble of liquid that soon dissipates under the skin. In 48 hours you need to return to have a doctor tell you that you don't have TB. I don't have TB.
I was supposed to have orientation on that same day (Friday August 17th), but I received a call telling me it was moved to Monday, the 20th. I had taken a day off from work for nothing. Though I did make the best of, I would have liked to have saved it.
We also need a pair of "chef shoes." These are black, thick leather shoes/boots, with rubber soles. My dad just gave me an extra pair that he had about 2 weeks ago. Maybe that was was a sign that I'm doing the right thing. I haven't worn them yet, but I don't feel like spending another 50+ dollars. I hope they're comfortable for the almost 6 hours I will be standing every night of class. I'm sure I'll let you know if they are.
Orientation is at 3:00PM today. I think I receive my culinary tools, locker assignment and I'll get to meet my peers and some other important people that will accompany me on my journey. I'm sure no one will miss me at work, but I will try to keep it under 2 hours. I'm skipping my lunch break to try and make up for it.
I'll let you know how it goes.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Tour de la Cocina
I have already signed up and put in my deposit. Upon receipt of my $500 dollars I received a call from the guys at FCI. Much like college I have jumped into something without even taking a tour of the facilities, without meeting anyone and confirming this was the path to take. Impulsive behavior perhaps. So why not join me on my post-enrollment, pre-attendance tour.
So it turns out the school is located in downtown Manhattan. A block away from Little Italy, right on the fringe of Chinatown. I am familiar with the neighborhood, Chinatown really, and after scoping out the place, and realizing I had some time, I decided to get a snack. Perhaps my favorite Chinese dim sum-esque treat is the roast pork bun (char siu bao - I pronounce it tash ooh bao). One of those puppy's and I'm ready.
I get Up to the 4th floor and I find myself waiting. Across from me is a middle aged couple. The wife is the one who is interested in attending. I didn't catch which program they were interested in. By the pastel colored sweaters draped over their shoulders, it was apparent that they were retired, or the woman was a stay at home wife/mother whose kids had long finished college, and she was looking for something to do with her time and her husband's money. Her husband seemed uninterested in the whole thing.
There was a guy to my left, he looked Hispanic, in his late 30's and a few tattoos peeking from under his rolled up sleeves. I didn't get a good look at him so I'm unable to make up a story that sounds fitting. My tour guide was in the process of showing a younger kid with his mother (I'm 24, so I'm allowed to call anyone taking a tour with their mother a "kid".. unless its a tour of a nursing home, which could be a different blog when I'm a bit older. Just kidding mom, I'll have a cell in the basement waiting.. um, still kidding, mom.) He did take a second to greet me in the middle of his tour with this kid (and his mother), and congratulated me on making the decision to attend FCI. Before we go any further, I just want to state, he was extremely friendly, and made a career move himself into the culinary world, and working at the FCI office. I look forward to hanging out with him sometime and just kicking back, he was that kind of guy.
So after the youngin took off and said goodbye to me and wished me luck, a very friendly kid, whose mother seemed very supportive, though the financial situation seemed to be a major issue (as it is with me), Cris met with me. We signed a few papers, tried on a few chef's jackets for size, and we were off on the tour. I must say a white, double breasted chef's jacket looked quite charming on me.
The tour started with a walk-by of the Italian culinary course kitchen. There were a few suckling pigs resting on the counters. I can't imagine what they were about to do to those pigs. But I sure wanted to taste it. The Italian program, so I was told, consists of half the time learning the culinary techniques of the Italians, including some time learning the language, and half the time in Italy, immersed in non-English cooking lessons and internships. Wow. Intense. Maybe when I have another $35,000 to spend.
A little guy with a biiig hat was walking down the hall. His name was Chef Guido (Cris addressed all the Chefs by their proper title "Chef," as did all the students). I'm not sure if that was a joke, but I think it might have been his real last name. He had an Italian accent and took a minute to talk to me. It was a brief friendly hello, and off he went into the Italian kitchen.
As an aside, I was assured that my evening class was going to be quite an experience. Not just because I'm in it, but because my particular class will be about 10 people small, and there will be about 3 chefs per class. Further, evening classes include many professionals, who are also making the transition into the culinary world. There will be a certain maturity, though I'm sure I will be the one to lower the bar, and we will be able to receive a lot of attention, which is quite exciting.
Anyhow, the next station was the first station I will be starting in. These students have been there for less than a month. I saw a roundish piece of parchment paper in front of each student with a piece of fish, looked like bass by the stripes on the flesh, and some julienned vegetables being placed on top. I noticed some students' carrots were thicker or thinner than others. I wonder which was correct, and which would taste better, or which texture would go better with the fish. This is what I want to learn.
After this station, we passed the pastry chefs. BOY DID IT SMELL GOOD! Cris pulled out a tray of some earlier creations by the class. There were a number of chocolates lined up and one row of chocolate dipped brittle. I had one of those. It was quite tasty. Next we walked by an empty class except for two Chefs planning a lesson. Cris asked if he could steal a baguette. With a smile and an "of course" I was bestowed with a fresh warm baguette. (I managed to not eat it on the tour, but the minute I got into the subway I went to town. It was one of the best baguettes I've ever had. I haven't been to France, and I don't eat baguettes all the time, so yes, one of the best I've ever had. Apparently I will learn how to make those.)
We learn how to make a bunch of fresh breads in the Classic French class. It adds value to a chef if you can make your own bread, so they say.
We passed by another station. This was the 2nd third of the course. Students were in small groups at different stations and were being timed. Their plates would be critiqued for temperature, appearance and flavor, of course. We met the French chef in charge of that class. A statuesque man who was pretty young and pretty cool. Turns out he played rugby for 10 years in France, and we had a 1 minute conversation about it. I also played in college, and I play in Brooklyn's Prospect Park on Sundays. He will be one of my teachers, which is good news. However, as soon as he walked into the kitchen he shouts "10 minutes, lets go guys."
These guys mean business. They are friendly and approachable, but when they're in the kitchen, teaching you how to master the skills of cuisine, they are professionals.
Let me also take this moment to mention that from the moment I started my tour, there was positive energy oozing out of ever crevice of the building. All the students were smiling. Serious, but smiling. The chefs were encouraging and serious, but smiling. Each chef took a second to talk to me. These were not professors of law, or colleges. They weren't snoody know it alls. They were culinary masters. Professional, knowledgeable chefs. They were getting paid to pass on the skills and techniques that they themselves mastered and loved. I was realizing that I made the right move.
One of the last stops of my tour was L'Ecole. The kitchen which you spend the last third of your experience in. You actually cook for the restaurant. Being in a class of 10, we will have our work cut out for us. Some serious cooking for a serious restaurant. I was trying to stay out of the way. After all this is a serious, professional kitchen. The Chefs were friendly, and willing to talk, but they had things to do. It was 11:45 by that point. No one was there for lunch. but I am aware that it would pick up. But more importantly, people are definitely there for dinner. I will be cooking for them. Dinner at L'Ecole is not a quick bite, but a serious affair. I can't wait.
But the highlight of the trip, or what I foresee as what might be the highlight of my journey, is that the students prepared lunch for everyone who was there. Not only the customers, but the other students, the chefs, the administration. Everyone. Everyday. 300+ meals are prepared. Why is this the highlight? Not only will I be preparing these meals at some point, but I will also be EATING these meals. During dinner time. Everyday! Need I say more?
So it turns out the school is located in downtown Manhattan. A block away from Little Italy, right on the fringe of Chinatown. I am familiar with the neighborhood, Chinatown really, and after scoping out the place, and realizing I had some time, I decided to get a snack. Perhaps my favorite Chinese dim sum-esque treat is the roast pork bun (char siu bao - I pronounce it tash ooh bao). One of those puppy's and I'm ready.
I get Up to the 4th floor and I find myself waiting. Across from me is a middle aged couple. The wife is the one who is interested in attending. I didn't catch which program they were interested in. By the pastel colored sweaters draped over their shoulders, it was apparent that they were retired, or the woman was a stay at home wife/mother whose kids had long finished college, and she was looking for something to do with her time and her husband's money. Her husband seemed uninterested in the whole thing.
There was a guy to my left, he looked Hispanic, in his late 30's and a few tattoos peeking from under his rolled up sleeves. I didn't get a good look at him so I'm unable to make up a story that sounds fitting. My tour guide was in the process of showing a younger kid with his mother (I'm 24, so I'm allowed to call anyone taking a tour with their mother a "kid".. unless its a tour of a nursing home, which could be a different blog when I'm a bit older. Just kidding mom, I'll have a cell in the basement waiting.. um, still kidding, mom.) He did take a second to greet me in the middle of his tour with this kid (and his mother), and congratulated me on making the decision to attend FCI. Before we go any further, I just want to state, he was extremely friendly, and made a career move himself into the culinary world, and working at the FCI office. I look forward to hanging out with him sometime and just kicking back, he was that kind of guy.
So after the youngin took off and said goodbye to me and wished me luck, a very friendly kid, whose mother seemed very supportive, though the financial situation seemed to be a major issue (as it is with me), Cris met with me. We signed a few papers, tried on a few chef's jackets for size, and we were off on the tour. I must say a white, double breasted chef's jacket looked quite charming on me.
The tour started with a walk-by of the Italian culinary course kitchen. There were a few suckling pigs resting on the counters. I can't imagine what they were about to do to those pigs. But I sure wanted to taste it. The Italian program, so I was told, consists of half the time learning the culinary techniques of the Italians, including some time learning the language, and half the time in Italy, immersed in non-English cooking lessons and internships. Wow. Intense. Maybe when I have another $35,000 to spend.
A little guy with a biiig hat was walking down the hall. His name was Chef Guido (Cris addressed all the Chefs by their proper title "Chef," as did all the students). I'm not sure if that was a joke, but I think it might have been his real last name. He had an Italian accent and took a minute to talk to me. It was a brief friendly hello, and off he went into the Italian kitchen.
As an aside, I was assured that my evening class was going to be quite an experience. Not just because I'm in it, but because my particular class will be about 10 people small, and there will be about 3 chefs per class. Further, evening classes include many professionals, who are also making the transition into the culinary world. There will be a certain maturity, though I'm sure I will be the one to lower the bar, and we will be able to receive a lot of attention, which is quite exciting.
Anyhow, the next station was the first station I will be starting in. These students have been there for less than a month. I saw a roundish piece of parchment paper in front of each student with a piece of fish, looked like bass by the stripes on the flesh, and some julienned vegetables being placed on top. I noticed some students' carrots were thicker or thinner than others. I wonder which was correct, and which would taste better, or which texture would go better with the fish. This is what I want to learn.
After this station, we passed the pastry chefs. BOY DID IT SMELL GOOD! Cris pulled out a tray of some earlier creations by the class. There were a number of chocolates lined up and one row of chocolate dipped brittle. I had one of those. It was quite tasty. Next we walked by an empty class except for two Chefs planning a lesson. Cris asked if he could steal a baguette. With a smile and an "of course" I was bestowed with a fresh warm baguette. (I managed to not eat it on the tour, but the minute I got into the subway I went to town. It was one of the best baguettes I've ever had. I haven't been to France, and I don't eat baguettes all the time, so yes, one of the best I've ever had. Apparently I will learn how to make those.)
We learn how to make a bunch of fresh breads in the Classic French class. It adds value to a chef if you can make your own bread, so they say.
We passed by another station. This was the 2nd third of the course. Students were in small groups at different stations and were being timed. Their plates would be critiqued for temperature, appearance and flavor, of course. We met the French chef in charge of that class. A statuesque man who was pretty young and pretty cool. Turns out he played rugby for 10 years in France, and we had a 1 minute conversation about it. I also played in college, and I play in Brooklyn's Prospect Park on Sundays. He will be one of my teachers, which is good news. However, as soon as he walked into the kitchen he shouts "10 minutes, lets go guys."
These guys mean business. They are friendly and approachable, but when they're in the kitchen, teaching you how to master the skills of cuisine, they are professionals.
Let me also take this moment to mention that from the moment I started my tour, there was positive energy oozing out of ever crevice of the building. All the students were smiling. Serious, but smiling. The chefs were encouraging and serious, but smiling. Each chef took a second to talk to me. These were not professors of law, or colleges. They weren't snoody know it alls. They were culinary masters. Professional, knowledgeable chefs. They were getting paid to pass on the skills and techniques that they themselves mastered and loved. I was realizing that I made the right move.
One of the last stops of my tour was L'Ecole. The kitchen which you spend the last third of your experience in. You actually cook for the restaurant. Being in a class of 10, we will have our work cut out for us. Some serious cooking for a serious restaurant. I was trying to stay out of the way. After all this is a serious, professional kitchen. The Chefs were friendly, and willing to talk, but they had things to do. It was 11:45 by that point. No one was there for lunch. but I am aware that it would pick up. But more importantly, people are definitely there for dinner. I will be cooking for them. Dinner at L'Ecole is not a quick bite, but a serious affair. I can't wait.
But the highlight of the trip, or what I foresee as what might be the highlight of my journey, is that the students prepared lunch for everyone who was there. Not only the customers, but the other students, the chefs, the administration. Everyone. Everyday. 300+ meals are prepared. Why is this the highlight? Not only will I be preparing these meals at some point, but I will also be EATING these meals. During dinner time. Everyday! Need I say more?
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