18 October 2007

The Trials of Being Useless

I've gotten used to being a competent adult. I can drive a car. I can manage a bank account. I buy plane tickets, go to Target, pay taxes, hold a passport, send birthday cards (ok, well, I don't really do that. Everyone has limits). I was able to apply for and be accepted to culinary school. A French culinary school, to be exact. However, time is proving one uncomfortable truth: I cannot cook French food. Not even close.

There is a magic alchemy of butter, salt, pepper, and leeks that eludes me. It must be very salty. It must be very buttery. The leeks must melt into everything else. It must not taste of pepper. What is my natural style? Well, it appears that I cook unsalty, peppery leeks that are not melting. I still like everything to be very buttery. I'm only human. On Tuesday Chef told our team that the bordelaise sauce we were making was “...shit, and you have ruined the meal. Is this what you meant to do? Ruin my beautiful potatoes. You have ruined my potatoes.” Then he did that Gallic thing where somehow his eyebrows go up and down at the same time, and then he smiled a little bit and his shoulders rose up, and then fell again, and he waggled his hands around, indicating, I am assuming, that the potatoes were sad to have been ruined.

I understand that critiquing our food is what we are paying for, and I also know that he is not being personal, but it does start to wear a little bit on the psyche. The only time I have made something that he loved I left out an entire major ingredient. I forgot the butter, which, as far as I can gather, is the French equivalent of being a pedophile. I sort of kept that to myself, but as good as it felt to know that he thought that my lemon tart was the most delicious, it was kind of deflating to realize that I hadn't REALLY made what I was supposed to make.

This next Friday we have our first written exam, followed by a practical exam. Maybe I won't add butter to anything that I make just to see what happens.

A lot of hand waggling is my guess, followed by my immediate execution. Sigh.


Princess Amber said...

Have you had the survivor style knock out rounds yet? Will there be a food fight?

Take in some of that wattleseed and you can't lose I reckon. It's magical.

David M said...

I like your sense of humor. Cute.

HRH King Friday XIII said...

I also like your sense of humor. Let's fuck.

Fuck like two French pedophiles slathered in butter.

The King said...