Casual Maille

     Culinary school is a strange mix of degerates, druggies, professional elitists, and those that simply have no other life direction-and that is just the teaching staff.  My personal favorite, and the one who I have adopted as my alter ego whenever needed was 2nd year Chef Dit...(I can't spell it.  We just called him "Chef", so it is approprite to continue to do so here.) 

 

     There is a mnemonic that the chefs use to get us to remember the 6 "Mother Sauces" of classical cooking that all others are derived from.  It is BETH VD (Bechamel, Espanol, Tomato, Hollendaise, Veloute, Demi-Glace.  It works!)  and by this time we have all heard it enough that it has lost it's shock and comedy value.  We get it.  Day one:  He stands on an upside down milk crate (the black plastic cubes you see behind conveinence stores) behind his podium-because he is so short.  He is in his 50's, short, balding, chubby, with jowels and his bottom lip stuck out in a pouty frown.  The guy looks just like a large frog.  He scowls down at us, master of all he surveys.  In a thick European accent he says "You weel rememb-air the Mother Sauces.  Beth has VD, you don' go in her!"  There are coughs, sputters and snickers at this for the first time in months.  Beth, the cigar smoking, butch lesbian in the group looks very uncomfortable.

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     There is a rumor that he is banned from all cooking competitions.  The story goes that the task was to make an egg shape (more difficult then a sphere) out of foie gras (goose liver pate-disgusting stuff.  It has the look of wet dog food, and for animal cruelty is on par with veal).  His apparently looked too good, and when the judges cut into it, they found a foam egg from a craft store covered with a thin layer of pate.  If asked, all he will say on the subject is "I do no give a shit about compi-tee-shons!  Those sons of beetches can no cook!"  The rumor is most likely true.  

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     In cooking lab classes there is a strict no smoking policy.  Most smokers let out their last puff as they enter the building, and light up immediately upon leaving, 8 hrs later.  In every group, there is one person who needs to push and test this.  In this group, it is Ross.  Chef is wandering around the kitchen.  "Where ees 'oss?"  Nobody knows.  "That son of beetch better no be smoking cigarettes my class!  Eef I don' smoke cigarettes my class, NOBODY SMOKE CIGARETTES MY CLASS!"

 

     Each day starts with a lecture where we go over the day's menu to be served to dining students, and he gives us all sorts of wisdom.  He assigns tasks, and there are always more students then jobs-so some are assigned to help others, do dishes, and generally get in the way.  Other Chefs call this the "roundsman", he calls it the "turner" (pronounced "tuna").  Every day the response is "Chef, did you say tuna or turner?"  After 3 or 4 days of this, he loses patience.  "THE RRRROUNDSMAN!  Where do you see tuna on today's menu?!"  (we have yet to make tuna)  The next day, just for fun, tuna is on the menu. 

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     "Do no ask me every day..." switching to a mocking student voice "Chef, how much soup do we make today?" back to his own "You make one and a 'alf gall-on!  Every day seex quart!"

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     "When you cook the veg-tables my class, you weel COOK THE FUCKING VEG-TABLES!  I want the veg-tables push through my teeth!"  He then sticks out his tongue and blows a giant raspberry at us "PPPPPBBBBBBTTTTTT", which we can all only guess represents him pushing veg-tables through his teeth.

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     "You weel make three types of sauce my class."  He holds up a hand and ticks off his fingers 1-2-3 as he says "Reduce, reduce, en reduce!"  My buddy Nate (who is probably high) looks confused and quietly counts on his own fingers.

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     One of his favorite things to do is walk around, randomly stopping at a student to peer disapprovingly at their work.  He may taste it, he may not, but the comment is always the same.  "What the shit is this?!  I can no serve this to my custo-mairs!  I would no serve this to my dog!"  He then walks away leaving the student to wonder if he was serious or just busting balls.  Either is just as likely as the other.

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     They have since changed it, but at the time there was a strict attendance policy.  Each class is only 9 days long, so if you miss a day it is 10 pts off the top for your final grade.  Miss 2 days and you are dropped and have to pay to retake the class with a different teacher.  In the most extreme cases you do not have to pay, but you always have to retake.  It is up to each chef how they handle tardiness.  "When the dog is sick, he does no stop being the dog.  He eats grass and continues to be the dog.  When you are the chef, you must be like the dog."  My buddy Josh leans over and whispers "Did he just tell us to eat grass?" I shrug, snicker and whisper back "This guy is a nut!  I love him."

 

A side note in case my buddy Josh ever reads this:  You are a fool for rejecting that gorgeous little redhead, and an ass for not sending her across the hall-but I love you dearly, miss you more then anyone else, and wish you only the best!  (give the lighters back, jerk!)

 

     As with the smoking policy, there is one in every group that needs to push and test this.  In this group, it is Beth.  She has already missed 1 day and is now late for attendance.  "Where ees Beth?"  Nobody knows.  "That dyke weel no pass my class."  For the record, this is the only time that something he says does not sit right with me, my hero has let me down a little.  She comes in very late, finishes the day, and is not seen again until the next class starts.  He does not ask about her.  The next day, during lecture he says "I can no work in the front of the house."  (as a waiter, bartender-anything that deals with customers) "My mouth, she is too dirty.  I like to say Fuck too much."  Though he was totally in his right to drop her, I like to think that this was his awkward way of apologizing for the dyke comment.  Enough unpleasentness, lets talk about the group dumbass and his grease fire.

 

     I don't remember his name.  It doesn't matter.  I feel a little bad, but not enough to ever want him on my team for anything.  He is proof that J&W accepts everybody who can pay, and many for whatever reason slowly drop or are kicked out.  It is a little surprising that he made it this far.  Thinking back, I'm not sure why his task in a 2nd year class is making hamburgers on a flattop grill.  Maybe Chef was being insulting, maybe he honestly thought this guy would benefit from a day of rocking it McDonald's style.  Nothing against making burgers at McDonald's.  It is honest work, but hardly a career goal after dropping tens of thousands of dollars on culinary school.  Anyway, as he cooks the hamburger meat, the grease catches fire.  A couple of us notice this, it is not in full view the way the kitchen is set up.  We also notice that Chef has given it his complete attention-so we continue our tasks and get ready to run if need be.  Dumbass tries to put out the fire by slapping it with his spatula and rubbing it around on the grill.  This causes the fire to spread.  Chef lets this go on for about 10-12 seconds (which is a long time when you are watching a grease fire getting bigger in front of you).  He then silently gets 2 large sheet pans, walks over and puts them on the grill upside down, smothering the fire before just as calmly walking back to his podium and writing something in his grade book.

 

     My task is to make mayonaise by hand.  The idea is to whip the hell out of a bowl of egg yolks with a wire whisk (yes, one of those) while slowly pouring in oil.  Done right, the result is exactly what you would expect.  Done wrong, the emulsion "breaks" and separates into a nasty mess that you would never want to eat.  It is a silly thing to do.  Any restaurant arrogant enough to make their own mayo would just use a food processor or mixer for speed, ease, and consistancy.  I give it my best, and he comes over as he sees me finish.  It separates before our eyes.  "Is broken, do again."  He keeps one eye on me as he walks around the kitchen and I do again.  When he sees me finish again, he comes back over.  "What the shit is this?"  he asks "Do again."  This time he stands there watching while I do again.  My arm feels like it will fall off, but I give it my all.  There is no way this is going to work.  As I finish, he looks down at it...looks up at me...looks back down at it...and back up at me without a word.  "So Chef..."  I say "How about we move on?  You give me a zero, I finish this up with the Cuisinart (it still needs to go out for dinner service) and I promise never to tell any one that I can make mayonaise by hand?"  He looks me in the eye for a couple seconds, gives me a smirk, writes C+ in his book and goes off in search of fresh prey.  When he can't find his buddy Ross, he settles for Ross' sauce that is gently simmering to a nice reduction on the stove.  Chef cranks up the heat, and by the time he comes back from his cigarette break, like my mayonaise, the reduction sauce is a nasty mess that I would no serve to my dog.  Ross must do again.

 

     At the end of high school, when I told my foods teachers that I was going to culinary school, they told me stories of Chef instructors messing with students during tests.  Up to this time, I had not seen it.  I should have known where it would happen.  Day 9 in each class is Practical Test day.  It is no different except everybody gets a task, the tasks are graded harder, and they count for more of your final grade.  Missing day 9 is not an automatic drop/fail, but your grade is gonna suck.  My task is braised cabbage.  It is stupid easy, and should present no problem.  The beautiful purple cabbage is sliced neatly and evenly, and softening over low heat in a large stock pot on the stove.  I go to add the pepper from the large spice container...and the top falls off, dumping about 1 lb. of pepper into my pot.  I panic, scoop out as much as possible, and stir the rest in like that will make it go away.  There is still way too much in it.  There is no more cabbage, there are no extra ingrediants, there is no do again on practical day.  I finish and hope for the best.  It is inedible.  It is the talk of the dining room that day, and it all goes to the trash uneaten.  I get a slip of paper with my grade.  It is a B, with one comment-too much pepper.  I learned the real lesson, and you can bet your ass that 20+ years later, whenever I grab a spice container I check that the lid is on without even thinking about it.  

 

For more real "adventures in the culinary underbelly" read Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain

 

For an exaggerated peek into what is possible, however unlikely read Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk.  The "foodservice terrorism" is better then in the movie-otherwise the movie is a rare example of "better then the book"

 

For an over the top view, watch the movie Waiting.  I am only familiar with the "unrated and raw" version, which is as vulgar, disgusting, and unreal as it is hilarious.