The girl in the picture is not as tough as she looks.

Today was my first day on the hot sandwich line. As part of our Block 2 rotation, our class is in charge of making the salad bar, all of the dressings and mayo, special pre-packaged fancy salads, cold specialty sandwiches, and we run the short order grill. Our class has been separated into four teams of 4 or 5 and my team is working the line.

Within the team we each have an assigned job: taking orders, prepping bread, grilling meat, deep frying onion rings and french fries, and adding the garnish to each plate. I was on garnish today and boy did I learn a lot about me. I definitely need to work on my ability to listen and work. I focussed solely on the people in front of me. It was hard to listen to the orders being called and then understand what they had to do with my station at the end of the service line. As a team, we served 53 customers between 11:30 and 12:45. That's an average of 1 customer every minute and twenty-six seconds. Every plate got a small salad (coleslaw or ambrosia), a pickle, and whatever condiments the customer wanted (lettuce, tomato, onion, mustard, mayo, relish, fruit salsa).

All of the customers were very friendly and patient. One of them was even a former student. As I was serving a customer, I could hear a voice from the back of the line calling "Ng! Ng!" It was a pretty discrepant moment for me and I stopped what I was doing to ask, "Is someone calling my name?" My team didn't know what I was talking about since they all know me as Sarah. Finally I saw that it was Edward, a student from about 6 years ago. It was really nice to see a familiar face on the line. And I think that Eddy thought it was pretty funny that his grade 8 teacher was dressing his hamburger for him.

By the time we were finished and cleaned up, I felt pretty good about the job we had done. Tons of credit for the smooth service goes to Tyson and Matt who were stuck in front of the grill, flat top, and salamander. It was stinking hot where they were, but they just kept everything coming out in a timely fashion. And both of them, but especially Tyson, are extremely calm and rock solid under pressure. Like I said, when it was all done I felt pretty good. After school, I picked up some treats from the bakery and I headed to the bus stop with my pal and team mate, Marianne. Once home, that's when I found out what a wuss I was. Almost immediately, I had to climb into bed for a 2 hour nap. I think it's because I'm the oldest . . . and a big sissy.

Missing the Kids and the Colleagues.

Today is the big day. First day of school. Normally, I would be waking up all night and checking to see if my alarm clock was actually set. Well last night, I had a great sleep. So now I am waiting for the "missing the first day of school" ache to set in.

My parents, both of whom are elementary school teachers, were full of energy last night. They kept talking about going to bed early, seeing their school friends, and seeing the kids. I admit, I feel a bit of a pang. School opening is an exciting day for any teacher. A strange mixture of dread, mixed with freshmen euphoria, builds until that first homeroom. On the first day of school 99% of the kids and staff are excited to be in the building. And there are so many changes. The kids are all taller. The new grade 8's are full of wonder. Colleagues show up with great stories. Some spent the Summer travelling the globe, some come back married or pregnant, and others come back single and living in the city. There is always a ton of news and energy. And the office . . . the office is always a madhouse full of new registrants and kids complaining about schedules. It is all very FUN.

So I think I am going to miss it. While I'm making sandwiches on the line today, I'll be thinking about the new grade 8's I won't be meeting. I'll be thinking about all my workmates and friends.



I hope the day goes off as smoothly as possible.

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.