Are These Clown Pants Necessary? - Culinary School Over 40 Pt. 2
My cooking experience consists of burning grilled cheese sandwiches and seasoning overdone chicken breasts with my tears. Now it's off to Culinary School!
In case you missed it, I am over 40 and going to Culinary School. My previous cooking experience consists of burning grilled cheese sandwiches and seasoning overdone chicken breasts with my tears. I cannot cook, or at least that’s the narrative I have told myself for years.
I am enrolled in CUL 211, Basic Food Production, at Jefferson Community & Technical College (JCTC for short). The class meets once per week in a marathon session lasting from 8am to 1pm.
We were given multiple homework assignments: read about various knife techniques, review several recipes, prepare a writing assignment about an African dish (I shared it on my Patreon), and show up in your chef’s uniform armed to the teeth with sharp knives.
Of all the assignments, I was most excited about the uniforms. I began this class with the goal of becoming a better home cook so I could assist my wife Ashley in the kitchen as she does all of our cooking. Yet after week one, I began to seriously ask myself, “Could I be a chef?”, and spent most of the week fantasizing how I would work at a restaurant on a very flexible schedule that did not make me work nights or weekends while dishing out James Beard award-winning cuisine.
And of course a critical part of being an award-winning chef on a flexible schedule is looking the part.
My outfit should be an announcement to the world, “Look at me! I’m a handsome, dapper chef soon to be cast in my own travel show,” and choosing the right chef’s jacket and pants is mission critical.
I visited the JCTC student bookstore to pick up my supplies, which included my textbook, knife set, and most importantly my jacket and pants. The pants seemed pricey while the jacket was emblazoned with the JCTC logo.
The jacket was not the look I was going for as I needed to think long-term. Obviously, I will wear the jacket at my first award-winning flexible schedule chef job and it is what I would wear to my first meeting with the Zero Point Zero television production team, so a school logo was not the best look.
I searched Amazon and decided on an ensemble by Chef Works: the Le Mans Chef Coat and the Better Built Baggy Chef Pants. The environment be damned, I selected two-day shipping in order to give myself ample time to pose in the mirror while holding my new chef’s knife.
The outfit arrived the day before my class. The jacket fit my manly, broad shoulders well and the pants were just the right size to be both comfortable around my waist, but not slip off. Yet, they were both comically large. I did not look like a future television star, but a clown about to juggle at Timmy’s birthday party.
I washed and dried them at the highest temperature in an attempt to shrink them. They shrunk, but not nearly enough. I still looked like Clown Boy versus Award-Winning Television Chef with a Flexible Schedule.
Any excitement for tomorrow’s class and realistic fantasies about winning my first James Beard award on a flexible schedule disappeared and was replaced with a small knot of anxiety. I was already the old guy in class, and now I was to be the clown as well.
I showed up to class early because if I suck at cooking and look like Clown Boy, at least I am on time doing it. It also allowed me to arrive first and sit down at my desk instead of parading into class, putting on a fashion show of shame in front of the others.
Chef Jim begins the class by demonstrating knife techniques, including how to sharpen them. We then head into the kitchen and we pair up at different stations. I was paired with young whippersnapper “Bonnie” (not her real name), who was noticeably more stylish in her uniform than me.
Onions, carrots, potatoes, squash, bell peppers, and parsnips were given to everyone.
“Chop, my children, CHOP!” Chef Jim bellowed like a ThunderCat (did not actually happen).
I attacked the carrots first, believing they needed to be brought down a peg or two. “Look at me, I’m a carrot, I’m in everything.” Die, carrot!
The end product of nine students chopping carrots and onions was that it was all going in stock (but we’re so talented!).
Next, each pair of students was assigned one of the following dishes: glazed carrots (carrots at it again), roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes with parsnips, and Ratatouille.
OMG, anything but Ratatouille. Pixar didn’t make a movie about it because it is easy to cook.
“Matt and Bonnie…” c’mon, Chef, say ‘roasted veggies,’ you can do it. “Ratatouille!” You’re dead to me.
Chef Jim handed us a piece of paper containing the recipe. I checked my hat for a talkative rodent, hoping for some assistance, but alas no. I scanned the recipe, flummoxed, I asked, “This is it? This is Ratatouille?” It seemed too easy. How could Pixar deceive me so?
To summarize the recipe we used, add olive oil to a large pot. While that’s heating up, quickly chop up some zucchini, yellow squash, bell peppers, and onions. Add it to pot and let it cook, stirring occasionally. Add some chopped garlic and parsley and then pour in a jar of crushed tomatoes. Let it simmer until the veggies are the texture you prefer. Voila. That’s it.
Let history make note that the first dish I created was Ratatouille. I was proud...I think. It tasted pretty good, the veggies were a bit overcooked, but this is the first thing I have ever cooked so minor gripes can be forgiven.
I should be on the rooftop shouting, “I cooked something!” Pride in my creation should fuel my confidence that yes, I CAN cook. Maybe being a chef isn’t a fantasy, but something achievable, especially on a flexible schedule with no nights or weekends.
Yet it wasn’t pride I felt, but a simmering rage.
Ratatouille is not, in fact, a dish that a snobby food critic would be impressed with as depicted in the film or one that requires the expertise of a talking rat to tell you what to do. It’s basic.
Pixar lied to me and I will never forgive them.
UNTIL NEXT TIME…
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This article is hilarious!