What {almost} every culinary students longs to hear

Before I tell you about the best day ever in class, I’m honored to see that my blog, Wicked Good Dinner, was nominated as a top-100 food blog right here on Chef2Chef; and we’re doing pretty well, hanging in there with the top-10. If you haven’t been by, please visit the voting page and vote FIVE chef hats for Wicked Good Dinner to keep us in the top-10. Thanks for your votes!
I love when semesters come to an end. Not because I want to be out of school – just the opposite, I love school. But because it’s the time of year when Chef lets us run loose and wild, telling us to “MAKE WHAT EVER YOU WANT!”

Because everyone is focused on the Grand Buffet, the annual fund raiser for the school, Chefs and students are busy prepping during classes, and the walk-in and pantry are bare, with every morsel of food set aside for the buffet.

We spent half of the class helping to prep recipes for the buffet, and then the rest of the class hunting through the freezer and walk-in for leftovers and anything edible that was not designated “do not touch.” We decided, as a class, that we would make breakfast; and more specifically, something with eggs since that was the most abundant protein. Chef declared it would be fritatta day and sent us on our way.

I love fritattas, and I knew right away I wanted this fritatta to smell {and taste} like the ones my Italian grandmother used to make for dinner. Class fritattas ranged in size, fluffiness and ingredients when pulled from the oven — some were really flat and skinny, some were lopsided, some were fluffy and light. And as mine was in the last stages of baking, an amazing thing happened: I was suddenly transported to my grandmother’s Federal Hill apartment in Providence, RI by the aromas of egg, potato, zucchini and balsamic red bell peppers. When I pulled the gorgeous thing out of the oven, the entire class was hovering over my oven.

J, K and I took our slices, and I saved a slice for Chef who had been hard at work carving a watermelon. And then the class took the liberty of helping themselves; before I knew it, my beautiful fritatta was gone. Chef, as he passed my station on the way back to his watermelon, tapped on the cutting board where the fritatta once sat and said, “That was good. Really, really good.”

Chef didn’t realize, but I had a very good teacher 20 years before I had ever set foot in his kitchen. There’s definitely something to be said about learning how to cook from family.

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