The rotten egg class
I was really looking forward to egg week. That is, until Chef came in and did something that made me want to stage a walk-out. He announed WE weren’t going to cook eggs, but instead would watch HIM cook eggs. The reason? So we didn’t waste eggs — if we all cooked every type of egg we were supposed to cover that day, we’d end up with 60 egg dishes.
Um, so what, Chef? Isn’t that why I’m in culinary school?
Chef said the way the class is normall taught was “stupid” and a “waste of food.” For the record, Chef. I think your way is stupid.
He asked the class how they felt about a demo vs. cooking. Every last one of the kids in the class knodded, “yes Chef, yes Chef, yes Chef, we comply, we agree.”
I sat there with my arms crossed, folded. “I feel slighted,” I blurted. “I like watching the demos, but I also need to learn how to do this myself. And trying it at home, without you there to supervise isn’t why I enrolled in culinary school. I’m here to learn how to cook, not how to watch you cook, and I need your help.”
The class was silent. And then I heard some “yeah’s” and approvals. I didn’t care either way — I was too angry to care. This was my last straw with this Chef.
Chef did his demonstrations, and passed the plates around the class so everyone could taste what an over-easy egg, or properly scrambled egg tasted like. Yawn.
I managed to teach myself how to poach an egg without Chef’s supervision. By egg number three, I had it down to a science, even with the not-so-fresh eggs we were given. I wrangled those wiley egg whites into a perfectly compact bundle with ease.
The night really didn’t get any better. Biscuits were ruined, eggs were brutalized, potatoes were overcooked, and bacon was burned. And instead of showing us the light, Chef beat us all into the ground with snide remarks. The majority of the class refused to speak to him by the end of class.
Ironically, Chef handed out the class evaluations that night. I don’t think he faired very well.