On our second-to-last night, we were feeling very confident and in control. It's amazing how far I've come in just the restaurant alone. I remember my first tour through Poissonnier, which happened to be my first four days in a restaurant EVER. It was scary, frantic and uncoordinated, and I was horridly unsure of myself and my skill. Now, as we near the end of Level 6, the last and final level of culinary school, cooking fish and plating the delicate sides seems like second nature to me, and I find myself mentally coaxing the diners to order my dishes so that I can enjoy practicing. I'm trying my hardest to memorize the recipes and components, but only having the opportunity to do each piece once has really been a hindrance. I'm preparing now to attend my last and final class, which luckily falls on a Friday night service, yet I can't help but let my fear for the final overshadow my joy at potentially (hopefully) graduating. It helps that I pass the wall of endless class pictures, taken years past at graduations where the toque is fresh on their heads and the joy of the day is visible on their faces. The hairstyles have changed, but I can look at those new chefs and say, "Hey, if they could do it, then I surely can!"
During a recent episode of one of my favorite shows, "How I Met Your Mother," the friends tell Robin that there are certain experiences every resident must endure to be considered a true New Yorker: stealing a taxi from someone who needs it more and killing a cockroach with your bare hands, to name a few. Sure, every New Yorker has his/her specific qualifications for what it takes to join their exclusive club, usually involving where your baseball loyalty lies, how many years you've lived in the boroughs and how obnoxious you are on a scale of 1-10. I've considered myself a New Yorker since the moment I crossed the George Washington Bridge in my parent's van right after college graduation, my entire life packed into unmarked boxes and suitcases. I feel like I've finally jumped through the last hoop and gathered the final trophy, though, now that I've experienced the last thing on my list of qualifications. I'm proud to announce that on Wednesday, October 20th, 2010 a drug addict drooled on me on the subway. I almost felt honored, like I should shake his track-marked hand and look into his meth-riddled face and thank him. Thank you, kind sir, for helping me feel welcomed. I didn't have time to get grossed out or angry – visions of Mayor Bloomberg presenting me with a key to the city were running through my head. As I walked to work my head was taller, my shoulders were straighter and I felt enriched. It's not every day I'm defiled by a stranger in a public place, yet on those rare occasions I am eager to file it away in my brain under "Days I Felt Like a True New Yorker."
A very good friend of ours is branching out into the world of photography, and she's already done some amazing work. To commemorate our one year wedding anniversary, Laura offered to photograph us being cooky and awkward in Central Park last weekend, and she successfully captured the essence that is The Lindseys. Read more about Laura and see her beautiful work (as well as our photo shoot) at her blog:
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