Drinking the water

“Yes, Chef. No, Chef. Thank you Chef, may I have another.” This week I started the Le Cordon Bleu culinary school if you didn’t know it already. What you probably don’t know, because I certainly didn’t before Monday, is how closely it seems to resemble joining the armed forces, or maybe a cult.

As they handed out our (butt ugly, except for the jackets) uniforms there was much talk about the reputation associated with them and the need to maintain discipline while you are wearing them and not bring shame on the institution. All uniforms must be impeccably clean and white. (Quite a feat with all white gear) All uniforms must be hemmed and pressed at all times. Your neckerchief must be tied in a proper Windsor knot and GOD HELP YOU if you show up to class without a part of your gear. In class the only answer is “Yes, Chef.” Unless of course the answer is “No, Chef.” Any deviation from this pattern is not appreciated.

There seems to be less verbal abuse so far than I would expect from the military, but I understand it comes when you get into the higher cooking courses. After all WE are paying THEM for this opportunity not the other way around, so it simply wouldn’t be economically advisable for them to scare us away in the first week. I image it works a little like domestic violence, they have to make us think that we want them and need them badly enough to tolerate any bad behavior before it begins.

I am sure that there are very practical reasons for both the uniforms and the conduct requirements, not the least of all being to show respect. (Which I whole-heartedly support) But mostly I think it is probably because it is a French founded school and the French just love to fuck with people.

So far there has been a lot of lecture and a little cutting. Pretty boring fare really. How to succeed. (Show up.) How to show respect and handle yourself in the kitchens. (Yes Chef!) How to cut carrots into itty bitty teeny tiny squares that I can’t for the life of me figure out what they could be used for.

So, if you are looking for some julienned vegetables (or the aforementioned teeny tiny squares called a fine brunoise) I am your girl. At least until we move on to boiling chicken carcasses. (Otherwise known making stock.)