These are two very different personal descriptors. It has always been my opinion that anyone can cook, but not everyone can be a chef. And if I can reach that goal and feel strong enough to call myself a chef, will I want to have that responsibility? Will I want to be a chef?
These are questions I ask myself and have asked myself for years now. And this week has only added to my personal dilemma.
Because this week, we are doing simple doughs. It has been an incredibly tasty week (especially after the bland butter sauces of last week) filled with savory tart doughs, pasta doughs, puff pastry doughs, fruit tart doughs, and short crust doughs. But, the thing is that I am not a pastry person. I just don't get doughs.
I explain it like this: when I am sweating an onion or sauté-ing vegetables cut paysanne or creating a stock, I know what to expect. I know what I should smell, see, hear, feel, and most importantly, taste. When I am rendering yeast to add to a dough or turning my puff pastry, I am praying to the baby Jesus.
I am completely blind. I am following the directions, I am copying the chefs, but I have no connection or intuition supporting me. I simply cannot feel the dough like I can feel my vegetables or meat cuts. Maybe this is how people who say they can't cook feel like daily.
So far, I guess the Baby Jesus is looking out for me, though, because everything is turning out okay when the chef pulls mine from the pastry oven (except my onion tart dough which I rolled too thin before baking it, making it more like a cracker than a foccacia-style bread. But I liked the taste of mine better, so oh well).
Today, we made Quiche Lorraine, which I have made many times before as well as other varieties of quiche. I was not worried at all about the preparation, except for the short-crust dough. I have made a quiche crust before, but I usually just buy the pre-made dough to make my enjoyable quiche-making experience dough-free and therefore, stress-free. Luckily, mine came out perfectly earning me a "C'est bonne." (aka Elyssa does a happy dance behind the chef- and yes, I do dance) from the chef.
Tomorrow, we will see how my tricky puff pastry (which we made today, but is sitting overnight) turned out.
I also have a new nickname in class, "Miss America." See, my practical class (aka the 9 of us in the kitchen together) is amazing and we are getting a reputation for being that way. And by amazing, I mean we are funny, friendly, talk way too much, have a little too much fun, and are decent in the kitchen. So, naturally, we also adopt nicknames.
And being the only American, somehow I became Miss America.
Then, somehow I got introduced to chefs as Miss America...
then those same chefs caught me singing and dancing (in a demonstration form to my fellow classmates) to "I like to move it, move it" while we waited for our quiches to finish baking...
But the worst part was when one of those chefs who had just been yelling at his class for being too slow came running into our kitchen.
"Who likes to move it move it?" Everyone stares at me.
"You? Miss America, you like to move it move it?"
I'm not sure what I looked like at that moment, but I am sure I was turning dark purple and my eyes were twice their size.
I only had two possible answers and "Oui, Chef!" made more sense than "Merci, Chef!"So I went for it.
"I am a DJ, do you know this?" he asks me.
"Non, Chef! I did not."
"I am." and he leaves as quickly as he came, back into his kitchen.
When I got over my mortification a few hours and drinks at the bar later, I had a sort of epiphany. It goes like this: I can cook and I may one day be a chef, but no matter which one of the two descriptors I choose to call myself, at least I'll be having a good time doing it. And I don't mind being known as that person.
And you know US Americans, we love April 25th, maps, and world peace. I'm still working on my wave. It'll probably come with my dough kneading.
Loves,
e
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