Oh, potato day at culinary school, if I see one more potato I will weep. We made potato puree, potato gratin, potato puffs, potato croquettes, potato fries, potato chips and potato baskets. As an extra treat, Chef made us some fried potato skins smothered in cheese. Chef says he likes to put a fat slice of potato gratin on his burgers. I said, “Chef, that’s double carb!” and he said “Dora, live a little!”.
June 22, 2016
In his book, Medium Raw: A Bloody Valentine to the World of Food and the People Who Cook, Anthony Bourdain wrote that if you’re over 32 or you have eczema, you’re probably not cut out to be a chef. I think you can be anything you want, but I’m starting to see what he means. My hands are covered in eczema, cracked skin and rough patches. There’s not enough time between classes for my skin to heal. Last night in class, I sliced through my fingernail with a vegetable peeler of all things, but luckily, I didn’t break the skin.
June 12, 2016
How in the world am I supposed to set up my station and get “mise en place” ready for 5 mother sauces in only 15 minutes when each ingredient has to be located and carefully weighed? And where the hell is the flour? And how come my scale isn’t zeroing properly? Is this salt or sugar?
May 27, 2016
It was another evening of running towards school with a 30 pound bag of uniforms, knives and other tools. I sweated through my locker room routine, making sure I had on my pants, chef coat, apron, neckerchief, chef hat, and hall pass. Culinary school feels so masculine; the uniform erases almost all evidence that you’re a female, and then you spend hours working with knives, fire and steel under the supervision of male chefs, but I digress...
May 25, 2016
After 5 years of playing with the idea, and months upon months of getting up the courage to sign the loan papers, I finally enrolled in culinary school. Here on Brooklyn Salt, I’ll document my experience; all the laughter, tears, sweat, blood and bernaise...