Do you remember the dream where it is the day of the final exam and you realize that you have forgotten to go to class the whole semester? My version of this nightmare usually includes wandering the halls of my high school desperately searching for the right classroom (sometimes wearing only my pajama top) while hearing a voice in my head chiding me that of course I can't find the classroom because I had forgotten to go to class all year and by the way, I forgot to read the book too. I deserve to be this desperate for being such an irresponsible idiot. The whole scenario is usually wrapped up in panic, it is a nightmare for god sakes! I know there must be a psychological analysis of such a dream and what it means about me and my deep seated issues.
Well, my issues recently have revolved around such things as browning bones for sauces and the proper ways to gut a fish. Instead of racing the halls of high school while simultaneously trying to read the entire text of World Civilization Volume II, I have been dreaming of being faced with a tray full of ingredients without a clue as to the recipe, or climbing endless flights of stairs in search of the proper kitchen. The scene of my scholarly negligence has changed, but not the crimes. I show up to the final exam in my Chef's jacket and realize that I have forgotten to wear the pants.
Yesterday was, in real life, our final practical exam in Le Cordon Bleu's Intermediate Level of Professional Cuisine, so my subconscious has been making its issues known to me for too many nights lately. One would think that I am too old for this. I suppose we are never too old for lots of things.......I had studied the 10 dishes that we had been told ahead of time would be from which the 2 dishes for exam day would be chosen. It must be my muddled middle aged brain rebelling from being told what to do, but I have surprised myself (unpleasantly I might add) with how easily confused I can get these days. Everyone who knows me knows that I love to cook and am capable of producing very edible meals, but when faced with the pressure of a precise French Chef peering over my shoulder as I mutilate a rack of lamb, my mind has a new bad habit of combining a blank with a dizzying spin. (I think this is called menopause)
We LCB students have become a tightly knit group. You can't chop, stir, peel and slice next to somebody for 6 months and not bond. We share fumbles, disasters and triumphs side by side and as in every satisfying relationship, we can get totally pissed at one another too for things like cutting ahead in the meat grinder line, or when the other guy leaves you all the rotten onions. But, there is nothing like a looming exam to pull the troops together. Our reconnaissance down in the basement prep kitchen leaked the contents of the school's delivery the night before exam day. There were whispers flying around the school: They got in Trout! Darn it - that's a hard dish ! There is Lamb so there is a God, especially if I get to cook this one. We were 95% sure which 2 dishes we would be faced with the next day. All ill gotten info such as this is freely shared between everyone, what competition may exist is trumped by a "we are in this together" bond.
As we marched into the kitchen on exam day (and I remembered to be fully dressed in real life!) we chose a token from a deep cup that corresponded to one of the two dishes. Even though I haven't been in a church pew for a while, my guardian angel appears to have not been quite so negligent, because I ended up with the green token. Green is my favorite color AND it represented the lamb dish that I was shamelessly praying I would pull.
All began well except somehow my lamb loin didn't quite "roll off the rack" as we were taught. I am sure the eagle eyed Chef Phillip didn't miss this early blip but in the end the loin was cleanly off the bone in one piece. I worked through the bone chopping, onion slicing, mushroom peeling (yes, that's right, at LCB one PEELS mushrooms among other obsessive compulsive food prep steps such as peeling grapes and carving carrot rounds into tops) relatively efficiently. I even remembered to wipe my station down every few minutes to eliminate any wayward water or oil droplets. (A clean chef is a good chef). Things were going too well........I must be forgetting something.
I shouldn't have worried.
Another rule is that a chef who finishes on time is a good chef - mustn't keep the customer waiting. Therefore, like clockwork, Chef Phillip began to call out the remaining time in his Gallic warning tone. Just as a watched pot never boils, as the clock ticks down we always run out of time. In spite of internal admonishments to remain calm, I started to do STUPID things in my rising panic. Stupid thing number one - I strained my sauce into a dirty bowl where it mixed with lamb fat strained away in an earlier step, just like immediately regretting a haircut - there is NOTHING you can do about this. This was certainly the kiss of death for the consistency of my finished sauce. Stupid thing number two followed shortly thereafter. As Chef Phillip counted down the minutes for us I desperately whisked away at my Bearnaise. Bearnaise is a physical endeavor as you are required to constantly whisk your egg yolks until they thicken (about 7 minutes or so) and then drizzle clarified butter sssslllllllllllllooooowwwwly into the egg yolks, whisking all the while until you end up with the mousse like concoction the chefs expect. No wonder my tennis elbow has made a recurrence. Well I achieved my moussey sauce only to hurriedly slop it into the presentation dish right in front of Chef Phillip without straining it. Doesn't sound like a big deal but believe me it is. Not straining a sauce is on the order of a mortal sin in the kitchen. I turned my head just in time to see the arched eyebrow of the Chef disapprovingly noting this infraction. Back the sauce went, I scraped it all out of the dish and pushed it through the fine sieve, losing of course all of my beautifully minced herbs, and quite a bit of the sauce to the sieve.
5 minutes to go and my Tian d'Agneau was yet to be plated. The kitchen was a madhouse of scurrying students, all of our cleanliness of the past 2 1/2 hours disappeared under a pile of last minute strainers, pots, ladles and skimmers. In a matter of 10 minutes my station became the model of how one is NOT supposed to look, butter smears, herb confetti and piles of dirty tasting spoons and used knives were everywhere. The pressure that the Chefs apply is training for the real world of professional kitchens, where life is likened more to the army than to some esoteric gourmet experience.
Well, I did plate my dish on time and in spite of the goofs along the way, that guardian angel came through once more as I sliced into my lamb loin and was rewarded with perfectly done rosy pink meat. Too bad about the sauce.........
We lined our finished dishes up in a row and were told to exit the kitchen immediately, no last minute fooling with your garnish. The Chef Judges paraded right in behind us and bent their Toques over our dishes.
I wonder if in my next History Final Exam nightmare, the only thing I will be wearing will be an apron?
Okay. I think the nightmare means that you will actually do quite well on your exam, which I know you always did...at least in accounting! Keep us posted on the result. We love sweating with you and empathise. And then,you must fix this wonderful dish for me the next time we are together!
Posted by: Carrie | March 22, 2008 at 06:59 AM
I passed - not with especially flying colors but passed all the same - have the diploma to prove it. I will happily cook you Tian d'Agneau in May!!
Posted by: mary c | March 22, 2008 at 11:19 PM
You make me smile and I can't begin how happy it makes me to see how far you have come. You should be be so proud of yourself Mary. You are a constant inspiration! Love, Julie
Posted by: Julie | May 05, 2008 at 04:20 PM