My last day came and went quicker than I could say "fail," and before I knew it my class time at the French Culinary Institute was over. Done. Finito. Fin.
It's bittersweet; a strange mix of nostalgia for the excitement and thrill of the beginning, a fear of leaving my comfort zone and the sad realization that I might never see some of these people ever again. I am overjoyed at finally being able to reclaim my weeknights and to gain some sort of normalcy in my schedule. But then again, the definition of "normal" is always subjective.
Since we had some down time, we did basic prep for the final: pickling cherry tomatoes, layering a potato terrine and pureeing the mustard crust for the lamb loins. It's wonderful that so much of the annoying stuff will be done for us on the final, cutting down our list of To Dos drastically. Being the smarta$$ that I am, I approached chef and said, "Chef, what are the odds you'll cook our fish and meat for the final too?" Ha ha ha. Classic. "Jacques-leen, don't be stoopid. Five points off for asking dumb questions." Fair enough, I deserved that.
Speaking of nostalgia, below are a few of my favorite moments of culinary school, in no particular order and preferably set to Green Day's "Time of Your Life" (acceptable substitute would be "Because You Loved Me" by Celine Dion:
-The time I cried for a week when the Taco Bell around the corner closed.
-The time I ate organs. Pat on the back.
-The time we broke down and smoked an entire suckling pig.
-The time I got permanent squid ink stains on my uniform, which still remain to this day.
-The time we put on the hugely successful "Street Food" buffet.
-The day I started my first real job in the culinary world.
-The day I became a real, bona fide New Yorker.
My wonderful husband, in a gesture of support and love, came to pick me up from school to walk me home. We had toyed around with plans of getting a drink, going for a slice of pizza or just walking around to celebrate my last class EVER, but we ended up just hanging around outside talking to my classmates. After several minutes of chatting, we decided to head home for the night, so we bundled our coats tighter, picked up our bags and headed down the small alley that leads to the subway. We were walking along, me babbling like Chatty Cathy and Steve quietly listening, when I glanced at two people huddling near the edge of the sidewalk and…IT WAS MY PARENTS!! They had just landed in NYC, flying in to surprise me for my graduation. Of course Steve knew about it, it's been planned for a month now, but I had absolutely no idea. I was blown away, and even asked for a few minutes to process what was happening. I couldn't believe that it was all planned for me, in support of me and just to see me graduate. Our plans for a low-key weekend were not disturbed, and we've spent as much time possible eating pizza, hanging out and venturing to Target for "essentials." I'm trying to do as much as possible to keep my mind off the task I face tomorrow night, but it's hard not to dread the unknown. I know my recipes, I know my procedures and I know proper kitchen protocol. I just don't know what's going to happen, and that terrifies the crap out of me.
At this time nine months ago I was encountering fois gras for the first time and making salads. Five months ago I was meticulously shearing off the burnt edges of all 50 apple slices on the top of an over-cooked apple tart in Level 3. A month ago I was taking the mock pastry final. Tomorrow night I'll be running around, plating dishes and sending out food to the judges. And this time Tuesday night I'll be Chef Jackie (which is what I'll request to be called at all times, naturally. Hey, I didn't struggle through these past ten months for nothing…) They say time flies when you're having fun. But in addition to that, time flies when you're finally doing what you were born to do.
You need a LOVE LOVE LOVE button!
ReplyDeleteGood luck tonight. You will do amazing!
I have tears in my eyes and am so incredibly happy for you!! Congratulations, Chef Jackie!!
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