Taking stock

Yesterday was our first "real" day of class. Although I'm not sure how real it actually was, since we spent most of the time standing around watching Chef chop vegetables and make various kinds of stocks (brown veal stock, chicken stock, fish stock). After about three hours of observation, my legs started to ache. Then they mercifully went numb. I looked around and I could tell that my eleven classmates were in similar straits. Some were dying of thirst, others had to go to the bathroom, but we were all trying to be on our best behavior and not do anything that would appear lazy or unprofessional. The Ritz school is hardly boot-camp (one of my classmates who went to the Cordon Bleu for a month exclaimed, "They treat us like princesses here!"), but we were all doing everything we could not to draw negative attention to ourselves.

Eventually we began to "tournee vegetables", which means cutting potatoes, carrots and zucchinis into olive or football shapes with a paring knife. Chef made it look like the easiest thing in the world, of course, but I'm just happy that I made it through without losing a finger. It was quite something. In all my dining experience, I think I have encountered a tourneed vegetable perhaps twice, and I believe that it was at very old-school Continental-cuisine-type places. Chef said that the technique is almost never used anymore because it's so time-consuming and wastes so much product. He also said it took him three years to master. Great! Now I have a new hobby.

My vegetables were all sad and misshapen; I'd line them up on my cutting board for inspection and he would circulate, picking up my pathetically nicked, rectangular attempts and smoothing them with surgical precision. He hummed happily as he did this, which took the edge off my terror.

Then we progressed to emulsified sauces, which meant more watching as Chef prepared mayonnaise, aioli and something called gribiche, a sort-of vinaigrette with hard-boiled eggs and capers (very tasty but aesthetically rather unappealing). By this point, we were all fading fast. I think he sensed this and sped things up, hurrying the dinner preparations along so that nobody had the chance to keel over. The table was set, the Evian bottles appeared from the fridge, and we began guzzling water like it was going out of style. I guess the French are not a particularly thirsty people. I see people at cafes sipping little thimblefuls of water, and I laugh inwardly, trying to wrap my mind around the ridiculousness of the Big Gulp from their perspective. They must think we are absolutely off our rockers in America.

Our class dinner was salmon in sorrel sauce and lightly fried gudgeons, a small, strong fish that ended up being about as appealing as its English name makes it sound. In French, it's ever so pretty: "goo-joohn". But in English? My stomach was bludgeoned by gudgeons. After four hours on my feet, I can't say that I was dying to wolf down a big pile of tiny fried fish whose inert little eyes seemed to be staring accusingly at me, daring me to eat them. I made it through the whole darn pile, though, and the sorrel salmon too. Take that, gudgeons!

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Sorry I don't have any pictures for this posting. Today we had a theory class, which meant we all squeezed into a teeny room and discussed various kinds of sauces in various kinds of languages for two and a half hours.

I have to say, I'm all over this stuff. I love it. Stuff me into a tiny, sweaty room with a bunch of strangers discussing food and I'm happy as a clam. Or a gudgeon. I do have trouble remembering all the steps for various preparations because my mind is not so linear, but hopefully actually making everything in class will help me commit it to memory more fully.

With so many languages swirling around, we had some pretty funny discussions. Here are some examples:

Discussion 1
Chef: (Says something in French about lobster coral)
Translator (in accented English): Chef says you should reserve the lobster coral and use it to thicken the sauce if you like.
Brazilian guy (confused): What is this coral?
Translator: It is a part of the lobster.
Japanese American girl: You mean like coral? From the sea?
Translator: Yes, from the sea. No, wait. Not that kind of coral. Not the plants in the sea. It is from the lobster.
Me (unhelpfully): I think it's the eggs, or the guts, or something.
Brazilian guy: The eggs? Of the lobster?
Me: Maybe.
Translator: (Explains in French to Chef that the word coral has two meanings in English)
Brazilian guy: So it is the eggs of the lobster?
Translator: No, not the eggs. In the head.
Japanese American girl: So it's like the goo in the lobster's head?
Nobody answers. We are all satisfied, somehow, and move on.

Discussion 2
Translator (in accented English): You will then add some paper to the sauce.
Japanese girl: (Says nothing, but looks up worriedly.)
Somebody else: Paper??
Translator: Yes, paper.
Me (trying to clarify for people since I am one of the few native English speakers, without looking like a jerk that's trying to correct the translator): Pepper.
Translator (blushing, giggling): Yes, pepper. Pas papier. Pepper.
The class erupts into relieved laughter.