PROFANITY WARNING
Like many other druggies, slackers and social misfits-I went to Culinary School. While there I learned to wield a knife with deadly accuracy, cooked food I would never want to eat, and did more then my share of available drugs (except coke and heroin-yuck!). I met many colorful people, both other students and Chef Instructors. One Chef in perticular sticks with me. I loved him and have adopted him as my alter ego, loudly quoting him at work at random times. We will just call him Chef. He is short, chubby, very old school, and very French. He looks just like a fucking frog.
I had him my 2nd year, one of the last classes. There is a neumonic chefs use to get us to remember the traditional "mother" sauces that all other traditional ones derive from. It is BETH VD. Bechamel, espanol, tomato, hollendaise, veloute, and demi-glace (if i remember correctly). By this time we had all heard it over and over-not even smirking any more. Chef stands at his raised podium looking us over the first day (raised because he is short). "You weel remember thee mother sauces!" he says in a thick accent. "Beth has VD! You don' go in her!" While the rest of us try and not giggle and snicker, Beth the butch lesbian in our class is looking very uncomfortable. He goes on to tell us how it will be in his class "You weel make one type of sauce my class...Reduce, Reduce, Reduce!" "When you make thee soup, do no' ask me eevery day" /makes a pouty face and whiney voice "Chef, how much soup I make?" "You make one and a 'alf gallon! Every day, Siix Quart!" He tells us "I can no' work in thee front of thee house (as a waiter). My mouth, she iis too dirrty. I like to say Fuck too much." "When you cook thee vegetables my class you weel COOK THEE FUCKING VEGETABLES! I want thee vegetables push through my teeth!" He then blows a giant raspberry at us that I can only guess symbolized vegetables being pushed through his teeth.
The rumor is that he was banned from all professional cooking competitons. The story goes that the task was to make a large egg shape out of fois gras (goose liver pate, disgusting stuff). He cheated. He got a large styrene foam egg and just covered it with an outside layer. When the judges sliced it open...as they say-c'est tout. If asked about it, all he will say is "I don' need them! Sons of Beetches can no' cook!" and makes a pouty frog face.
There is always more students in class then work, so at least one person a day is assigned as the roundsman, chopping for other people, washing dishes or other such tasks. He calls this position "turner" but in his accent it sounds like "tuna". After about the third day of being asked "Chef did you say turner or tuna?" he shouts "Thee tuna! THEE ROOUUNNDDSSMMAANN!" The sound of clinking glasses from the dining room class next to us is suddenly silent. "Where thee shit do you seen tuna on today's menu?! Do you no' look thee menu before you come my class?!"
There is a strict no smoking during class rule. If caught you could be asked to leave for the day. This could affect the also strict attendance policy (see later). So, most of us took our last drag as we entered the building for our 8 hr class, then lit up again immediately as we leave. There is always one in each class that pushes their luck and sneaks out to the dumpster outside at some point. Ours is Ross. Chef stands at his podium looking at us. "Where iis 'oss?" he asks. Nodody knows. "That son of beetch better no' be smoking cigarettes my class! Iif I don' smoke cigarettes my class, NOBODY SMOKE CIGARETTES MY CLASS!"
Each class is only 9 days long. If you miss one day you get 7 pts taken off your final grade. Two days and you have to retake the class. (it is less strict now then it was when I was there) Coming in late could get you asked to leave and depending on the teacher could get you dropped with enough late times. Beth, the butch lesbian likes to push her luck with this. Chef is taking attendance in the morning. "Where iis Beth?" Nobody knows. "That dyke weel no' pass my class." Beth comes in late and stays for the day. She is not seen again. "Wheen you are sick" he says "You do no' stay home. Wheen thee dog iis sick, he does no' stop being thee dog for thee day! He eats grass and continues to be thee dog! Wheen you are thee chef, you are no' sick. You do like thee dog! You eat thee grass and you continue to be thee chef!"
My task is to make mayonaise by hand. It is a silly task and no boss would ever pay you to do it. You basically whip the hell out of egg yolks while pouring in a steady stream of oil. If not done right, it will seperate and "break". I finish. It doesn't look right. "Chef" I call out "How is this?" "IIt iis broken, do again." he tells me. I do again. "Chef" I call "How is this?" It slowly separates while he walks over. "Iit iis broken, do again." As I am whipping a third time, I know it is wrong. It is not coming togeather at all, he is walking twords me. "Iit iis broken, dumbass. Do again" "Chef" I say as he is walking away "What if I take an F for this shit, go sharpen my knives and promise never to claim that I can make mayonaise by hand?" He looks at me, gives a small smirk, and nodds. He gives me a C+ and goes off in search of 'oss. When our buddy 'oss can't be found, Chef finds his sauce that is gently reducing on the stove. Chef cranks up the heat on the burner, and by the time Ross gets back, his sauce is a burnt mess and he has to start again.
He likes to stand at his raised podium, Master of All He Surveys. He looks at us, and likes to randomly come over to what we are cooking and tase it. "What thee shit iis this?!" he loves to ask "I can no' serve thiis to my customairs! I would no' serve thiis to my dog!" then blow a raspberry at you and walks away leaving you to wonder if he is serious or just busting your balls. Either is just as likely.
This is the first time I see a grease fire. The class dumbass is frying bacon on a large flattop grill to wrap around scallops. It catches fire. Those of us that notice, just watch. Chef sees and just watches. The guy tries to put it out by smacking it with his spatula and rubbing it around. The flames get higher. Chef lets this guy shit his pants for about 30-45 seconds (a long time when you are looking at a grease fire and shitting your pants) then grabs a sheet pan, flips it over and puts it over the grill. The fire goes out, and Chef returns to his podium not saying a word.
It is the last day of his class. Big final practical test day. I have heard the horror stories of chefs messing with students on practical day, but in almost 2 years have not seen it. I should have known it would be him. My task is Braised Cabbage. It is stupid easy and should be a breeze, easy A. I have my cabbage in a pot starting to cook, and it is time to measure the spices. I need about 2 teaspoons of pepper. I go to pour it out into my measuring spoon, over my pot...the lid comes off and about 3 cups of pepper drop into my food. My eyes bulge and I shit my pants. This is not the day for this. I look around, nobody seems to notice. I get a spoon and get out all that i can. It has fallen to the bottom, stuck to the cabbabe...I get most out, but there is still way too much. I sigh deep, offer a little prayor to the cooking gods and go on, hoping for the best. I do not have the cabbage to start again. The food goes out to studens at dining time and nobody can eat my cabbage. It has way too much pepper and i'm screwed. I get my grade sheet back at the end of the class. He gives me a B+, I can't beleive it! The only comment is "too much pepper". You can bet that to this day, 10 years later, I always check my spice lid before I pour! He made his point.
I love that bastard.
Well, that is my story. I know it was long, but hope that if you bothered to read it, that you were entertained.
These are some of the people that cook your food!
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