They're not pet material

Some may remember a few posts ago I revealed my lack of squeamishness with the be-heading of bunnies and the eye gouging of sea creatures that we are required to learn at Le Cordon Bleu (LCB). Well I have an addendum to my short lived bravado. It has to do with creatures still alive when they land in our kitchen to face their fate. There is a big difference between preparing an already dead little creature for its ultimate gourmet swan song and wresting the life from a struggling little being with my own two hands so that it can be dinner or in this case, my grade for the day.

I realize that there is nothing new with any of this. All the beef, lamb, pork, fowl, etc producers in the world face this every day and learn to live with it. But this is ME, the girl from the Southern California suburbs. The closest I have come to eating something formally alive in my presence is a few lobsters thrown in a boiling pot by my husband with his eyes closed, crabs done in the same way by my brother and a couple measly trout that my Dad lucked out and caught about 40 years ago. I don't think that I ever touched any of these guys before they reached my plate. Certainly not while they were still breathing.

But in the kitchens of LCB, we are killers of crawling crustaceans. A couple weeks ago it was lobster. I thought during the demonstration that this would be no big deal, just throw them in the pot. Noooo...........that turns out to be inhumane according to the French chefs. Instead, we were taught to just take the head of the lobster and plunge it into a small pot of boiling water while holding on to what seemed like his neck. Supposedly much more humane.

My lobster did NOT agree. I daintily took him by the shoulders and stuck his head into the little pot of boiling water and he promptly kicked up a fuss. He began to wag his tail furiously and I freaked out (of course...... I'm not that hard hearted). I dropped him head first into the pot which, being small, meant that he pretty much remained in the same position as when I was holding him. I screamed as his tail flapped back and forth and he looked about to somersault off the stove. I pleaded with one of the male students to come to my and the lobster's rescue but they were apparently as sissy as I am. It took one of the chivalrous chefs to step in and kill the little beast, or as it turned out, subdue him enough to continue on with the dish at hand.

After killing these poor devils to supposedly save them from further agony, we were to saute them in hot oil over high heat. The crushing thing about all this was that once thrown in the pan, these little buggers awoke from their heat induced slumber and started wagging their legs now in protest of the second plague wrought on them - death by hot oil bath.

We looked at them and pleaded openly - "Will you pleeeeeease just die..........."

They eventually did and made a very nice bisque. Nothing like a soothing hot soup after a rough day.

That trauma having faded to a distant memory was revisited today. Only our newest live victims were the crayfish. Les ecrevisses vivantes. And these lucky little devils got to have their intestines removed while standing around on our cutting boards. It actually was a slick little operation. After dividing up the bowl of waving legs and clacking claws with my partner, I set to work. The chef had made it look so easy and I did not want a repeat of the lobster fiasco - one cry from me as a damsel in distress could hopefully be forgiven, but two times - forget it. I would be written off for sure as hopeless in the "in control" chef department.

I set each crayfish on the cutting board for his turn. We were shown to plunk him down facing to the left, holding him with a finger pressed on his mid section so that he couldn't go anywhere, grab his middle tail flap, twist and pull out his guts on a string. My first attempt - bingo - it was easy. The next victim protested by curling his tail under, kind of like when a child about to be spanked covers his rear and thrusts his hips forward. I fooled him though by teasing his tail straight with the point of my knife. In fact, this whole little operation went surprisingly smoothly.

We asked the chef during the demonstration earlier if the crayfish were still alive after having been relieved of their insides. His response - "Ils sont un peu vivantes" They are a little bit alive.......a little bit alive? Is that sort of like being a little bit pregnant?

Turns out he was more right than we gave him credit for. These "a little bit alive" crayfish met a similar fate to their lobster brethren. They too were sweated in hot oil (sweated is the term for cooking in oil or butter until whatever it is softens) but there wasn't nearly the leg wagging fuss that the lobsters put up.They quickly became a very tasty Sauce Nantua with hardly a whimper.

By the end of the session I felt, while not exactly empowered, at least less of a victim to my "ick reflex". After all, these creatures would never be considered candidates for a pet like a rabbit or even the stray member of the cattle family could be. I think the secret to handling their final minutes gracefully is demonstrated in the attitude and vocabulary of the chefs. They do their job without drama and then they say :"Bon Appetit!"

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[Carrie]

Okay, this was even funnier!