One of my dreams when I thought of living in Paris was to enroll in the famous Le Cordon Bleu cooking school. Before arriving here, it seemed like an almost impossible thing to me. I don't know why it felt so out of reach. Maybe it was because Julia Child had gone there and she, being one of my idols, was an almost fantasy figure in my mind. Following in her footsteps, no matter how far behind, seemed almost presumptuous. Or possibly because the school's reputation is so high and well known, I could not imagine them considering someone like me - an American woman without professional experience who was OLD! Well, I applied anyway, why the heck not?, I decided. I mean, living in Paris had seemed like a presumptuous plan too. Who was I to think that I could live in such a place anyway? And I am here - they hadn't thrown me out yet - so might as well go all the way and try for Le Cordon Bleu.
I applied and was accepted! The voices in my head immediately assured me that if I was accepted, EVERYONE must be accepted. Don't get too proud of yourself, they reminded me.( God, I hate those guys!) But in any case, to the outside world, where everyone else lives, becoming a student at Le Cordon Bleu is a big deal. An even bigger deal is making it through the rigorous course. Check any "cooking" ego you may possess at the door. The French Chefs in the school are the bosses and you do as they say and cook as they do. Period.
There is lots to relate about the 3 months I have spent at LCB so far, slaving over a hot stove in the student kitchens. But the first thing I will tell you is the utter shock I felt at discovering how much I like to cut up the rabbits and all manner of birds we are learning to cook AND the gutting, de-gilling , skinning and filleting of the fish. Who knew? Not me, that's for sure. I have given some thought as to why these latent butcher tendencies have shown up in me and I have come to the decision that it has something to do with control. How many times have I strolled by a French boucherie (butcher) or one of the long ice beds laid with seafood in the open French markets, and saw all manner of wild life and sea life in their "whole body" form and wondered how in the heck you got those critters from that state to the dinner table. It really was intimidating. Especially when some little old gnarled French housewife standing ahead of you in line, blithely asks for two huge rabbits and tucks them, floppy eared heads and all, into her little wheelie cart.
I am a French market wimp no more! Thanks to Le Cordon Bleu and our sharpened cleavers we have learned to wield without fear or remorse, I can chop off little Mr Cottontail's head as well as his feet and all the rest of it, without so much as a cringe (well.......almost). No longer do whole silvery fish staring up at me from the counter make me go all shivery inside with the" ick" factor. With my razor sharp fillet knife and other tools, those fresh fish are soon beautiful and neat fillets. (I even know how to deal with the poor little fishies' eyes but I will spare you that detail). Yup, its control all right. I also know how to carve to perfection any fowl presented to me. I don't need my (ex) husband or some other male to do this dirty work any longer (lucky thing since there hasn't been too many males around here lately).
Really, all this gory knife work is down right empowering!
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