I definitely wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be. Ever since learning of the dreaded midterm, the hardest test in the curriculum and the determining factor of whether or not we'd be passing Level 3, I had visions of slipping in a pool of my own sweat, having a breakdown in front of a stoic Frenchman and/or stabbing someone with my knife (on purpose?). As I approached the kitchen in which I'd spent the past six grueling weeks, I was going over the 16 recipes in my head – 255g cake flour sifted with 17g cocoa powder, done when internal temperature reaches 135˚F, cook button, oyster and shitake mushrooms separately then roast together, 150mL double cream, sauté shallots in butter then add 125mL white wine, bake in a 425˚F oven until brown…AHHHHH!!! So many ingredients, so many processes, so many different temperatures, and they were all running together. A sense of Zen had descended over me, though: I knew I'd be alright; I knew these recipes like the back of my hand. If anything went wrong, I was certain my subconscious would take over and guide me in the right direction. And hey, if it all went to sh*# I'd at least have one more try…solo with my little Italian chef "friend" (I fantasize that we're friends but I don't think she even knows my name).
As I buttoned my crisp, freshly dry-cleaned chef's jacket, tied my pressed white neckerchief and adjusted the elastic waistband on my unisex hounds tooth pants I couldn't believe that my beautiful holiday weekend in Dallas was over so soon. We had such a blast; I think the most mentally intense thing I did all weekend was the Dallas Morning News crossword puzzle. I rarely moved from my position near/in the pool, whether it was the backyard beauty shaded by a gorgeous magnolia tree and smelling of freshly cut grass and sunshine, or the brand new country club monstrosity full of laughing kids sitting in the fountains, automatic buckets dumping water on unsuspecting swimmers and the quiet solace of a good book. Our vacation was full of family, friends and neighbors who all gathered to greet these two young newlyweds with food, wine and laughter…could it get any better? My favorite part was when we had barbecued ribs two nights in a row – now that's a vacation. Dallas was close to reaching a temperature record for May – it neared 99˚F on Monday – but we didn't let that thwart our plans for greatness and spent as much time outside as possible. But as Wednesday came, it was back to business for these two kids; I had a midterm to take and Steve had a job to perform. To ease my anxious mind during take-off, I dove into an inappropriate book, both by name and subject, from one of my favorite female comedians. After snorting loudly several times and outburst-laughing, the nice, older, soft-spoken woman sitting next to me reading a religious-themed tome quietly asked, "What is it that you're reading there, dear?" I panicked…."Oh, you know, just a historical fiction about…history…" I threw the naughty book into my carry-on and took out my stack of recipes to review. I'll never make that mistake again.
We landed at LaGuardia with plenty of time to spare, allowing me to get to school and congregate with my fellow Level Three-ers. Walking into the classroom it was clear what the four recipe possibilities would be: Salad Nicoise, Salmon with White Wine Sauce, Pork Chop with Green Peppercorn Sauce and Lemon Tart. We pulled our numbers out of a bowl and…B3 – SALAD NICOISE AND PORK. The exact two recipes I got for my mock midterm…are they kidding with this ridiculousness?? Considering I did really well on my mock midterm, my confidence soared as I gathered my mise en place and began the test.
Before I knew it, I was feverishly plating my salad components, all dressed in my delicious Chez Jacqueline vinaigrette and lain out on the plate like a little clock of vegetables. The plates were put on a tray and, as my number was called, tore off my gloves, picked up my tray and walked it across the hall, where a table of judges was waiting to taste my dish. They motioned for me to set the tray on the table, so I left them with my plie from kindergarten ballet and got the heck out of that place, lest they see the sweat pouring down my cheeks and pooling on the shins of my socks. I was back to the grind, pulling together my Pommes Darphin and finishing my green peppercorn sauce. I washed my watercress and seared my pork chops to a beautiful crusty brown. When the time was right, I took the plates out of the oven, gave each a bunch of watercress, two wedges of potato patty and a monster pork chop, making sure the bone was on the left (standard protocol in our world). At the last minute, each plate got a drape of velvety peppercorn sauce and it was back across the hall. I cancelled the plie this time, opting for a wide grin that exclaimed, "I'm done!" I ran across the hall and practically collapsed on my station. I was done. DONE! The midterm was already over, and I had been accurate, well-seasoned and on-time for both dishes. I had powered through 4 pans, 3 pots, 2 tomatoes, 2 potatoes, a mandolin, 4 pork chops, a box of Boston lettuce, 2 garlic cloves and 4 bottles of water, among many, many other things. Something that seemed so impossible and daunting merely six weeks ago was now my victory. The carnage surrounded me, so after a few seconds of mini-celebration I got to work cleaning up the kitchen, which was actually part of our grade, along with organization, cleanliness, hygiene (…), seasoning, proper technique, using the right tools, attitude, butchering, ingredients, knowledge, timeliness, taste, aesthetics, etc, etc, etc.
At the end of the night, we each entered the judges' rooms one-by-one to receive a lashing, er, their comments on our dishes. I was greeted with their big, welcoming smiles as they beckoned me to have a seat. Were they just being nice? Was I in trouble? Does one of them have food poisoning? It turns out they were pretty impressed – apparently I had the best salad of the night (!!!!). A few things needed a little more salt, and my potatoes were too buttery, which I happen to think is blasphemous. Overall, I did really well. (I don't usually post my actual grades for the world to see, but let's just say I got a shminety shmee.) In a school where we're judged on every minutia, I'll take that as a compliment. A pretty darn good one.
So I'm halfway through culinary school. The hardest part is over, I've suffered through the most notorious level with the most notorious test with some of the most notorious chefs in the school, and I survived. I'd like to take this moment to express my feelings through song:
Congratulations!I am so so proud of you!!
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