So You Want To Go To LCB?

One month down already. It's gone by so fast, and I'm 1/3rd of the way done with this semester. I haven't written about what I do on day-to-day bases yet. So, here it goes.

Generally, I start the day at either 8:30, or 12:30, so I set my alarm for an hour and a half before class each day. This is how the rest of my day goes.

Loud Eminem song in the background, but I’ve already been awake for 12 minutes, because I remembered mid dream (generally about soccer) that I have class today. Lay in bed through the song, and halfway through the next. Get up. Shower. Pack my bag. Chef pants? Check. Jacket? Check. Neck Handkerchief thing? Unfortunately, check... Towel, clean? Sure. Spoon, Fork, Pen, Name Tag? Quadruple Check. Change for the Delicious peach tea at school, or when I'm feeling really daring, Orangina? 1 Euro, Check. Every thing is there, good. Bag packed, I wander dreary eyed to the kitchen. Where a cereal bowl full of coffee awaits me, sometimes hot, usually cold from the day before when I woke up at 2. I drink it, say Bonjourneé to whoever is present, and depart. 21 blocks lie between my school and me. I usually complete the journey in 12-15 minutes, depending on traffic, and what the meat looks like at the butcher shop. I arrive at school, "Bonjour" the receptionist(s). (Although I'm not quite sure what they do, but they're listed ahead of the chefs on the school directory, strange). Walk to the locker room. Michael Pappas, a friend of mine here, gets a good morning, how are ya doing, and I enter the locker room. Imagine a dorm room. Add 60 3-foot tall lockers, stacked on top of each other, and 20 grown men at one time, and you've arrived at the LCB locker rooms. It is a lot like twister, arriving to your locker, jostling, reaching, ducking, and a few elbows thrown in. Clothes off, School clothes on. Alas, it is only a Demo, no knives, hat, or handkerchief needed, but a notebook is. 3 hours of lecture on the proper cooking technique of a potato later, it is finished. If you're lucky, the day is through until tomorrow. But if you're not, Practical awaits in less then 14 minutes. I run back to my locker, grab my knives, towel, apron, hat, handkerchief and my notes, a Tupperware, and a scale, and wait to go to class. While outside, I check my pocket for the euro, no dice. The tea is looking quite delicious today. I turn to a classmate, "watch my stuff?" and sprint back in to the entangled mass that is the locker room. I find the change, walk out, buy my tea, and drink it in a matter of two gulps; it was one of those demos..

Dressed and ready, I enter the kitchen. Each of us our own 4 top, and oven, and granite counter. Racks, and fridges are sometimes shared, so you better get your stuff out quickly.

Chef enters. Mind you this is a completely different chef then demo, with a completely different style. He could be more relaxed, not making you chop the onion so fine, or, he could be a stickler for tradition, watching your every move. Needless to say, I prefer the former. "Allez, Allez" screams the chef, "Lets go." And were off, breaking down chickens, vegetables, fish, veal, you name it. 2 and a half hours we have. The first 40 minutes are the slowest, a lot of peeling, slicing, dicing, and starting of sauces, jus, and other sorts of delicious moisturizers. An hour in, sweat is starting, I can't find my paring knife, where is it. Oh, it’s inside the chickens butt, wonderful. "Mr. Brian, you make mistake." "Que Chef?" Then a smattering of French erupts out of him, something along the lines of too much water in my sauce pan for my carrots, or it could be about the French Revolution, I thought I heard émeute de pain in there somewhere, But, I think not. Chef pours my water out, and adds literally half a stick of butter.. Gaping at him, Chef says "C'est Bon" its good, and moves down the line to chastise Mitsuko's use of her chef’s knife to peel a carrot. 2 hours down, time to finish, add my cream, butter, and salt to everything, taste, and plate. While chef is eating other people's food, "You make clean" as one chef put it. I scrub, wipe dry, and scrub again with vinegar, every surface you used. When I finish, I help clean the people around me clean, or eat, or wrap my food up for the dishwasher, because I cannot eat an entire chicken by myself, again. General comments from chef. "Plus sel, Réduisez plus, C'est bon, Pourquoi vous n'avez pas utilisé de chinois?" Clean my serving plate, and I leave. I undress; pack my bags, and head home, awaiting me is another day. Sleep, and wake up because Even Fiffles told me I couldn't play today because I had to cook a duck.

Days Off: My time spent away from the kitchen..

Most days, I wake up, go to class for 3 to 6 hours and then I am done. For the first few weeks, I came home, got some food,  and slept, because i was not used to the time yet, but starting last week, I began to walk. Walking the markets, to the city center or anywhere else i could find. It's a beautiful city, and it helps to shed the few kg's I've gained since I've been here. Brainerd, Minnesota isn't quite the cultural capital of the world, so this is quite new to me. On one block alone i see Gyro Stands (My favorite), Crepe Stands (My new favorite), Vietnamese, Japonese, Korean, Thai (All members of my favorite continent of food stuffs), and the always present bakeries, butchers, candy and random food. Then there are the key makers, the shoe fixers, the stores that sell EVERYTHING, literally. I saw a vacuum next to socks, next to apples, that were stacked above laundry detergent.. Then there are the stores that sell keys and shoes, and fix EVERYTHING... Today I start something I've wanted to do since I decided to go to Le Cordon Bleu. Every off day, I will walk the entirety of a major Rue (road/street) in Paris. Today, I chose Rue Vaugirard (Vo-Jeyhad). This one is easy since i live on it, it measures almost the complete length of The 15th Arrondissement, (The section of Paris in which I live, map to follow) and stretches all the way to the National Senate, and Luxembourg Gardens. Mostly residential, with thousands of restaurants, it can be quite monotonous, with cafe upon cafe, brasserie (bar) upon brasserie, but it is very interesting. At about the 3 mile mark, you arrive in the Latin Quarter, in the 5th Arrondisement. Just after taking a left at the end of Vagirard, on Boulevard Raspail, another one of Paris' famous streets. A right on Boulevard St. Germain, you arrive in the heart of the Latin Quarter, a very different type of Paris, full of students, musicians and ex-pats. It was home to some of Paris' most famous universities, that have since moved to better, more spacious areas. I think I shall go back here tomorrow, after a little more research. Thanks for reading. Bonne Journée! (Have a good day)

When life smacks you in the face, cook your ass off.

There's a saying that i've seen a lot lately, in different usages, and phrases. It is "When one thing is seeming to go perfect, all other things go awry" or something like it. I don't usually buy into sayings like this, until now. But, this blog is not just about me, it is about my adventures in this crazy place, so I will leave the above sentences for another time. The week started on Monday with a poached chicken recipe. Poached in chicken stock, and finished with a rissotto like rice preparation, and sauce supreme, basically cream and chicken stock. Very boring, and very easy. Needless to say, it went well, although my rice was under seasoned. Then, midweek, we began learning about doughs, pasta, flatbread and the like, and were asked to make a pissaladiere, or onion tart.. (Pizza without sauce or cheese) Again, very easy, but I was proud of my dough when the chef poked it and said "Very nice Mr. Brian, I am impressed" A pita like dough, topped with melted onions, tomatoes, capers, olives and anchovies, its a very mediterranean take on the Pizza, and it turned out well. After moving my things, whispering criticism in my ear, and moving me about the kitchen, the chef approached me after class and said "Some chef's from america are shit, and some are great, and you, you'll be one of those, with a kick in the ass" with a wink, he left, and I knew I was where I belonged. Tomorrow, quiche, and puff pastry.. I thought there was a reason I didn't take pastry courses.. Oh well..

Week 1: Sights, Soups, and Not Enough Salt

With week one under my belt, and my laundry and knife set under my arm, I walk the 1 km back to my apartment. Passing boulangers, barbers, and the ever present row of taxis, I think, "what have I gotten myself into?" This is as far from Brainerd, MN, as my local cantina, and their very famous "Flautas" ;) are from a Pueblo street market. The sites, sounds, and smells surrounding me are nothing like the cool breeze, fresh air, and arbor like settings I grew up in, and became accustomed to. When I left, my town had 5,555 people. the 15th arrondissement has over 1 million. So its safe to say I'm out of my element on this brief walk home every day. But then morning comes the next day, and something changes, I'm in my Chef's whites, learning about fumet's, and écumer, and other sexy french words. I am at home. The heat of the kitchen, the Michelin starred teachers, the funny hats, all things that make me happy. The food is basic, but we must start somewhere. A simple vegetable soup, with not enough salt, Lemon Sole with Sauce Bercy, and not enough salt, nonetheless, I am happy in the kitchen. Sure the scenery is great, I take any right turn coming home from school, and I see the Eiffel Tower in all of its glory. I have made friends from each continent, which is also great, but I'm here for one thing. Tomorrow we Pocher, so tonight, I must sleep.