Basic Week Eight

Not to be repetitive, but time is flying by here.  When I first began my plans to come to Le Cordon Bleu a year in advance it seemed as if it would never really happen or that it would take half an eternity.  When I did finally arrive in Paris I was so homesick and frustrated with Paris living that I wasn't sure that I would survive the ten days before classes began. Now heading into the ninth week of school with exams and advanced levels of classes looming ahead I feel as if I need to pull some sort of emergency brake just to freeze time for a bit and allow myself to breathe.  That said, this week was relatively light and easy as workloads go...

Monday

Although we had Chef Jordan for a theory class before, it was the first time that he ever gave us a demonstration.  Each chef seems to have his own quirk or focus, and it turned out that Jordan's is appearance.  We've had the same uniform regulations since day one, but this was the first class in which they were strictly enforced.  Jordan stood at the door with his arms folded, turning away students with wrinkles or stains on their jackets or hair not pulled back or missing neckerchiefs, telling them that they had five minutes to fix the problem.

A lecture on orderliness and behavior ensued before the somber-faced Chef Jordan began his Pear Charlotte, a ladyfinger cake filled with a creamy mousse and diced pears.  Homemade ladyfingers was a skill that I looked forward to acquiring - my last attempt had been several months ago while making tiramisu before coming to Paris.  They looked absolutely nothing like Jordan's masterpiece.

Chef Jordan's Pear Charlotte

The class continued smoothly until about the last five minutes when a student made the fatal error of taking out her cell phone.  Jordan demanded that she leave the room.  While I tend to feel some embarrassment for students when this sort of punishment happens (particularly because 90% of the class doesn't have the maturity not to turn around and stare at the offender), I've yet to see a student not make it worse for himself or herself.  In this instance the girl stayed seated as if she didn't believe that he was serious, then she tried to argue her case to the translator, and finally when the chef glanced up and asked why she was still there, she stormed out with a "Sorry, chef."  Jordan had the final word, though, when he had the translator take attendance again to make sure that the student was marked absent (and consequently, not allowed to attend her practicum).

Tuesday

Chef Bogen began our day with a demonstration on roasted duckling, oysters, and an orange Cointreau soufflé for dessert (when a student asked why the school used Cointreau in so many recipes, chef explained the very scientific reason: the president of the school is André Cointreau, an heir of the Cointreau "empire" which, incidentally, owns most of the school).  It was, quite possibly, one of the worst demonstrations ever, leaving many students speculating on the sobriety of Bogen.  I tried taking good notes on the duck preparation because it would be in our practical, but I eventually gave up attempting to follow the other dishes after it appeared that the chef forgot that we were even there.

Oysters and orange soufflé (roasted duck not pictured)

After lunch a somewhat more composed Bogen delivered our last basic theory lesson on vegetable cuts, sauces, and soups before the Grand Diplome students proceeded on to their pastry practicum to make our Pear Charlottes with Chef Cotte.  It was my first encounter with the man since Saturday's cuisine practical fiasco, but things went much more smoothly.  The ladyfingers were surprisingly simple (arm-numbing whisking aside) and Cotte even praised my marzipan leaves which made me think that there may be hope for the decorator in me after all.

My Pear Charlotte

Wednesday

We were with Cheff Cotte again in the morning where he was demonstrating how to make Mogador, a chocolate mousse cake with raspberry jam accents.  He did some fancy little chocolate garnishes during the downtime of waiting for the mousse to firm up.  These "extras" are often a look into our future lives as Intermediate or Superior pastry students where decorating and presentation will take center stage.

Mogador and fancy chocolate garnish

After class dismissed I had about four hours to kill, so I used the opportunity to go home and get some study time in for the written patisserie exam on Thursday.  It wasn't my first attempt at studying for the exam, but it was the first time that I managed to do so while staying awake.  Knowing how to study was the greater issue - I knew that we would have terms from our glossary but the rest was something of a mystery, so I simply began going through my recipes and typing out the directions from my old notes.

Chef Bogen was waiting for us in the roast duckling practical that afternoon.  Normally I like getting the same chef in practical as we have in demonstration because we can count on consistency, but it was our first time in the kitchen with Bogen and we had heard many rumors about how he conducted his classes.  Plus he seemed to have sobered up a good bit.

He actually was fairly patient and helpful, but he has a reputation for demanding orderliness in the practicals.  He began the class by scolding us for coming into the kitchen and starting without him, a habit that we had formed with other chefs, and then he gave us a breakdown of our steps and his expected timetable for each one, ending with the admonition to always keep our stations clean.  Thus began a terrible practical.

Chef would stop our work to call a "family meeting" (hint: always take pots off the stove in case said meeting stretches into 5 minutes) or come by our stations and have conversations with us about our organization.  At one point as I was working with about three pots on the stove, he came by, pulled the de-boning knife from my utensil tray, and placed it in the spatula/rolling pin drawer below.  He proceeded to tell a story about how much he paid for his chef's knife in school and how well he took care of it.

While I appreciated the story, I couldn't understand the moral and my onions were burning.  From day one we learned to store all of the clean knives and utensils that we would need in an aluminum tray.  Leaving a knife in one of the drawers was counter-intuitive because another student could cut his or her hand while reaching in to get a spatula or the roll of parchment paper (and let's be honest - I would be the most likely person to do it).  I also wasn't sure why he singled out the de-boning knife when my tray had about six other knives and utensils in it.  With a confused look on my face I asked, "Do you want me to keep my knives in the drawer?"  He simply gave an exasperated shrug and rolled his eyes, replying, "Do whatever you want," and walked away.  I thought for a second, pulled the knife back out of the drawer, and continued working.

After several more pauses, we ended class far outside of Bogen's timetable, my duck, radishes, and onions were overcooked, and for once I had over-reduced (rather than under-reduced) my sauce into a demi-glaze.  While everyone walked out a little downtrodden, I kind of appreciated Bogen.  As basic students we get a lot of passes from chefs, but he was attempting to prepare us for the next two levels.  Spots on the stove or poorly placed knives (when I figure out what that means exactly) could one day be the difference between passing and failing.

The Grand Diplome students had to rush upstairs smelling of sweat and duck fat to join the freshly-pressed pastry-only students who were already in the process of making their Mogadors with Chef Tranchant.  We caught up, though, and chef declared that all of our cakes were a success.  Basic pastry always feels a million times easier when it follows a cuisine practicum.

Thursday

The basic pastry written exam was... difficult.  It contained only about fifty questions and they were all either multiple choice, true/false, or matching, but very few covered the areas that I had studied.  Most of my time was spent on learning cooking terms and studying things like types of meringues or differences in pastry doughs.  Many questions centered on really specific details that I never thought to learn, though, such as, "What is the ratio of cream to sugar in Chantilly cream?" or, "At what temperature do you bake a genoise?"  In our final exam they will give us the ingredient list which contains exact measurements and the chefs have always controlled the ovens in pastry practicums, so these were details that never crossed my mind.  The written exam is only 10% of our final grade, though, and I believe that I knew at least 50% of the answers with great certainty.

A demonstration on beef stroganoff was scheduled for the afternoon, but I had instead my appointment with the OFII (French Office of Immigration and Integration) to get my carte de séjour, a sort of residency permit that the government requires in addition to the student visa.  It is the only absence that the school excuses because one cannot negotiate appointment times with the French government, apparently.

The process was simple enough - I handed over my passport, proof of an apartment lease, and a passport photo - and they gave me a sort of physical consisting of weight and height measurements, an eye test (my left eye failed miserably but they couldn't understand my explanation of optic neuritis), a chest scan to ensure that I didn't have tuberculosis, and a game of 20 Questions with a very friendly doctor. The purpose of the whole ordeal is to make sure that I won't have any trouble getting back into the country should I decide to leave it when my passport stamp expires after 90 days.  A few stamps and signatures later, I walked out the door a completely legal temporary French resident.

Even though it was an excused absence, I really hated missing my class because 1) I paid a lot for it, 2) we can't attend the practical class if we miss the demonstration, 3) the dish is one of the ten recipes listed for the final exam (we draw a recipe on the day of the exam, kind of like a lottery but without any winners), and 4) I really wanted some beef stroganoff.  No amount of pleading with student services could get me into the practical although they were not willing to guarantee that I  would not have to do this recipe for my exam.  I really hate the expression, "That's not fair!" but I had to bite my tongue to keep it from coming out of my lips right then.

Friday

On the bright side, I was able to sleep in on Friday morning after a week of 8:30 AM classes every day.  A little part of me still felt bummed that my classmates were making a meal without me, and when I did finally arrive at school at 12:30 and they told me that they had Chef Vaca for the first time and that everyone did great and that it was the easiest and fastest dish EVER I felt a little more bummed, but I'm almost over it.  I comfort myself by assuming that I would probably have done something to slow everybody down.

Vaca was doing this demonstration on clams, pork medallions in charcuterie sauce, and pommes Dauphine, an odd but tasty mix of deep-fried potatoes and choux pastry.  For dessert we had fresh raspberries and strawberries covered in sauce and ice cream.  The pork was, of course, served slightly pink (apparently the only meat that the French cook to well-done is chicken).

Pork medallions and pommes Dauphine; clams; more clams;
fresh fruit dessert with ice cream

We topped off our week with an afternoon demonstration revisiting puff pastries.  They differed slightly from the apple turnovers/palmiers in the turning of the dough, although for the life of me I couldn't tell the difference in the final result.  Chef Cotte loaded us up with Pithivier (or King's Cake), Dartois, Sacristains (twists), "Country-style" bread, and his own special creation of an apricot tarte.  Everything but the sacristains were loaded with almond cream, naturally.  Next to pastry cream it's the French go-to filling.

Pithivier, dartois, sacristains, apricot tarte, and  country-style bread

Saturday

Having my first Saturday off since school began, I of course chose to use my free time... to go to a kitchen store.  Dehillerin isn't just any kitchen store, though - it's stuffed full from floor to ceiling with every kind of pot, pan, dish, and utensil in every size and shape imaginable, all at surprisingly reasonable prices (and I got 10% off with my student ID).  I managed to keep to my list, though - a fish scaler, fish bone tweezers, a 20-cm ring mold, and tongs.  Gretchen, a lover of kitchen doo-hickeys as well, joined me at the store before we went in search of lunch.

For once I had researched restaurants in advance and found a Mexican place that had good reviews (always taken with a grain of salt - I don't recall a mass of Mexican immigrants in Paris but the reviews did mention chipotle, something some of my chefs have never heard of).  What I didn't realize was that it was in a rather sketchy neighborhood where Gretchen and I stood out like sore thumbs, and when we finally reached the location we discovered that like 60% of businesses in Paris, it was closed for the month of August.

During our walk through the sketchy neighborhood, though, we had passed a place that had an incredible aroma wafting from it - a sort of spicy scent that set our tongues to watering - so heading back in that direction we started to sniff the air for it and came upon a little hole-in-the-wall (quite literally - it was hardly more than short counter outside under a window) Turkish restaurant.  We hopped onto some stools and both settled on chicken in a flour wrap with fries and spicy sauce, then we watched as the cook hand-rolled out our wraps before sliding them into a sort of pizza oven.  My empty stomach may have been coloring my judgment, but it was the best sandwich ever.

Strategically placed chicken to tempt passer-bys

Fully satisfied, we visited a few more kitchen stores, stopped at a café for ice cream, sampled some macarons and rose petal marshmallows from Ladurée ("fully satisfied" doesn't last forever), and headed down to the Seine to see the popular Paris Plage, a beach setup that the Parisians do every summer (probably to give all of the people who are off for the month of August something to do).

"Beach" along the Seine