Killin' it in a cocktail dress

Ladies (and gentlemen?), don't wear four-inch heels when you're catering a party. I only rocked the heels for about 20 minutes before changing into more sensible shoes, but two days later, my calves are killing me!


Click to embiggen. Awfully blurry, I know. My camera batteries were dead and my little cell phone was the best I could do.

(Good dress though.)

This past Sunday, I was fortunate enough to cater a fundraiser for a film my good friend Jim is writing and directing called Widow's Walk Lake. The fundraiser was an Edward Gorey-themed garden party, as the look of the film itself is based on Gorey's artwork and is set in the 1930's.


Photo taken at the fundraiser by Circle23, who set up a room at the event for fabulously "gorey" poses. See the entire awesome set here.

When Jim asked me several months ago to cater the party, I said yes with no hesitation. Cater a friend's costume party for about 100 attendees on my day off? Perfect! Ever since I worked as a catering server in Los Angeles, catering is something I've kept in the back of my mind as a career path. I love working in a restaurant kitchen, but I enjoy the change in scenery that catering provides too. I didn't let the fact that up to this point I'd never planned a meal for more than 12 people on my own deter me at all. I happily trotted along, recruiting a few awesome and eager friends from OCI to help me with my little project.

Two weeks before the party, I woke up with the worst, most panicky feeling in my gut--though I've prepped for and plated plenty of large parties at work before, I was two weeks away from my first "solo" event, with insanely scattered ideas for what to do about sourcing the product, budgeting the event, and actually prepping and transporting everything. I had no idea how far in advanced I wanted everything to be done, or how much of anything to get. I immediately thought of my Term 3 Pro Skills instructor, Maxine Borcherding, who besides teaching management at OCI (and WCI previously), ran a catering company in Portland for 20 plus years and still caters parties from time to time.

As soon as I reached out to her, the sinking ship could not have righted itself any faster. We sat down over lunch and talked everything out. The original menu I came up with, an OLCC-friendly menu with several options--soups, focaccias, tea sandwiches, crostinis--were all very Victorian-era finger-food-type things that I thought would look and taste fresh and amazing for an indoor-outdoor garden party. It quickly became evident that with the budget constraints under which we were working, I had to simplify the menu while making it hearty enough for the fact that the party was being held during dinner hours.

Chef Max suggested I revamp the menu, and we decided upon an easy, inexpensive but still delicious menu:
- Tuscan white bean salad
- Penne salad with roasted bell peppers
- Summer melon, grape and pickled fennel salad
- Three types of focaccias: Roasted shaved asparagus and caramelized fennel; Yukon Gold potato, crimini mushroom and truffle oil; and caramelized onion, toasted walnut and Gorgonzola cheese.

With the help of my amazing friends Jess, Nate and Pablo, all of whom I attended school with, not to mention the endless support and resources from Chef Maxine, it took us two days to prep out the final menu. While planning amounts and recipes, I couldn't help but be grateful for all the number crunching we did during school.

I contracted a killer head and chest cold a week before the event, so Maxine in all her awesomeness made a comprehensive (think Excel spreadsheet) shopping list for me. She also secured us kitchen time in a local catering kitchen. I made my first will-call pickup order at Sheridan Fruit Company, which took up five big veggie boxes. We slowly but surely got through the boxes, and with a little baking guidance I pulled off some awesome handmade focaccias (I say they're awesome because I'm massively impressed I managed to not screw it up... though I'm pretty confident they actually tasted good).

The morning of game day, running on five hours of sleep and adrenaline, we knocked off one by one the items on the prep list I'd written and re-written the night before. I kept having moments where I thought I should be freaking out but wasn't at all--things were going so smoothly, it was eerie. There was definitely a little bit of a race to the end, but we finished it all on time. We packed everything up in the Zipcar'd Honda Element and carted it over to the truly gorgeous Overlook House in North Portland. They couldn't have picked a more picturesque spot for a Victorian garden party, and once the attendees started arriving, I felt like I was in another era altogether.


Photo by my good friend John. See the rest of his set here.

How could I not cater this party in a cocktail dress? I mean, really.

Once we set up the buffet table, it was smooth sailing. Jess and Pablo were great about keeping the table refreshed and clean. The crowd favorite was the Gorgonzola focaccia though the dapperly-dressed ladies and gents were helping themselves to seconds, thirds and fourths of everything. At several points in the evening there were small crowds of people around the table, munching and chatting, and I could not have been happier.

Thanks to a dead battery in my camera, the best photo I managed of the table I took with my pitiful camera phone. Still, you get the general idea:


Click to embiggen. From front to back: Roasted bell pepper penne salad, Tuscan bean salad, melon and pickled fennel salad, lotsa focaccia.

We overshot the estimated amount needed by quite a bit and ended up offering leftovers to guests to take home. Everything was snatched up in a matter of minutes.

All in all, a smashing success in my book. Though the event was small fry, logistically speaking, in the vast world of catering, I loved the challenge and the gears are starting to spin for side projects I'm envisioning. I'm thinking of catering events every now and then for friends and friends of friends, charging only food and supply cost to get my chops up. Thoughts?

Graduating, and the importance of family

I'm not sure what to make of the fact that I forgot about my culinary school graduation ceremony until a week before it occurred, except I think I've been so immersed in work that my time at Oregon Culinary Institute seems so far behind me. Yet it wasn't that long ago that I was going to class every day and being pushed by my dear chef instructors to work faster, work cleaner, do better.

For a nearly-forgotten incident, my graduation this past weekend turned into one of the best weekends I've had in a long, long time.

A last-minute invite to my brother and sister worked out, and by Friday night they were on their way from Seattle with their significant others and my brother's ridiculously cute dog, Ollie. I walked home from work that night, and they had made themselves at home thanks to my brother's copies of my keys. Excited as I was to see them, I was weary and beat from work, but mustered the strength to give them the full tour of the new place. I got this painted here, I changed that there, I think I'm gonna try and install this here... I walked them toward the bedrooms, and wondered why my bedroom door was closed.

I opened it... and found my mom standing there. My mom, who lives in North Carolina, who I assumed wouldn't be able to make the cross country trip, especially not so last minute.

I shrieked, stunned, then started crying.

It's been a tremendously hard past few months, between buying a new place, working six days a week, maneuvering major transitions at work, trying to get settled into my new place essentially on my own, and just not having had a real break since Christmas. It's the life we lead, I know, but knowing that doesn't really make it any easier. I've spent a lot of time recently feeling overwhelmed, yet we all just keep plugging on, knowing it's leading up to something better. Upon seeing my mom, such a sight for sore eyes, the tears of joy came immediately.

Saturday morning, I put on my OCI chef's whites for the first time in over six months, and joined about 65 of my fellow graduates in a giant ballroom at the Governor Hotel.


Graduating. Photo by Woody Bailey. See the rest of his set here.

As expected, the ceremony itself was a practice in self-deprecation and not taking oneself too seriously. Lots of jokes, lots of silly speeches, some meaningful and serious ones too, but the morning was dominated by a general light-heartedness.

That's what I've loved about OCI and its instructors and founders since I first visited--you get the feeling that events such as graduation, as meaningful as they can be, are not, ultimately, why you attend school in the first place. I'm proud that made my way through the entire program, as it's not an easy accomplishment, but I had to go to work right after the ceremony, and I honestly think that's what they're after: Students who work hard, have goals, and find themselves in positions where they barely have time to squeeze in a graduation ceremony on a Saturday morning, knowing they'll have to be deep in prep for Saturday service in a few hours.

Not to say we still can't enjoy ourselves and pat ourselves on the back for a job well-done. My classmates and I cheered happily for each other, knowing how much we'd been through to get to that point. My family cheered loudly for me when my name was called, and despite the initial unseriousness I felt about graduation, I have to admit it was pretty awesome to hear their whooping and yelling.

So here's where I'll tell you why my family is, in my opinion, the most amazing family one could ever ask for. Besides surprising me with my mom's visit, besides being a personal cheerleading section at my graduation that I nearly forgot, I came home Saturday night after 10 plus hours at work to find that they cleaned my entire apartment top to bottom. They washed the windows, unpacked all the leftover boxes, constructed a bookshelf and bed frame I hadn't yet gotten around to, and purchased new sheets, towels and a bunch of organizational gadgets for my use. They even bought me a lavender plant and a huge bouquet of lilacs and pansies that made my dining room look like a spread in Martha Stewart Living.


At the dining room table: Rob, me, Ollie, Sylvia, Ted, Christy, Mom and Josh. Taken with Sylvia's trusty camera and Josh's helpful tripod.

I mean, come on. Seriously? How much luckier does a person get?

What else could I do but make them Sunday brunch?




Taken by Sylvia, see the rest of the awesome set here

Blueberry pancakes with caramelized bananas (they worked so well the first time around!), roasted asparagus and spinach omelet with Mt. Tam triple creme, rounded out with a pork trio of country sausage, maple bacon and pepper bacon. Many happy bellies.

The Seattle crew departed soon after the crazy carbo-load, and my mom stayed in town for a few more days. I miraculously got Monday off from work and was thus able to spend some much-needed quality time with the momma.


Getting some sun at Laurelhurst Park

Any part of my personality that is even-keeled and laid-back, I give credit to my mom. She's the most understanding, compassionate and zen-like person I know. She's been through more hardship than any person should ever have to withstand, and has conquered it all with a force that none of us knew she had. And she's been nothing but humble and unassuming about it all, never demanding credit for her hard work, never complaining about putting in insanely long workdays. I know a lot of people (myself included) who could benefit from borrowing a page from her book.


Who else takes the time to listen to the trees?

This weekend was about remembering my fortune, despite all the hardships: A line cook job at a top-notch kitchen, a home I can legitimately call my own, and a family I wouldn't trade for the world. Not bad, ya'll. Not bad at all.

Finding the things you didn't know you were looking for

Restaurant cooking is really, really hard. To work a full shift on your feet in full bodily motion under high-stress conditions, come home late every night with new burns or cuts, not be able to sleep even though your body is dead tired because you're still mentally wound up from service, wake up aching from head to toe and get stoked about doing it all over again is not an easy accomplishment.


meet my new blisters (thanks to some stray, searing-hot pan grease). yay!

I'm convinced that the actions themselves (cutting, grilling, sauteing, plating, etc) can be done by any well-trained monkey, but to do this for hours at a time, day after day, with speed, grace and efficiency and without mistakes or refires takes a certain kind of person. One who is thick-skinned, marathon-ready, mentally sharp and not easily flustered. Though I have all of those qualities some of the time, I do not naturally have all of those qualities all of the time. We're not perfect, right? My sous chef has had to tell me more than once after I get frustrated from a refire or a mistake, "you can beat yourself up after service."

I'll be honest: For the past few weeks, I've been struggling with kindling the same intense fire I had when I first got hired at my restaurant. I believe it's a result of a mixture of factors: The end of the "honeymoon period" now that I've been there for four months; being done with the school part of OCI and feeling disoriented from not doing 13-15 hour days; going from the sometimes crazy but fairly straightforward pantry station to the sometimes crazy and intense-multi-tasking-required grill/saute station. I'd never cooked meat to temperature order in my life, much less worked on a hot line period, and the thought that my chef entrusted this task to me was at once extremely complimentary and also really, really frightening.

I made no secret that it was an overwhelming yet exhilarating feeling to be moved up to hot line, but I don't think I took it nearly as seriously as I should have from the get-go. I became lax about my work ethic, relying on my coworkers to pull me out of the weeds when I was feeling mere hints of "going down" (restaurant speak for falling way behind) and simply not giving the 110 percent that any good chef requires from their cooks.

My actions (or lack thereof) all culminated in an unfortunate incident that resulted in my chef, never once to mince words, letting me know how disappointed he was in my recent performance with a blisteringly critical verbal slap on the wrist. I once wrote that any time I know I've messed up, I can always make myself feel worse about it than anyone else could, and it rang true here. It was exactly what I needed to wake the fuck up and get out of this weird funk I've been in, and the next day I thanked my chef for reprimanding me and not letting me get away with subpar performance.

I've been building up to getting that fire back, though I wasn't sure exactly what I was looking for. I've been recently getting words of wisdom from people I respect who have been working in kitchens much longer than I have, and all of them reassured me that I would eventually get it right and even get a natural high off of the adrenaline rush. After so many nights of shit going wrong or even feeling a little off, I was starting to doubt that this would happen.

Then last night came around.

Last night was easily one of the best nights I've had on the hot line since I first eased my way over from pantry a few months ago. The number of reservations were three times what I expected them to be for a Wednesday night, mostly due to three parties of 8 or over that were coming in at the same time. I immediately felt knots in my stomach, as the previous times I've gone down hard and had to be saved were often a result of multiple parties.

Prep time was a blur and went way too quickly, and I definitely scrambled to get some last-minute tasks finished before we rolled right into dinner service. The ticket machine started printing, and the first few fires were steady. Then what seemed like a mass of really long tickets came in at once, and suddenly I had 14 meats on hold, 10 of them cooked to temperature (i.e. rare to well-done), on top of soups and apps that were fired. My oven was stuffed full with lamb racks and chicken halves, all of my burners were on fire, and I was juggling prawns and bread on the grill.

I began feeling overwhelmed and started thinking out loud, mumbling the ticket items and temperatures to myself over and over so as not to forget something in the oven or on the stove. I don't know exactly how to explain what happened next, but suddenly I was washed over in a weird calm, and at the same time my heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my neck. It was like I could suddenly see the light at the end of the tunnel where there used to be none at all; somehow I was staying on top of things just enough to keep moving along, and nothing was getting lost in the fray. Intermittently I found myself saying out loud, "I'm okay, I'm doing okay, things are good, I'm doing alright," partially as an attempt to stay calm, but also because I was really surprised I wasn't totally going down.

It was a high I've never felt before, knowing that this delicate tower I built could topple at any moment, like a house of cards that could blow over in one breath, and my heart was racing so fast it felt like it was going to burst. But somehow everything was going right and I was present in that moment. With some help from my chef, we plated up everything I had on hold in three pickups. Everything looked beautiful and all the proteins were cooked to perfect temperature and color. It was the first time in a long time that I felt a sense of accomplishment like the one I felt after my stage day.

There's massive room for improvement, especially between balancing cooking and plating, but I finally got a taste of the adrenaline rush that I've constantly heard seasoned line cooks talk about. For the first time ever on the hot line, I finally felt like I could not just do this, but enjoy it and be good at it. I realized that I had lost the joy in being in the kitchen for a while there, and I found it again last night. After last night's rush, my executive chef and sous chef let me know that I was doing a good job, and I couldn't contain the huge grin that spread across my face. After feeling so low recently, it feels great to pick myself up off the ground, brush myself off and kick some ass, finally.

Ups and downs

I guess every day can't be as spectacular and mellow as cooking under blue skies in vineyards.

I'll just get to it: I kind of sucked at work today.

We had a party with 20 guests, which I can usually handle alright on a typical Monday. Today, however, was not a typical Monday. The number of covers we did tonight was more typical of a Thursday or Friday, so on top of having my station and the pastry station to myself, we were slammed in the dining room. I was totally underprepped, and even though we were busier than usual, I simply wasn't on top of my game.

I have to admit that I'm totally disappointed in myself, especially because my personal standards are so high. But what's worse is I feel like I've let down my chef, with whom I just had a great conversation last weekend about how well I've been doing and my future at the restaurant.

I guess we all get knocked off our high horses every now and then. I just have to get back to kick-ass mode, starting tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, Term 3 for me at OCI officially starts tomorrow morning, bright and early at 7:30AM. We're moving into the phase where we'll be working in the OCI restaurant, as well as doing courses on restaurant management. I'm looking forward to this term, and I'm not scared to get into the restaurant since I'm already in a real working environment. But I have a feeling that it'll be strenuous, not to mention the early mornings... Power naps and I are going to be good friends for the next two months.

I'll feel better once I get some sleep, I know it... but I'm turning that kick ass dial back up to 11.

Work and school: The how and the why

scallops at Le Pigeon*

I'll be honest: If you asked me in March if I thought I'd be working in a restaurant kitchen in a few months time, I'd have told you, "You so crazy." In fact, four months ago, the thought of working in any professional kitchen, not to mention that of a high-end restaurant, frankly scared the shit out of me. Even starting culinary school and being surrounded by the endlessness of stainless steel was highly intimidating. I couldn't imagine how we'd get to the point where we would be cooking for the public in the open kitchen of the OCI restaurant (which is coming up for me in a few weeks).

Funnily enough, one of the most surprising things about my new job is how comfortable I feel in the kitchen, putting out food for which people are paying not a little money. I have a desire to know more, to get better, to get faster, to hone my skills. I've been bitten by the bug, as Chef Wilke put it, and it just keeps spreading.

With everything that I'm learning at work, I'll admit that it's crossed my mind to quit school altogether and focus entirely on with my job. I mean, what's the point of being in school if I'm learning so much AND getting paid to do it, right?

I've been pondering this quite a bit, and as we're nearing the end of Term 2 at OCI, I find myself wandering the hallways at school and thinking, "I can't leave this. I'd be missing way too much." School and work are symbiotic; both are feeding off the other, and both are helping to narrow my focus a lot. I thought it might be the reverse, where I'd be spreading myself way too thin, but work and school together has only made me that much more driven.

It really comes down to this: I learn how to do things at work, but I learn why I do those things at school.

Don't get me wrong; my chefs and coworkers at my restaurant are wicked smart and highly knowledgeable, and most of them didn't go to culinary school. The combined experience of the 10 or so people in the back of the house is kind of staggering. But as a rookie with very little formal kitchen experience, I find there are definitely times where I feel happy that I did my reading homework about varieties of heat transfer or the properties of salt or mollusk physiology. I'm shucking oysters at work, but only after we discussed shellfish anatomy in lecture did I begin to think, 'Maybe I should be cutting out the abductor muscle on the larger oysters to make it a more pleasant eating experience.'

Thanks to school, when I'm plating a dish at work and it tastes funny or looks wrong, I'm better at intuiting what needs to be done. I don't always get it right, but I feel more comfortable making decisions. More height, more salt, more vinegar, more color: all those things didn't mean jack to me before we filled out the endless amounts of recipe analysis sheets in Term 1. On these sheets, we were to describe every minute detail of every element of a dish. What is the sugar's purpose in the vinaigrette? What texture does a radish have in a salad? What color does the asparagus lend to the soup? Does the lettuce add height?

At the same time, because of work, my school sensibilities are changing. The idea that we're selling food for money is smacking me pretty hard in the face now that I'm working in a "real world" setting. It's not enough to make food that makes someone say, "I'd eat that." It has to be "I'd shell out my hard-earned money to eat that" (bonus points for "on a regular basis"). It's the difference between home cooking and professional cooking, and that difference only hit me when I set foot into the restaurant I work at now. Every time I put up a plate to sell, I make sure it's something I would pay the money we charge for it. It might sound a bit crass, but it is an industry and it's how we make a living. We have fun and feel passion for it too, and I think that translates in the food.

Because I have the roots for those real-worldy business sensibilities now, I find that I approach plating dishes at school from an entirely different perspective. It can't just be pretty... it has to be appealing; appetite-whetting, if you will. Something that stops you in your tracks and makes you think, 'Wow, this is beautiful/different/interesting.' And for crap's sake, it has to taste good.

It's a fine balance, but I feel I'm doing pretty well, considering the hours and the circumstances. I hope it only continues to get better.

*I don't work at Le Pigeon; I am, however, very fond of their food.

Survival extraordinaire

This is what happens to your hands when you cook 12 hours a day, use knives, manipulate wet, staining ingredients and wash your hands 80 times a day, and then ride your bike home from work:



(This method of nail and skin care is not recommended to the general public.)

It's been a week since I started my glamorous new job as a pantry/prep cook, and as I suspected, it wasn't an easy week by any means. Between the early mornings for school and the 8 to 10 hours I put in at work each night, I was literally hurting by Wednesday. I considered sleeping in and missing school for the first time ever (but thankfully didn't), and nearly fell asleep in class during a truly fascinating slide show about wild mushrooms and mushroom hunting by my mushroom-expert chef instructor. The trick, folks, is to ask lots of questions during the lecture so as to stay engaged (and thus awake). You'll thank me for this gem of knowledge later.

I'm adjusting, however slowly, and realizing how precious every spare minute I have is to me. 20-minute power naps between school and work helped, as did the fact that my chef at work was understanding enough to set my work schedule so I have a day off during the week to rest, collect myself and not burn out. He's been great to me; in fact, everyone at the restaurant, kitchen staff and front-of-house staff as well, have been so welcoming to me. I'm especially fond of all the women bartenders and servers who are stoked to finally have a girl in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, I studied like a demon for my midterms, and I'm crossing my fingers for good results on the comprehensive written test. I kicked butt during the 104-item identification test (fruits & veg, greens, dried herbs & spices, grains & legumes). I also managed not to cut myself during the mirepoix drills on Friday, thankfully, and though I didn't quite get two quarts, I was happy with my results. Though I did nearly cut off my ring finger during practice last Monday (see the photo above). It's a pain to work with open wounds, because it normally means bandages and finger cots, through which you can't feel anything. Tuck those fingers under, kids!

At work, things move at a very rapid pace. I'm realizing the most frustrating thing about starting a new kitchen job is figuring out where everything is. Since we deal with massive amounts of ingredients, equipment and serving dishes, I ask a lot of questions, most of them about where something is. For example, endive is in a container in the walk-in fridge, but someone labeled it "ANDIV" and no one has ever bothered to change it. I spent a good five minutes looking on the shelf on which it sits, basically staring straight at and around it and never finding it until one of the cooks told me about the mislabeled container.

It's small stuff to worry about though, as after a week I'm finally feeling more comfortable with where everything is, and my muscle memory is just starting to reach for things without having to think. It's how cooks get fast, I think; just being able to put together all the parts without having to stop to remember what's in that particular dish. Most of the salads I make, for example, have anywhere between seven and ten ingredients each, and I still sometimes have to stop and think, 'Wait, is there pepper in this one?' It really helps that we taste everything, EVERYTHING, before it goes up to the window to get delivered to the tables, as I've made most of the dishes enough times to know if there's something missing when I taste it.

I'm knocking stuff out fairly quickly though, for having only been there for a week, and I love that my chef asked me on my third day, in reference to how busy we were on my second day but how I managed to make it through intact, "So are you proud of everything you put up? Did everything taste good?" It means a lot to me that my chef is encouraging my pride in my work, and not just expecting me to knock out dishes quickly (though they do expect that too!).

I'm happy to have the next week off from school, as this will give me a great opportunity to just focus at work and be well-rested when I'm there. I know I can be a lot faster, a lot cleaner, a lot more efficient, and I have many more recipes to learn, but I have faith that I'm getting there.

Step by step.

Calm before the storm

It's a relaxing Sunday, lounging in bed with the Macbook on my lap, yet the butterflies in my stomach have me thinking about exactly how hectic my life is about to become.


Sunday morning disheveled attire with my monkey, Mocha

This week may be one of the most challenging weeks of my life yet, no exaggeration; probably on par with the last week of my senior year of college before my comprehensive finals were due and I was pulling out my hair (and crying a lot) trying to get my B.A.

But that was seven years ago, and a lot has changed since then. For one, I don't feel that impending dread of "I just want to get this over with." In fact, I am so excited about this coming week, I've been blathering like a nutcase to anyone who will listen about my new job I haven't even officially started yet. There are probably very few people in the world who are as excited as myself to be a pantry/prep cook, but then again, very few people make it into the kitchen of "a top-tier professional restaurant" (the executive chef's words) with no professional kitchen experience whatsoever. Really, it's kind of a miracle, and I'm still stunned.

Credit, however, should be given where credit is due: I know I wouldn't have been able to achieve this without my chef instructors' guidance and genius at culinary school. Exercises that seemed trivial at the time, such as equipment identification tests and knowing how to cut a fine brunoise (1/16" cubed), served me so well during my stage, that I felt great not having to ask someone what a nine-pan was or the dimensions of a julienne or how to cut an orange into supremes. All the training we had on proper seasoning seemed to help me the most: Too often, beginner cooks are afraid of salt, for fear of making something taste salty, but when properly applied, salt only serves to enhance the existing flavors.

This little miracle has resulted in what will be 40+ hour work weeks at the restaurant, on top of what is already 25 to 30 hours at school, five days a week, and possibly weekends at work. Basically I'll be doing 14 to 15 hour days, mostly on my feet, involving repetitive and strenuous labor (and LOTS of cleaning).

Who would be nuts enough to do this, much less look forward to it? Only us crazies who love creating something extraordinarily delicious, who revel in gently manipulating the freshest of ingredients, who crave honing their methods and skills, who happily turn up the speed when orders are flying at us, and who get off on making a patron's night with an excellent meal. It's the ultimate in instant gratification.

But let's not get too romantically carried away. The exec chef made it clear that I'm getting myself into something really big, and I have very large shoes to fill (again, his words). Not to mention I am the first woman to be hired in this kitchen of foul-mouthed, testosterone-driven men, as most cooks tend to be. The night of my stage, I kept getting disclaimers from the chefs about the fact that their kitchen has been all-guys for a long time, and they hope I don't have delicate ears. Ha! My reply to their disclaimers: "Sounds like there's far too much man-love up in here. You need a girl around these parts."

I admit that being the only female to be hired in that kitchen makes me more proud of myself. Yet the chef has said, "Just so you know, I'm not going to take it easy on you because you're female," and I would expect no less.

I don't fool myself into thinking I'll be perfect at this job from the get-go, and I know I'll have many tough days where things don't work out as I planned. But I've never been more excited to step into new and unexplored territory. I have a lot to learn, A LOT, and it's a matter of keeping up the energy and enthusiasm I had the night of my stage.

Oh, did I mention I have a comprehensive test at school tomorrow, midterms and a kitchen practical on Friday, plus the five-minute mirepoix drill showdown?

Here goes nothin'. Or everything.

p.s. - Anyone out there ever been in a similar situation? I could use some friendly coping tips (especially ones that don't involve drinking or general substance abuse). And thanks again, everyone, for the support. I have a feeling I'm gonna need it in these coming months.

It's always when you're not looking...

... that the right one finds you.

I went to happy hour tonight with the intention of catching up with a friend and eating some delicious goodies at one of Portland's best restaurants, and I walked out of that restaurant with a stage (tryout period)! I had no intention of asking, but a series of fortuitous circumstances landed me in the kitchen talking with the executive chef about my past restaurant experience, my present culinary school, and staging in their restaurant. Hardly five minutes later, I walked back to the table, totally in shock, half-laughing and half-mumbling, "Ohmygod, what the hell, I start staging here tomorrow, what the f*** just happened??" I'm still numb, but I'm completely ecstatic.

What is staging, you ask? Firstly, it's Frenchified, pronounced "stahhhj-ing" with a soft "j". It's basically an unpaid tryout period where you get a chance to see how their kitchen works, and they get to see how you work, your knife skills, your cleanliness, your prep speed, your general sense of urgency. If you seem worth your salt, they may hire you. Alternately, if it doesn't work out, no harm, no foul. The hope here is that it works out, obviously.

I'm convinced the universe is paying attention to my thoughts; I've been thinking for several weeks now that I should really start working in a kitchen, just to get a feel for it. You know, see how I do and if it's where I want to be, as we're starting to pin down our externships for Term 4. More importantly, I've been noticing more and more that my fellow classmates who work in kitchens outside of school are faster, cleaner, more efficient, and have more tricks up their sleeves than myself and my fellow students who have never worked in a real kitchen. They know how it really works, and that sense of urgency that is so important in a kitchen just comes naturally to them.

I want that, and this stage is the perfect opportunity. And I start tomorrow after school! Seriously, WTF?!? I'm still in shock.

I think there was a little bit of hesitation from the sous chef because of my gender; the sous asked me if I had a thick skin, and my reply: "I know I look sweet, but..." Heh. I figure if I've been able to handle the guys at school, many of whom work in restaurants, and none of whom make any effort to clean up their language or spare me from teasing because I'm a girl, I can handle these guys fine. Now it's a matter of seeing if I can cut it in the kitchen.

And a big, big thank you, you know who you are ;).

I must admit that I'm nervous as all hell, but this is truly an amazing opportunity, and my intention is just to learn as much as possible and drink it all in. Universe, you really know how to take a girl by surprise.

Choice phrases at OCI

The following are some choice phrases and terms my chef instructor used in the kitchen and classroom today:

-"Herbalicious"
-"Cilantroness"
-"Just say no to day-glo" (as in French's mustard)
-"Technicolor yawn" (an interesting term for puking)
...and my favorite:
-"Full yogurt dangle" (this was in reference to a true story involving a chef who cut a very hot Manzana pepper with bare hands and then failed wash his hands before using the restroom. The yogurt was the salvaging solution)

And these are just the ones I remembered to write down. He had some choice words about the English palate, but I'll spare your delicate ears (ask me in person if you want to know). Needless to say, I'm having a great time in T2, despite the onslaught of homework and the fact that I'm getting to school between 7 and 7:30AM every morning as well as staying after class to keep up with the workload. My chef instructor is officially brilliant, and I've become that super-annoying girl in class who won't stop asking questions because he's got answers for everything. EVERYTHING, I tell you.

I'm a regular Hermione Granger, and I can't help it, really. I've become sponge-like in my quest for culinary knowledge, and my resources are simply too great to not pester. Is that so wrong?

First day back quickie

I'm deep in homework mode right now, but I wanted to share that the first day of Term 2 was a success. When I got to school this morning, I was pleasantly surprised to realize how excited I was to be back at school, and to see everyone again. We received a mountain of course work, packets and our homework schedule, and I gotta say, upon initial evaluation, the workload looks fairly brutal.


My bandaged thumb (keep reading below) and a mountain of homework

The only downside about today was the part where I cut my thumb during mirepoix drills. We had 5 minutes to cut as much small-dice carrot, onion and celery as possible, and were graded on quality of cut as well as volume. The goal at the end of this 4 weeks is to cut 2 quarts of veg in 5 minutes (the most ever done was one full gallon by some student last term). I'm aiming for 3 quarts.

The rules are if you cut yourself, you're done with that drill. About 2 minutes in, I had chopped about 2 cups of onion and began chopping away at celery, and the tip of my thumb slipped under my knife. I was more annoyed that I had to stop than the fact that I cut myself, especially since it was easily covered with a bandage, but I get it--no one would hire a sloppy, unhygienic cook. My instructor made me leave my bloody thumbprint on my grading sheet and wrote "BLOOD SACRIFICE" as my grade. Seriously. He's funny.

This is going to be a hectic term, but I'm really looking forward to it. Every day starts with 15 minutes of knife drills, so let's hope I keep my remaining appendages unscathed.

Start of Term 2 at Oregon Culinary Institute

I've been away for a bit, as I've been thoroughly enjoying a 10-day break between the end of Term 1 and the start of Term 2, which, incidentally, begins tomorrow. I can't deny I have a few butterflies in my tummy about beginning a new term with a new class, new instructors and double-to-triple the workload, but fortunately it's not a nauseating feeling. More like elated anticipation.

Looking back on Term 1, I can't believe how quickly it flew by. What I'm most amazed by is the fact that I've learned so much already, I feel like I've been in school for at least an undergrad semester, not the actual eight weeks that Term 1 occupied. The last week of Term 1 was especially challenging for a variety of reasons, but on the last day, finals day, my kitchen partner and I managed to pull off some plates that I'm particularly proud of: Pork chops with cherry-almond stuffing served with creamy mashed potatoes, grilled asparagus, grilled eggplant and roasted yellow peppers, and pan-fried chicken Supremes (boneless chicken breast with leg bone attached, aka "airline breast") in lemon-garlic Espagnole sauce served with pan-fried sun-dried tomato and basil polenta, roasted red peppers and sauteed spinach. They weren't perfect, as the pork chop was a bit overdone and some of the grilled veg were charred, but I was happy with the seasoning and presentation at day's end. I wish I had thought to take some photos of our final dishes, but I guess I'll have to recreate them some other time. Hint, hint.

I have to say, I attribute the sense of readiness and most of the creative inspiration to that fabulous dinner at Le Pigeon I wrote about previously. It really got the juices flowing for a nice presentation. Though every part of our menu was planned almost a week in advanced, I decided on finals morning to nix the boring roasted potatoes we were planning on doing for our pan-fried chicken Supreme, and go all-out with the colorful, round polenta cakes, each topped off with a beautiful basil leaf. It's not a difficult process, pan-fried polenta, as long as your mise is well-done.

Finals day also consisted of a written comprehensive exam of about 100 questions, which wasn't too painful. Also due were our math work books, study guides, proficiency sheet with about 15 tasks (including various cuts of potatoes, vegetable cooking methods, tomato concasse, et al, each of which had to be personally inspected and signed by an instructor), as well as our big notebook with all of our work over the last 4 weeks, including recipe analysis sheets and tasting journals.

I'm not sure what to expect from Term 2 yet, especially since I've been told that my uber-brilliant instructor has been known to make people cry, but my expectations for class and for myself are high as ever. My mom thinks they're too high, and maybe she's right. I just have to remind myself occasionally to make sure I'm having fun. Sounds silly, I know, but necessary for the moments that I'm on the verge.

In the Term 1 home stretch

Large dice (3/4-in square) for knife skills proficiency:


(It took me two whole large Russet potatoes and a whole lot of agony to get eight perfectly square large dice pieces. The larger ones are always harder than you think.)

So Friday was the fourth to last day of my first term of school. It's a vitally important four days, as it's definitely the most daunting of the projects to date: Four days of a restaurant-ready presentation of both pork and chicken with different starch and two to three vegetables for each. That's less than two hours for two full plates *per student*. Up to this point we've only been responsible for one plated meat-starch-veg presentation per day, so essentially the workload doubled on Friday. Friday, Monday and Tuesday are essentially practice for our graded kitchen practical on Wednesday. Plus, every day is peppered with a variety of tests, from knife skills to kitchen proficiency to written exams covering eight intense weeks of material.

Before Friday, we were squeaking by for time as it was, so I couldn't help but be a tad concerned about doubling the workload. It got to the point where I had a mini anxiety attack in the middle of a friend's birthday party Thursday evening, and had to gulp down a glass of the worst wine I've ever had in a restaurant (thanks, Old Town Pizza!) to calm the nerves. It's slightly hilarious now that I'm recalling the situation, but a little scary while it was happening. Thanks to some good company with friends, I managed to not go over the edge.

Friday morning rolled around, and I was up with a start half an hour before my 6:30AM alarm. I slept fitfully, but after a good shower, I buttoned up the chef's whites, remembering to tuck a t-shirt into my bag for the 90°F+ temps later in the day, and got to school at 7:30 to gather the mise en place for our menu.

And boy am I ever glad I did. Things went so smoothly that I surprised even myself, and I attribute that extra half hour to our sense of readiness. We were the only team to come in on time that day, but more importantly, everything was well-seasoned and well-finished. None of the meat or veg were overdone, and our plates looked clean and presentable, for the most part. I was really proud of our team for getting the job done well, and I'm crossing my fingers that the next three days will be just as efficient. Cross your fingers for me, people!

We had our knife skills test on Friday as well, and though I didn't do as well as I hoped, I didn't do badly either. On the positive side, though I had twinges of regret over the course of this term for missing certain shows or parties because I needed to do homework, in retrospect I'm extremely happy that I've kept up with the homework schedule up to this point. I've managed to have a relaxing weekend instead of toiling away at work I put off to the last minute. Last minute work and overdue papers were a far-too-common occurrence while I was getting my B.A., and I'm determined this time not to let it happen again.

In fact, the difference between the process of getting my B.A. and culinary school is so striking, I really feel like I'm an entirely different person this time around. It certainly helps that I have a passion for my school studies, and I feel like I'm really, truly ready this time.

It's a good feeling.

My lucky day

It's Friday! Bread pudding for everyone!


Sinful and disgustingly delectable bread pudding at Wildwood

How is it Friday already? Seriously, kids. This week has flown by the fastest of any week at school so far, and one of the most productive and efficient yet. If someone told me on the first day of school that we'd be doing fully plated, sellable meat-veg-starch plates in six weeks time, I'd have said "You're nuts." We've evolved from mashed potatoes and French fries to Duxelle-stuffed chicken with Gnocchi Piedmontese and Ratatouille, using the same amount of kitchen time, but incorporating all the skills we've learned up to this point. I'm simply amazed, and I'll remember to get a camera in the kitchen during school soon, I promise.

Speaking of Duxelle-stuffed chicken and the rest, my class partner had to tend to an emergency and was thus out of school for a couple of days. This meant it was up to little me, myself and I to complete the full menu by myself. I admit to being slightly freaked out, but with a little guidance from my fabulous (and fabulously patient) chef instructors and a few deep yoga breaths, on Wednesday (the first day of my partner's absence) I turned out a nice plate of stuffed chicken leg (that I deboned myself), handmade gnocchi and stewed vegetables that surprised even myself. One of the best complements came from one of my chef instructors, who declared that though he's rarely hungry that early in the morning, my plate whetted his appetite for lunch.

Halfway through production on Wednesday, Chef Wilke came into the kitchen as he often does to check in, and saw that my shallots for the duxelle stuffing were just starting to brown to the point of near-burn. I was running about elsewhere, trying not to freak out, and he stopped me for a minute and said to me, "This is something you'll learn in time, but when you're multi-tasking, eventually you'll have a little voice or a feeling that just comes to you like 'Oh yeah!' to remind you of all the things you have going on." I explained to him, slightly embarrassed, but mostly grateful that he'd caught the shallots from burning, that I was by myself in the kitchen because my partner wasn't there.

He smiled and said, "Well then, today's your lucky day!"

At first I didn't get it. Well, it's more like I was thinking, 'Are you joking? How is it "lucky" that I got left to do all this by myself?' But as I got into the groove of the day, things began to come together, and when time was up, I found myself standing at my work table with a well-flavored, presentable plate in front of me. Exhausted but elated, I realized suddenly that I was happy to be challenged to complete this task, and really proud of myself for doing a good job.

Something else to think about: This kind of stuff happens all the time in the real world. People call in sick or have emergencies at the last minute, and it's not the first time I've been left with double the workload. It's a part of the industry, and I didn't break any barriers by doing this by myself (one of my classmates did the same menu by himself earlier this week).

Nonetheless, I'm learning to take pride in the small steps and accomplishments. It was my lucky day, as I know now that I can do a good job on my own if need be.

Minestrone madness

Pictured above: minestrone soup and New England clam chowder, two of the three soups my partner and I made in class today, the one not pictured being Wisconsin beer cheddar soup (tastes better than it sounds, I promise). I must say, today was a fantastic contrast to how terribly I felt last Monday in the kitchen. Though we weren't doing anything we hadn't done before, as our first project ever was soup, I feel like I'm finally starting to pull away from the recipes and listen to instinct. How something looks or feels is becoming more important and apparent to me than ever before, even in contrast to mere weeks ago.

A perfect example: We did cream of tomato soup three weeks ago, and the original recipe calls for far too much chicken broth and makes a very thin and unappetizing soup. Because I wasn't paying attention, I just did what the recipe said and our soup, of course, turned out to be much too watery. Thankfully we had extra roux leftover and were able to save the soup from total tomato disaster. The roux thickened up nicely, but we could have avoided having to add the extra roux had I just been watching when I added the stock. Anybody would have seen it was way too thin.

Today, I was determined to make our soups shine. In the past three days, we've tasted the same three soups every day, but each day tastes totally different as made by different teams. Two out of three times the minestrone soup was bland, flavorless, and basically tasted like vegetable water. The original recipe for minestrone, like the cream of tomato, also calls for far too much stock, which was the main problem with the previous versions of the soup. My partner also smartly suggested using vegetable stock instead of chicken stock, as minestrone is essentially a vegetable soup and the veg stock really highlights the sweet, garden-y qualities of the veggies in use.

After sweating the small-diced vegetables, I deglazed the minestrone vegetables in white wine, which the original recipe did not call for but I thought would be a great kick in sweetness and acidity. We added the veg stock and let it simmer, meanwhile working on seasoning the other soups. We used a nice, extra-sharp white cheddar and Red Stripe beer for the beer cheese soup, and my clam-chowder-disliking partner and I reached a happy medium for size of clams and consistency of chowder. My partner ended up liking the clam chowder so much, she took some home. I call that a victory for all clam-chowder lovers out there.

I think today was the best overall of the last four days of production in the kitchen. I felt the most prepared, having written out a prep list last night and read and re-read the recipes. Our mise en place was well-prepped, we paced ourselves well and we cleaned as we worked, so by the time the soups were done, we only had to wash our soup pots and serving utensils (as opposed to a pile of bowls, pie pans, cutting boards and whatever else we may have dirtied up in the process).

Tomorrow is day one of what is basically our two-day midterm exams, though my chef instructor hesitates to use the word "exam" or anything test-related, for fear of giving us the willies. I admit to having a few butterflies in the tummy, but I think it's just a matter of having the confidence to kick some butt. Wish me luck!

Helpful reminders

Our culinary class is divided into four groups, each of which is assigned a set of recipes to complete by a given time each day (usually we get about two hours from start to plate, sometimes less, which can get hairy but somehow we manage). The recipes get rotated through the groups so every group gets to make all the recipes at some point.

Yesterday was the first day of our third project, the first project being soups and the second, vegetable cooking methods. We were also shuffled around into new groups, and my new partner and I tackled braised cabbage, braised fennel, corn fritters, beer-battered pan-fried zucchini and roasted red pepper coulis for the fried zukes. I was happiest with the coulis, which my chef instructor gave the thumbs up, as did Chef Wilke, who constantly walks around the kitchens, surveying and tasting. The fennel was surprisingly delicious, as was the cabbage (though a bit overdone, Southern-style, but still good in flavor).

I was in charge of the corn fritters, and though I thought the flavor was excellent with the addition of some fresh basil chiffonade, the oil was too hot when the batter went in. Instead of a lovely golden brown, they were clearly burnt in a couple spots and in a general an unsightly dark brown all over. Surprisingly, burning them did not compromise the flavor much, but my instructor deemed them unfit for general restaurant service. I sadly and disappointingly relented in agreement. My classmates still tasted them, and though it was overall a better day than Monday, still a bit of a let-down.

We began lecture today by discussing what happened yesterday in production. My chef instructor asked me directly about the corn fritters, and I relayed in my best "positive attitude" tone what went wrong, what could have been done better, but that generally speaking I didn't think they were ruined. The chef instructor, who is not one to mince words, cut me off and said, "Well, actually, they were ruined. Yeah, the taste was alright, but you wouldn't serve that to the general public, would you? And that's who we're going to be cooking for, right?"

I felt a rush of blood go to my face and was thankful at that very moment that I don't blush much when embarrassed, or my face would have been a bright, hot pink. I was slightly irritated and felt foolish for saying anything at all. I nodded silently in agreement and was determined to keep my mouth shut for the rest of class.

My chef instructor, however, quickly followed with, "But listen, just because the food was ruined doesn't mean you're a failure. You're not. I'm glad you're making the mistakes now, in a safe environment where it doesn't cost you a thing to make mistakes. It won't cost you your job, or your money, maybe a little time but that's ok. That's what we're here for, right?"

I felt the blood leave my head and my muscles relaxed. My instructor was right, and I remembered suddenly, 'I'm in school. I'm paying to have this freedom to make mistakes and to learn from my mistakes.' I smiled a little at how irritated I was just seconds before, and thought to myself about how glad I am that I'm in such good hands. My tendency to take things personally was shaken off a bit, and I was ultimately reminded to be less hard on myself.

So yes, today was a good day.

Reflections on Day Eleven at Oregon Culinary Institute

It's officially been two weeks since school started, and though my intention was to write every day, clearly it's been a bit of a hectic adjustment. But it's started to feel like a pattern, finally; every day, we have two hours of lecture starting at 9AM followed by three hours of "lab" work in the kitchen. Most days just fly by, especially once we get into the kitchen, and oftentimes we're under the gun to finish our projects at a certain time. We've been going into major detail in tasting, trying to flesh out every aspect of every food we touch and manipulate. I've found this to be the most helpful - taking the time to write and talk about tastes, aromas, textures, colors, presentation, etc.... I mean, how often do you sit down to a meal and just scarf it down because you're hungry? I notice now that even outside of class, when I'm out dinner with friends or something, I'm mentally taking notes about presentation, flavors, mouthfeel, seasoning, etc... it's kind of startling.

I feel like I've been storing a bunch of thoughts up, and since they are scattered all over the place, I think observations via bulletin points will be helpful here. Apologies in advanced if this seems incoherent; I had a very late night last night and am running on four hours of sleep and buzzing off a mug of incredible chai made by one of my chef instructors.

Things I'm very happy about:

-Even though a lot of the information in the first two weeks of class has been stuff I've gleaned in the past from reading tons books and articles on food, food history, farming, and cookbooks, as well as working in restaurants, it's been refreshing and enlightening to see everything in the light of "real world industry" terms. Everything has value, monetarily (and I might even say emotionally) speaking, and we're learning to put all this information in context to running our own businesses. One of the reasons I chose to go to culinary school was to learn how to successfully run a business in the food industry in a nurturing environment (without feeling thrown to the wolves, that is), and I feel that even though it's early, we've already getting into all the aspects of cost to profit ratio, customer satisfaction, contemporary menu trends, local vs. non-local product, and all the other things that may affect running one's own business.

-Speaking of nurturing, our chef instructors are brilliant. They're collectively a wealth of knowledge, and they've made class lighthearted and fun, but at the same time don't coddle or hand-hold either. They know when to push and when to let us be, and I'm definitely building confidence because of it. Even hearing, "Nice work today, Ingrid!" from people I respect makes such a difference.

-Speaking of confidence, the change in my (and the whole class') comfort in the kitchen from day one to day eleven is pretty remarkable. I admit I was really nervous to be put on the spot to create something under the gun for people who know a hell of a lot more about cuisine than me, but with some positive encouragement and small successes daily, I find myself thinking, 'Holy crap, I could actually do this!'

-Here's where I may sound full of shit, but I really mean the following: You can truly feel the love around Oregon Culinary Institute. The instructors respect each other so much, speak very highly of each other, and even when they differ in opinion (which happens all the time, understandably, as food is ultimately subjective), it's always in a positive light. It's clear that they're learning as much from each other as we are from them, and what's better, the mutual respect between students and teachers is palpable. Not to sound like one big love-fest or anything, but it's pretty much my dream school environment.

-My classmates and I are working better and better together. Even though we're all at different levels (experience, age, schooling, whatever), we're all in the same boat at the end of the day. Don't get me wrong, it's not perfect; I've had my bitchy moments, as has everyone else, so we're not all happy-go-lucky all the time. But more often then not, when I find myself grumpy or tired, my classmates are there to lighten the mood and give a helping hand, and I'm trying my best to be better about that with my classmates as well.

Things I'm not happy about:

-I've gained a small tire around my belly from eating so much and so well in class. Just today we got two plates of the most decadent turtle fudge brownies from the Baking and Patisserie students. Those brownies basically saved my life, because I had a cup of coffee on a mostly-empty stomach mid-morning to wake up and by the time I got into the kitchen, my hands were shaking from the caffeine as I was attempting to julienne carrots. One bite of brownie and I was calmed down again. Of course I didn't stop at one bite. I had two whole brownies, for the record. Ok? OK?? I'm staring at my belly now and I just want to yank it off my body. Either I need to take up jogging, or I'll just wait for the spring rain to let up so I can ride my bike more. Ugh. Ah well, there are definitely worse things in life. One can't really be that unhappy about turtle fudge brownies, is all I'm sayin'...

Things I'm doing differently after just two weeks:

-I feel like I'm getting faster, I'm cleaner, more efficient, definitely more observant, asking more questions, watching my peers, and I now know the difference between a rutabega and a turnip. Heh.

It may seem a little early to say so, but here goes nothin': After two weeks of school I've determined that going to culinary school was one the best decisions I've made in my 27 years, second probably only to having my surgery.

Much more to come, and I hope to be better about writing on a daily or at least tri-weekly basis.

Back in Seattle/ Day two of school

Somehow I've found myself back in Seattle, but now that I'm in school proper, it's just for the weekend this time. It's been a super long and crazy week, which included, aside from starting school: happily hosting my friends from Brooklyn while they played a show in Portland; playing a song in their show on my violin which I literally haven't touched in ages; having a blast and deciding to play with them again for their show in Seattle tonight (which went great!); going to dinner at Vindalho with the lovely folks from PortlandFood.org and meeting a bunch of fellow Portland foodies; getting dental work; seeing Bonnie at a show at North Bar while she was in town from Tokyo; and various and sundry things I'm forgetting at this late hour.

With all this nuttiness, I'm happy to report that school today was a blast by all standards and measures. We worked on knife skills with the chef's knives from our fancy new Mercer kits, and I discovered that I'm much more comfortable with a 10-inch blade than I thought I would be. I've always employed 8-inch chef's knives (or my mom's 7-inch Global Santoku, droooool...), starting from my very first Sabatier starter set to the Wustof Classic chef's knife that I have now. The Mercer 10-inch, however, is very well balanced and feels swift in my hand. It also helps that I'm surrounded by professionals who care as well as state of the art equipment; lends to a sense of confidence about professionalism that is hard to muster in one's home kitchen by yourself.

We had lecture in the morning, and then finally got to "play" with our knives after an incredible chickpea curry lunch. We practiced slicing potatoes Batonnet-style (a wider Julienne, basically) and got some schooling on proper honing and knife care, as well as general knife etiquette in the kitchen. On the surface it sounds like minutiae, but these details are so important when it comes to safety and speed. Even remarking on details like keeping our work stations clean help tremendously with efficiency, and only after watching our awesome instructor give a knife demo did I truly begin to gain respect for all those tiny details.

Afterwards we practiced turning panko breading in standard sauté pans, which was a fun mess--panko all over the floor. As a result of this practice, I'm now certain I need to get back to the gym. My hands were literally shaking after 15 minutes of gentle tossing. Getting back into shape is essential; even being on my feet in those clogs is kicking my ass.

Gotta say though, it's been a fantastic week and I haven't felt this focused in a long, long time. Bed for now, more tomorrow...