Week 2, quick breads – still. I realized after my muffin high wore off last week that I was going to get bored quickly. And here I am, bored. I wasn't looking forward to class last night. I already know how to make quick breads. I've been making quick breads since I was seven. I get it. I'm searching for those nuggets of knowledge that the cookbooks don't tell you about; the nuggets that make you a better chef. Instead, I'm stuck in first grade learning that flour and water make goo if you don't measure properly and/or over mix. Do they have advanced placement for culinary school...isn't there a test I can take to move on to level II or III?
Chef constantly repeated during lecture, "That's enough - you don't need to know any more at this point. I don't want to make your brains explode." Hey, Chef! Please, make my brain explode!
So this week my group was tasked with banana bread and streusel muffins. And the divide and conquer method we agreed to use for our mise seemed to be working well. We whipped through the banana bread and had it in the oven without a hitch - we were a perfectly orchestrated, well oiled machine. Then, somewhere between clean up and recipe 2, we fell apart. Chef only gave us one recipe sheet that we had to share. R took control, so I wasn't able to gently dissect and break up the ingredient list into wet, dry, and equipment for the group like I had done for the banana bread. The result? A bit more chaos than my control-freak self would have liked. I'll spare you the details, but the lack of time spent getting organized cost us the "best ever muffins" award. They were mixed incorrectly, ended up spilling over and spreading in the oven, and had flat tops instead of the gorgeous height our muffins from last week had.
I was disappointed but not upset. R learned a valuable lesson this week in following directions, and that's what cooking school is all about. We plated "upside down" streusel muffins. They weren't pretty, but still tasted great.
The entire class sat together and enjoyed about 3-times the daily allowance of carbs in a matter of minutes. And with the breaking of quick breads, the boys (yes, boys) let down their guard and started peacock-feathering about their latest female college conquests. Hot, babe, damn fine, a few words in Spanish I didn't understand, butter-her-muffin, and a baker’s-dozen of other miscellaneous phrases pertaining to sex that I can't repeat (and haven't heard since I was twenty-five) were volleyed in the room. Each phrase was followed by a quick side-note, under-the-breath apology to me, "Sorry you had to hear that."
I get it. You have a penis that makes you talk like an ass. No need for apologies. Just try harder next class and don't screw up the recipe.