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.
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