Physical Exhaustion vs. Mental Exhaustion

For the last five years, my job as a highschool teacher has left me mentally exhausted. At the end of a school day, which could be anywhere from 7 to 14 hours long, I found all my energy was used up. Once home, I was often unable to do anything beyond turning on the television, grabbing a small snack from the fridge, and falling asleep on the couch. It was highschool. Even on a good day it felt like at least a quarter of the resident teenagers were having a bad day. Like I said, it was draining.

Now, all of sudden, I feel a complete turn around. While going to school is academic, the focus at VCC is largely hands on. At the end of my day, I've hauled pots, done a whole bunch of cutting and prep, spent time leaning over a hot stove, been up to my armpits in the dishpit, and taken about five pages of notes. It is completely exhilarating. Unlike in the highschool, I find myself completely unaffected by the moods and the misdemeanors of my peers. While we are a team, I am required to focus on the instruction of the Chef. I'm sure if he has a bad day, it will affect the class. But so far there have been no fireworks. At the end of the day, my body feels beat up, but my brain feels great.

Suddenly I feel room in my head for the things I've been longing to indulge in for so long: novels, science, art, fact memorization, grand schemes, reading the classics, the newspaper front to back, and food. Lots and lots of food.

More Butter Please

Holy smokes! French food has a lot of butter in it. I knew this in theory, but right now I am learning it in principle. Everything we make in class is loaded with one of two magic ingredients: BUTTER and CREAM. I'm starting to feel like I'm made of lard and we don't even eat the food we make. Well. . . we do take little samples. Sometimes more than one. Yesterday we made duxelles: sauteed mushrooms in a white wine reduction, finished with cream. It tasted awesome. We're going to use it to stuff chicken breasts later in the week.

Today we're trussing chickens and then taking them apart. I think there may be some more war wounds in class. Not me . . . touch wood.

I think I might become a weekend vegan to counter all of the in-class cooking excess. . . hmmm.

Discipline and Class Statistics

I survived week number one and am midway through week two. Our instructor Chef Krentz is very straightforward. Even though he seems strict, I think that by chef standards, he is quite easygoing. Today he talked to the class about being too chatty. When we are working, there should be very little, to no, peripheral conversation. A few people in the class are learning to grasp the concept of discipline the hard way. What, may you ask, is the hard way? Well it happens to be burning your roux, adding ingredients in the wrong order, asking questions that have already been answered, forgetting to bring paper and pencil, or failing to wear your hat and then having the chef very publicly point out your error. You don't want to be the teachable moment for the whole class.

About the class. Here is the class make up. There are 8 girls and 11 boys. I think 7 people are between 17 and 19 years old. There are 4 students in their early twenties. At least three students are in their late twenties. There are two Chris's in the class. Chris is 30 and Kris with a K is 33. And that officially makes me the class senior citizen. Also, four of us are from the East Side, one person is from Saskatoon, two students are international (Panama and Korea), one girl is from Vancouver Island, one young man is from North Van, the other old guy is from Vancouver, and the rest of the class is from the burbs (PoCo, Richmond, Tsawassen and Surrey). It's a good mix.

So far we have cooked fish stock, vegetable stock, and brown stock. We have also made vegetable paysanne (a soup), cream of mushroom soup, chicken veloute, fish veloute, and bechamel sauce. Everyday we practice our knife skills. So far I have not cut myself. However, 5 of my classmates have been nicked or sliced by the business end of their chef knives.

I'm still having fun. I hope I don't get cut. I hope I stay off of Chef Krentz's radar.

It's Like Wearing a Costume . . . EVERYDAY.

I love my cook's uniform. The uniform is based on illustrations by Marie Antoine (Antonin) Careme, the first great codifier of French cooking. It consists of a necktie, a double breasted chef's jacket, black and white houndstooth pants, an apron, and a toque. We each have two towels, which are exchanged everyday at 12:30. As well there is a half uniform exchange on Wednesday and a full exchange on Friday.

We must always wear our uniform when we are in class and our uniform must look crisp and well put together. If anyone in the class looks sloppy, the Chef has no problem pointing it out very publicly. I hope I never make it on his radar.

This is the same uniform cooks have been wearing for about 200 years. I love it.

Don't Try to Catch a Falling Knife

Well, my first two days have gone off without a hitch. The class is made up of 19 students. I think I may be the old lady of the group. There may be one other contender for "mature" student status. About half of the class seems to have just graduated from highschool. I feel a bit like a spy sitting amongst them. I'm trying to keep my age and my former life as secret as possible. But, anyone who knows me knows that secrets are not my forte.

So far, we have learned about the fathers of French Cooking, Careme and Escoffier, we went over the brigade system and we have talked extensively about knife safety. There were two excellent, circa 1970, videos on knife care and usage. Keep your hands away from the sharp side and DON'T try to catch a falling knife!

Tomorrow we will wear our school uniforms and we will start cooking. Apparently rice pilaf is on the menu.