smitten in the kitchen

So I stumble into the room next to the admissions office, a little unsure of my every move, including my promptness even though it's 8:20 a.m. and we were told to come at 8:30.  I'm relieved to see another girl in the room with the same duffle bag as I have, with clear blue-green eyes and a smile that's friendly enough to invite conversation.  Daniela, she introduces herself, just moved here from South Africa a week ago.  We talk about how we found our last-minute living situations (me in Union Square and her in Jersey) and how crazy it is that we're finally here, at this moment, about to do what we'll do.  When I mention how thirsty I am, she figures there will be water in the classroom by gesturing towards the window of the empty kitchen in front of us.  That's when Daniela chuckles and says it best:

"Isn't that funny?  A kitchen is a classroom - we're chefs now."

It's been just under a week now since I stepped out of JFK lugging two tacky, ginormous luggage bags behind me, waiting in the nippy wind for a taxi.  And you know what?  It still feels like a dream.  Everything about it.

My class is made up of eighteen students (5 female and 13 male) from everywhere from India to Thailand to Pennsylvania to the Philippines to New Jersey to a 15 minute train ride away from the school (and South Africa, but you already knew that).  There are college graduates, college dropouts, a car detailer, English majors (holla), heirs to family businesses, a banker, a bartender, a former nursing student - all with the same two things in common: a love of food and the desire to learn.  And for some reason, that's enough to make me feel at home in a completely different setting with people I've only just met.  Chef Henri (ahn-REE) is the quintessential instructor, and as talented, short-tempered, and lovable as they come.  (Is it ignorant of me to compare him to the French chef instructor in Sabrina?  I hope not, because I only mean that in the most endearing and respectful way.)  Equally deserving of our respect are Chef Nick and Chef Kylie, who walk around the stations to inspect our knife cuts or the doneness of our vegetables.  

Every day we have to study our textbooks and copy the recipes onto notecards before class.  Class takes place in one kitchen and is a mixture of lecture, kitchen demos, and of course our own cooking.  Here's something pretty we finally got to make on Friday after learning basic knife cuts and sanitation procedures. Its fancy name is "beet and goat cheese timbale with frisée, apples and vinaigrette"–but its simple one is beet salad.

I'll get better at my editing, I promise!

Oh right, and I also got a new camera and lens.  It's basically my favorite thing right now.

(Besides the city.  Which, if you haven't gathered by now, I'm sort of enamored with.)

I could say so much more, like about how school involves a lot more studying than I thought it would (uh duh), how I hope I'm doing enough walking to make up for nearly daily Milk Bar visits, or how I couldn't have gotten luckier with where I am and who I'm with.  But I think this is enough reading to subject you to in one go, so I'll save those for another time.  I do want to say though, that in the past couple of weeks I've been so overwhelmed with the affirming words of encouragement I've been getting from my family, closest friends, people I haven't seen or talked to since high school and you.  Every text, comment, email, hug and handwritten letter means so incredibly much to me and is another hand adding to the Hand pushing me in what I think is the right direction.  I'm not sure that I could ever do it alone, but it's good to know that I'm not.

 Until next time, then.  Maybe I'll finally do that laundry I've been avoiding.  The words laundromat and only a block away have been haunting me since Wednesday...