Where I’m At – An Attempt to Jumpstart

So it has been months since my last post. Admittedly, I’ve been preoccupied by the in-and-outs of culinary school and haven’t had much time to write. I, however, promised myself to begin writing again -- much to the happiness of some friends who think my posts rather amusing. I’m not promising anything though.

Now where to start?

Last week Friday sealed the fate of some award hopefuls (well hopefully not) -- myself included. Mid-terms was a mean mother… most especially the identification part. Imagine going through 120 numbered items with the task of identifying each and every one. Might not seem daunting to some, but to us mortals, it is more than confusing. Sure there are a couple of unmistakable items in the mix, like vanilla extract, salted and unsalted butter, rosemary, etc. but its all downhill from there. It gets really difficult to tell the subtle differences of various vinegars, more so, after smelling and tasting one after the other in succession. Not to mention telling the difference and identifying the various mysterious white powders which are also situated next to one another. Would probably be able to sort everything out given enough time, sadly, we were only given an hour to tell our Port wine from our Madeira. So that roughly translates to having to identify 2 items per minute minus the seconds I spent ‘oooooh-ing’ and ‘ahhhhhh-ing’ to the items I DO know. It was so bad that I had to milk each moment of satisfaction from each item I’m sure I’m getting right. I mean, I had to pat myself on the back for knowing something to stop my confidence from completely fizzling out on me mid test. But man was it tough.

There was of course, a silver lining. The identification part of the test made the essay part seem like *ding ding ding* bonus round. Heck yeah!! Ok fine, it was open notes, but then again, if you didn’t bother studying or actually doing something during kitchen hours then no amount of notes nor Larousse or Gisslen can save your ass. In the end, no self-respecting person in my class turned in their papers without making sure those essay answers would gleam under the sunlight and bring tears of joy to Chef Gene’s eyes as he combs through them later. This was redemption damn it! God knows the mess of a test I left in part one, so it was make or break time.

There was another part to this culinary triathlon which frankly, I didn’t feel like I went through after the endorphin high I got from finishing the former. It did however entail another gauntlet of taste tests, one of which was distinguishing from real (2 days worth of work) demi-glace and the Knorr (demi in pixie dust form +water) demi-glace. I think I did ‘fairly well’ on this one though as compared to the identification part. But as all things, everything is up in the air until it lands -- in this case, hopefully, not in a thud of disappointing failure.

Aside from last week’s dismal ending, I can honestly say, my enthusiasm has not waned nor faltered. I still arrive an hour and a half to two hours too early for class, I still take pride in my reflection in the mirror donning full kitchen battle garb and I still wake up hoping that there’s class everyday. Some things ARE getting to me though. I find myself more and more critical of the things that I would order when I eat out. I would catch myself taking jabs at the dishes that seem to me, mediocre. I sometimes feel like inflicting bodily and emotional harm to kitchen teammates who habitually make newbie mistakes. I noticed that I would sometimes get irritated for not having done my best at something. I’m not sure yet if these developments are positives or negatives, but I know something is changing. And it’s exciting. I just hope I don’t turn into one of those overly critical perfectionist gastronomes that must have a huge gourd stuck up their pooper.





FoodieGoesCulinary,
JC Dayo

foodiegoesculinary.blogspot.com

First Day Jitters

I set the alarm to go off at 7AM, I was however somewhat irked to already be up at 6. I took advantage of my unusually early waking to do my quiet time and say a short silent prayer. I guess I didn’t realize just how excited I was for my first day in cooking school until I found myself dressed at 7:30AM for a 10AM class. They did call Sunday telling us to come early, but I had to admit, it was a bit ridiculous that I was already dressed and ready to go. We were told to come in black pants, white shirt, and shoes. Not wanting to wear rubber shoes with my formal looking black pants, I went ahead and wore dress shoes. It wasn’t till later on that I realized that I should have gone with the rubber shoes.

I took my time with breakfast, having a small bowl of cereal, a piece of pandesal, a slice of SPAM, and an egg (Nothing gourmet about that). My mind, however, was already elsewhere.

I was getting really restless at home waiting for time to crawl by some so I wouldn’t look like an over-eager idiot arriving 2 hours too early. But an over-eager idiot I was. At 8:30AM I was already parked and heading up the stairs to the old rustic Café. I sat myself down on a booth to the left, and remained silent making sure I was ready mentally and physically. Early as I was, the place already buzzed with its usual patrons enjoying their breakfast. The smell of breakfast food and fresh brewed coffee mixed with cigarette smoke wafted around me. Strangely, it helped settle my nerves a bit.

It was every bit like your regular first day of school. Strangers sitting together not saying a word, except behind you are some heavy-duty burners, ovens, and various kitchen implements. Not to mention, that your classmates ranged from 18 to 40 years of age. The age difference didn’t help the ice breaking process one bit. If anything, made it more awkward. Try to imagine it for a sec. Curly-long-haired-dude, trendy headphone a la Skullcandy hung around his neck, music still blaring so loud that I could still vaguely hear it from across the room, sitting beside Mrs.40-something, purse settled squarely on her lap, complete with pearl earrings. And these people are supposed to talk? I imagine the conversation going something like:

“Hey, how’s it goin? So like, you’re taking culinary too. That’s like awesome.”

Feigned smile, and politely says; “Yes. Imagine that.” Inwardly, she’s thanking God she doesn’t have a daughter anywhere near his age.

The day really picked up for me when they handed us our Chef’s Kit. Believe me, just running my hand over the surface of that bag made me feel legit! And opening that thing -- man! I felt like a kid finally being able to open a gift that I desperately anticipated a whole year to get. I slowly unbuckled it open. Inwardly I was jumping up and down. I never thought I’d ever be that excited to see a whisk in my entire life. (Shuttup!) And I could’ve sworn I heard angels singing when I saw the knife set all shiny glinting with fluorescent glory. However, what I felt seconds after was less divine. Every fiber in my being was screaming: “LETS CUT SOMETHING UP!! NOW!” It wasn’t rage it wasn’t some other strong emotion. Its just that never in my life have I really wanted; with a burning passion…to chop vegetables as I did in those moments. I swear if they didn’t hand me that green bell pepper, I would have stabbed somebody and julienned the life out of someone’s arm. Good thing it was Basic Knife Techniques day and I was able to satiate my need to spill some vegetable juice on the ground. Needless to say, I think I need to bring a carrot or an onion in my bag, in the off chance that I find the urge to dice something and find nothing but a classmate.

Except for wearing formal dress shoes, which hurt my feet standing up as long as we did, it turned out to be a truly awesome day. A lot of fears were unfounded, people eventually warmed up to each other (Yes, even hipster guy and pearl earring mom), I met and made new friends, I didn’t stab said new friends, sliced and diced a good amount of fresh produce, had fun, felt like I really belonged in that kitchen, and reveled in the fact that come Wednesday, I’ll be in school again. (This time, hopefully, with more comfortable footwear.)

Meanwhile, I’ll be stroking my knives while saying; “My precious…” Hoping to God that I don’t cut myself lest I bleed on the shiny thing.

Peace!

FoodieGoesCulinary,
JC Dayo


P.S.
Oh come on! It’s the same feeling you get when you get a new pen fresh off the shelf. Yes! See you get it. Don’t you just itch to stab something with it? Kidding.