I am a nervous man. I was a nervous boy. And while I thrive on the stress of a nervous life, I generally cannot perform my best until I have performed my worst.
Welcome to Skills, where I'll be spending 3 hours of everyday over the next six weeks learning precise knife cuts on near-dead vegetables, learning the basics of sauce production and eventually moving on to entrees.
What you thought was a julienne was a lie. Had you even heard of a brunoise? And if I mentioned concasse, what would you think?
Chef Instructor Laurence Jackson demonstrated exactly once the first 10 cuts we would be expected to master by next Friday. Julienned carrot, brunoised carrot and onion, minced garlic and parsley, batonnet of potato, chiffonade of baby spinach, concassed tomato and the killer, a tourne of potato. Small red, if you are concerned.
And in my nervous way, in my proven method of making things as bad as they can be before I venture out to discover how good they can be, I put a 3 millimeter slice in my left index finger while working on the first cut, a julienned carrot.
Again, whatever you thought a julienne was, you were wrong. A julienne is 2 1/2 inches in length and 1/8 inch in height and width. Not sure if you hit the sweet spot on the cut? Chef has a ruler, baby, and he's not at all afraid to use it.
After fucking up another carrot, I went to swipe my blade, leaving a clean little slice on the pad of my index finger. Thank you for side towels, 2 of them, dress code required, absolutely not optional. I stared at the slice for a moment to determine if it would bleed. When the first drop of blood appeared, I wiped it on my side towel and continued cutting, wiping my bleeding finger every 15 seconds or so. Though a nervous man, I have, as a matter of survival, a high tolerance for pain and a natural ability to make the most embarassing situations discreet. Within a few minutes, my side towel looked like it had been lifted from the OJ Simpson trial. I asked Chef for a band aid, which he provided along with a finger cot, and I was off and running. The cuts I managed following that ultimate disgrace were near perfect. I may have struck out in my first at bat, as is my custom, but I went 3 for 3 the rest of the game.
At about 9:30, the garde manger class set out a 30 foot spread of appetizers, at least three of which appeared to be variations on potato salad. There were roast beef and turket cold cuts, caesar salad, various takes on bruschetta, and a couple of cakes. Chef excused us for a few minutes to wade through the sea of white jackets and eat. The garde manger students, having had the first shot at their product, simply watched as we chowed down. But they were happy. They were very happy. 24 students ripped through 20 lbs of cold cheese, meat and greens in about 15 minutes, stopping only to acknowledge the garde manger class with a satisfied grunt, a pleasant mmm, the occasional ahhh, and a pat on the back. And that, at this point, is the payoff. If you are in it for more than that, you picked the wrong path.
Welcome to Skills, where I'll be spending 3 hours of everyday over the next six weeks learning precise knife cuts on near-dead vegetables, learning the basics of sauce production and eventually moving on to entrees.
What you thought was a julienne was a lie. Had you even heard of a brunoise? And if I mentioned concasse, what would you think?
Chef Instructor Laurence Jackson demonstrated exactly once the first 10 cuts we would be expected to master by next Friday. Julienned carrot, brunoised carrot and onion, minced garlic and parsley, batonnet of potato, chiffonade of baby spinach, concassed tomato and the killer, a tourne of potato. Small red, if you are concerned.
And in my nervous way, in my proven method of making things as bad as they can be before I venture out to discover how good they can be, I put a 3 millimeter slice in my left index finger while working on the first cut, a julienned carrot.
Again, whatever you thought a julienne was, you were wrong. A julienne is 2 1/2 inches in length and 1/8 inch in height and width. Not sure if you hit the sweet spot on the cut? Chef has a ruler, baby, and he's not at all afraid to use it.
After fucking up another carrot, I went to swipe my blade, leaving a clean little slice on the pad of my index finger. Thank you for side towels, 2 of them, dress code required, absolutely not optional. I stared at the slice for a moment to determine if it would bleed. When the first drop of blood appeared, I wiped it on my side towel and continued cutting, wiping my bleeding finger every 15 seconds or so. Though a nervous man, I have, as a matter of survival, a high tolerance for pain and a natural ability to make the most embarassing situations discreet. Within a few minutes, my side towel looked like it had been lifted from the OJ Simpson trial. I asked Chef for a band aid, which he provided along with a finger cot, and I was off and running. The cuts I managed following that ultimate disgrace were near perfect. I may have struck out in my first at bat, as is my custom, but I went 3 for 3 the rest of the game.
At about 9:30, the garde manger class set out a 30 foot spread of appetizers, at least three of which appeared to be variations on potato salad. There were roast beef and turket cold cuts, caesar salad, various takes on bruschetta, and a couple of cakes. Chef excused us for a few minutes to wade through the sea of white jackets and eat. The garde manger students, having had the first shot at their product, simply watched as we chowed down. But they were happy. They were very happy. 24 students ripped through 20 lbs of cold cheese, meat and greens in about 15 minutes, stopping only to acknowledge the garde manger class with a satisfied grunt, a pleasant mmm, the occasional ahhh, and a pat on the back. And that, at this point, is the payoff. If you are in it for more than that, you picked the wrong path.
