I’m often asked about what culinary school at Le Cordon Bleu was like, back in 2009–10, and since I kept a (long-winded, diary-esque) blog during my time there, I thought it would be fun to re-post snippets here from time to time.
Also, this week, one of the friends I made during culinary school was named a finalist to become the next host for Check, Please (good luck, Flavia!), which of course got me reminiscing about our many nights cooking in the same kitchen.
So, straight from the blog, here are a few memories from my very first week of the 9-month program:
“I came into class a little late, having gone to floors 3 and 4 before determining that the kitchens were on floor 2. And of course, I had no clue how to tie my cravate. In the handbook, it’s an 18-step process, and apparently it’s a half-windsor knot, for those of you who actually tie neckties. Fortunately, most other people didn’t know how either and came to the kitchen with their cravate in hand like I did.
From the moment I stepped foot in the kitchen, I knew the chef was trying to scare us. His gruff voice coupled with a shaved head and dark goatee made him someone you did NOT want to mess with. Before he began covering material for the first class, Food Safety and Sanitation, he went on about how tough the industry is, and what is and isn’t tolerated in terms of hygiene, cleanliness, and appearance. He did teach us how to tie our cravates — and berated a girl for wearing flip-flops by calling her a hippie for the rest of class — along with reminding us that we could wear NO nail polish or fake nails, that our hair had to be INSIDE our hats, and that we had to be clean and smell good, whatever that required…”
“On day 3, it was time to actually cut things. Right before the break between sanitation and culinary class, Chef wrote two headings on the board: “Bleeder tally” and “faint score”. Yuck. A little ominous, don’t you think? We all realized that yes, people WOULD cut themselves, and yes, that can sometimes lead to fainting. I was just praying I wouldn’t be the first one to do so! Before we touched the knives, Chef demonstrated everything for us … After showing us his impeccable 1/8″ x 1/8″ x 2″ allumettes and dices using onion and carrots, it was time to let us loose. We all gathered our materials and washed our vegetables, but then the room fell nearly silent as each of us became completely focused on measuring with our rulers and cutting as precisely as possible. Though at first I had trouble cutting straight, I finally ended up with a decent brunoise of potato! (That means tiny 1/8″ cubes.) I started a carrot, too, but didn’t get very far. And even better, I didn’t cut myself — nor did anyone else, for that matter…”
“[Two days later] was the very first time we had to present what we’d made for Chef to taste — now I know that look of fear on the Top Chef contestants’ faces when Tom Colicchio is about to taste their dish! It’s slightly terrifying. First, I presented Chef with my vinaigrette, which I wasn’t super confident about but wanted to get his opinion so I could go back to the potato purée. He checked the consistency with his tasting spoon, swirled it around a little, and told me it wasn’t homogenous enough and that you could still see too much oil. Then he tasted it and concluded that it was also a little too acidic. “Whisk it more and bring it back.” So the first critique wasn’t too bad; it could have been far worse, I’m sure. I whisked and whisked and whisked, and added a little sugar, only to bring it back and have him tell me it was a little too oily, but otherwise fine. I’m sure I’ll get used to his evaluations, but I’m a little nervous to see how harsh he gets as things get more complex!
Then Flavia brought up our potatoes soon after for Chef to taste. Basically, he told us they were cold and lumpy. So we first put the bowl over a hot water path, whipped it more, went back and forth. Then we realized they weren’t going to get hot enough that way, so we transferred them directly into a saucepan and heated them, put them back in the bowl, added more butter, salt and milk, more whipping, and so on. The next time we served them to Chef, at least we made sure that he couldn’t tell us they were cold! He still didn’t think they were smooth enough, but let us go with it. There it was, our first big moment of approval and getting to proudly eat the fruits of our labor.”