I have completely fallen in love with this life style. If there was any turning point from who I was into a Culinary Student- it was today.
My journey has been almost poetic. First I start with the discipline and difficult simplicity of the skills classes, trying to master the traditional French style. Learning how to differentiate a buerre noissette from a pommes gallette. I would bring fresh pasta dough back to the dorm kitchen and the heat of the summer still provided fresh tomatoes and basil. Friends would surround a stand up bar tearing fresh baked sour doughs, ciabattas, and multi-grain baguettes dipping them into simple olive oil and garlic.
Rules got looser and cultures became stronger when I started Americas. The rigid tension melted away with the lust and gluttony that influenced the Cajun and Creole dishes we made. The culture then spun as we studied the trying work and detail of Mexican cuisine but the love and satisfaction that it provided in the ending product.
Asias tried me as I struggled to find its beauty. The food was so much of a contrast than I was used to. Instead of stressing indulgence- it stressed control. The food was concentrated on the ideal of survival and a healthy living. Everything was green and stir fried. Salt didn't come from salt, it came from fish or soy. Digestion or purity of palate was stressed. I remember the first time I worked the wok, how connected I had to be to the food. The smells were more intense, the heat was hotter, and the movement was demanding. I had to be completely engrossed in the food to prevent it from burning or to learn that I could draw out more flavor if I let it rest on the side. However, another thing Asias taught me was that craving for my French basics.
I never realized how much I loved the smell of butter until I had been working two weeks with nothing but oils. Salt felt so refreshing in between my fingertips. The familiarity on how to season my food brought me satisfaction. I love and respect the cleansing aspect Oriental cuisine provides, but I needed the inside of my mouth coated with fat, followed by a dry red wine. The food was comforting and fulfilling- for body and soul.
Friends became thicker as well. Call it our hospitable personalities, but for every holiday a celebration (or two) was required. Food, desserts, music, laughter, and surprises were at each one. Trust and communication brought people close. I eat breakfast, work for 8 hours, eat lunch, eat dinner, and do homework with these people everyday. They are my family. I can tell them anything and they me. Even friendship within the kitchen itself is a humorous thing to watch. Close friends stay in pairs or triples but as Americas came and past tensions were broke and senses of humor were discovered. Personalities are now understood and predicted. Sanitation fights often break out during clean up across the room with squirt bottles. Songs are broke into if the lyrics are well known. Playful threats are given as warning bells. Nicknames and pet names are used. Disagreements still exist but I sense that if any outsider were to threaten someone inside my kitchen- my kitchen would defend him or her to the bitter end.
Today we got a pep talk from our up comming chef for Quantities. The work load is going to increase significantly, the work is going to be harder, and its going to get more creative. It is suppose to be the hardest class the CIA offers. Its only for seven days, but I'm a little bit excited- and scared. I feel like my group will get stronger- we might loose some- but I think we'll get better for it. I feel like we are actually a kitchen.
