*Eighteen

“You’re number eighteen”, he said.

I shook his hand, kissed his cheek, walked off stage and high-fived my instructors in the front row.

I graduated a week and a half ago. Eric told me at the podium that I was only number 18 of all the students in OCI’s graduating classes, three years worth, to have made it to Bling Status. Having Chef W lasso me around the neck with the black ribbon and medal was a long awaited pleasure, if not an honor. I respect the hell out of these two amazing guys, and I was humbled to be decorated by them.

If anyone truly deserves a medal, it is Brian, believe me. I will never thank him enough or be able to repay the kindness in the words he said to me last year, “Fuck that shit. As of your 40th birthday, you are officially DONE in medicine. Go to cooking school and be happy.”

It was hard not to feel a little awkward being at graduation with my classmates, most of whom were busting ass on the line at great places all over town- my town, the place where food is the only widely accepted religion. I did not line cook. I do not work in a restaurant.  On the other hand, I was up to tons of other crazy shenanigans that they did not get to experience…and… what was that OTHER thing??? Oh, yeah I scrubbed a few fuckin’ toilets. A lesser chick would feel insecure about herself after hearing about a classmate’s stage at the Hot Shit Joint Of The Year, but I smirk at the thought of some of the stunts I pulled off this summer.

I got to give a speech at graduation, but nothing as as profound as the one Chef W gave. He quoted something that had me nodding my head in agreement with every pause. The quote described the concept that some people have difficulty understanding how other people’s work can so much resemble their pleasure or their play time.  If I had a buck for every time I heard, “Oh, I don’t want you to HAVE to cook, its too much work…”, I’d have my student loans paid off in no time. That some people just don’t get it, to me, is completely saddening. To not know THAT much joy….(sigh). My father once told me that a job is something you do every day because you have to, and that a career was doing something you LOVE and getting paid for it.  I think Dad and the sages advocated pursuing the latter of the two.

For my birthday and graduation, my future mother in law gave me a necklace bearing a quote from Jalal ad-din Mohammed Rumi. His words on the silver ribbon read, “Let the beauty of what you love be what you do”. Dude, I’m wearin’ the bling , walkin’ the walk.

For you thrill-seekers, my graduation speech will be the next posting. Jaws are still sore from contact with the floor, so I recommend buckling your seat belts.

Whats next, you ask?

Brian and I had plenty of hours and miles to talk about the future as we drove back from Arkansas the loooooonnnng way. Dreading a boring-assed trip through Nebraska (it has totally awesome public bathrooms at the rest stops as its only redeeming quality), we had the great luck to be snowed out of the northern route and wound up in New Mexico. With an overnight in his old ‘hood, Albuquerque, we headed up to Santa Fe for breakfast. After just a few hours of fresh desert air, a fun meal fulla green chiles and blue corn, the inspiration to continue my education on my own terms was solidified. I also wrote out about forty wicked things to do with New Mexico chiles somewhere between there and Colorado Springs, which further reinforced my need to get creative and use all the techniques I was taught in the school kitchens.

I believe that I do need to get baking and pastry education of some sort. No argument there. Its a way to become fully rounded as a culinary professional, and it makes marketing oneself far easier. After many conversations with everyone from psychics to psychos, I got the distinct feeling that I was gonna do just fine learning a bit of what I wanted OUTSIDE of the classroom. I took the hint and put off my application process for a year, vowing to have a clear goal of revisiting the idea of the school environment next fall. Meantime, I will blow shit up in the privacy of my own “office” and share with the homies in the biz when its totally awesome.

Long and short of the 2400 mile discussion is this: The next year is just the continuation of my education. Another year to mess about with the things that interest me until I am satisfied, bored or in need of a change. We were all advised at graduation to never stop learning. This is precisely the goal of the rest of my life.

Back To The Beginning

A day in the life of this culinary grad is not one of sleeping in to all hours and doing PBR shotguns out back behind a restaurant kitchen at night. I am up early, back at the stove and working on the basics from the first two terms of school, just to remember how its done.  Its gratifying to make stocks again, to practice my starches and balance all my flavors. I’m cruising the growers markets, making face-name connections, handing out calling cards. Veggies are getting cooked, I’m creating, testing and revising recipes. I’ve broken in my brand new oven with roasted pumpkins, sweet potatoes and an angel food cake. Screwing with game meat and making pan sauces, making scratch demi glace… its all about bringing the words of my chefs back to the forefront. Well, all the ones except  ”You plate like a prison cafeteria worker”, of course.

Thanks, you guys ROCK!

I wanna tell you all how appreciative I am of your cheering on from the cheap seats this past year.  That so many of you took interest in what I was doing, I stand amazed and grateful.

To the guy who told me with such a piercing intent in his voice, “Never stop writing.”, I rise to meet your urging. Please, all of you, join me as I continue to blog, wrassle big hairy animals, hang with the tattooed and pierced gods of the kitchen, try to not be intimidated by sugar and keep on playing with my food.