Intermediate Week Eight

This week was one of many happy events, some related to my birthday and some just coinciding with my birthday week. My spirits were at an all-time high, broken only temporarily upon discovering that the locker thief struck again, but I digress. Some events I'll address in my summary of the week, but here are a few highlights:

• Marks & Spencer. A classmate from the UK told me on several occasions during my bacon rants that I could probably find real bacon at this British-based store, but I was skeptical and not willing to go out of my way to test her theory until a special gift arrived that made me have to have bacon. After a quick search online for the closest one, I discovered that one was only a 15-minute walk from my studio. It still wasn't on par with Publix or even Bi-Lo, but it did indeed carry bacon--super-salty bacon, but definitely bacon. It also carried prawn cocktail chips (or crisps, I should say)--a flavor that I've been missing since 1997 when I was in Cyprus. As if my joy wasn't complete enough, they bagged my groceries.
• Chipotle. Yes, it exists in Paris and one sits in the mall right outside of Marks & Spencer. I'm not a die-hard Chipotle fan, but it's Mexican food, they have black beans, and as far as I can tell they aren't "Frenchifying" the ingredients--the menu was noticeably lacking eggs. The prices are a good bit higher (e.g., 9,30€ for a burrito bowl vs. $7.20, which at the current exchange rate is about $4.50 more), they don't list white rice as an option, and I'm not sure what they use for sour cream, but it's kind of nice just knowing that it will be there when I need it.
• Coffee Percolator. I have one. In my studio. It's been there since before I moved in back in July. When I came to Paris the only coffee that I could find was the strong stuff served in tiny little cups for a whole lot of money--and without cream, or you can have cream but it costs extra. My first studio had a coffee maker but it didn't look like something that I would want to touch, much less drink from, and not having my favorite Dunkin Donuts coffee anyhow caused me to give up entirely. I used to drink coffee--needed coffee--every morning before work, but life became so crazy in France that the habit disappeared easily; however, the arrival of a sentimental mug this week made me decide to take up the habit again. After searching my cabinets and finding the percolator, watching a few online videos on how to use it, and purchasing a rather nice Christmas blend coffee from M&S, I can't remember how I survived before now. Actually, the habit has gotten worse--I'm making it sometimes twice a day (limited only by the time it takes) and I often find myself daydreaming about my next fix (usually in the middle of class demonstrations).

• G. Detou. I wanted to make something that called for cream of tartar but finding the stuff in Paris is like looking for a needle in a haystack. A Google search clued me into G. Detou (in French it sounds like the expression for "I have everything"). They did indeed have cream of tartar, and although the smallest size was over seven ounces, it was relatively inexpensive--only about six euros. They also carried a huge assortment of nuts and dried fruits, spices, oils, and more specialty items than I had time to take in.

These happy events were only the tip of the iceberg, though...

Monday

This week didn't start out as one to which I was looking forward--the prospect of celebrating my birthday all alone so far away from home felt somewhat akin to The Worst Birthday Ever back in 2005 when all of my family were scattered far and wide, my friends were tied up in the Sunday routine, and my trip to church in the evening was cut short by a fender bender and traffic ticket.

My first class of the day wasn't until 3:30, so I slept in a bit before getting up and puttering around the studio in my pajamas. At 10:00 AM my phone rang, and after some confusing gibberish back and forth in English and French, I figured out that it was the postman with a package. He wanted to know on which floor I was located and when I said, "The second," I heard his footsteps working their way up the stairs. Laying the phone on the table while shouting into it, "Hold on... Attendez!" I quickly changed clothes and abandoned the idea of finding my glasses to answer the door. Squinting curiously at the large box after I signed for it, I ducked back into the apartment and grabbed some scissors.

The first cut released an aroma that can best be described as... fall. More excited now, I tore into the box to find Pumpkin Spice and Harvest-scented Yankee Candles, Cracker Barrel sweet potato pancake mix and apple butter, a giant mug, Burt's Bees hand cream and lip balm, a cute door-hanging pillow, birthday party regalia, a card, and dozens of inspirational quotes and verses hand-written by  two incredible friends. Happy tears sprang into my eyes as I continued sniffing the aromatic candles, their scents all the stronger because their jars had shattered (but they were still perfectly functional). 

The afternoon's pastry practical was to make the chestnut mousse cake from Friday's demonstration. The only challenging part was piping the approximately 3,000 spikes all over the cake surface before spraying it with chocolate, but in the end mine didn't look half bad--as a matter of fact, the chef strongly applauded it. The taste, however, was terrible (because it was a terrible recipe), so I was more than happy to leave it sitting in the winter garden for other students to consume. Upon arriving home a half-hour later and opening the front door, those joyous smells of fall hit me head-on, sending me into another giddy spin.

Chestnut mousse cakes

Practice making chocolate cigarettes while waiting for our cakes to freeze

Tuesday

Although classes didn't begin until 12:30, I woke up rather early and quite excited to begin the day or, more specifically, to eat breakfast. My sweet potato pancake with a dollop of apple butter turned out perfectly as did the scrambled eggs that I threw in for a boost of protein, but something was missing, namely grits, bacon, sawmill gravy, and a good, steaming cup of coffee. The grits and gravy I could do without (not that I don't love grits, mind you), but my new mission became one to acquire the bacon and coffee. The coffee urge was also rooted in the new mug from my care package--I grow sentimental attachments to mugs, like the blue and white one that my parents sent to me in Wisconsin on my birthday, or the one from Alaska that a friend in grad school gave me, or the half-dozen or so mugs from our Swihart family reunions--and I was already attached to this one. I recalled seeing a strange contraption in the cabinet above the stove when I first moved in, so climbing up on a chair I pulled it down and disassembled it, thinking that it was some sort of teapot. The word "percolator" came into my head like some weird suppressed memory, and a few Google images later I knew that I was holding something life-changing, or at least morning-changing. Alas, I had not yet purchased coffee grounds so I proceeded on to school.

Our first class was a cuisine demonstration on the Périgord region, famous for its foie gras and truffles. The new chef, Mr. Touchy-Feely from our practicum last week, was struggling a bit with his first demonstration so Chef Lesourd, who was teaching next door, would duck in and out to assist. Things were a bit of a mess (not that I'm criticizing--for a first demonstration it wasn't as bad as say, I would do), but he managed to crank out pan-fried duck foie gras with roasted apples and a cider and walnut sauce for the starter, pan-fried steak with celery flan, Madeira and diced truffle sauce, and potatoes cooked in goose fat for the main course, and a caramelized walnut and pine nut galette for dessert. Because we ended so late and a pastry demonstration followed, I couldn't stay for the entire tasting and managed only to grab a bite of foie gras on my way out.

Duck foie gras with apples; Steak, celery flan, and potatoes;
Walnut and pine nut galette

Chef Tranchant led the next demonstration on Entremets Passionata, a raspberry and passion fruit cream cake. It started with a "cigarette" batter which gets its name from being used most commonly to make crisp, thin cookies rolled into the shape of a cigarette. In this recipe, though, Tranchant thinly spread out the batter in red and yellow stripes on a baking sheet before covering it in a biscuit sponge batter. Once baked, he used the striped cake to line a ring mold, placing a coconut dacquoise cake bottom in its center. A passion fruit cream center followed, and the cake was finished with a raspberry mousse layer and raspberry glaze over wild strawberries. In addition to the cakes, Tranchant made shaped pear jellies. Although I wasn't a fan of these candies, I do love orange slice candy and wondered if I had just figured out a way to make them from scratch (if successful I may be elevated to Favorite Child status because my dad is an even bigger fan).

Entremets Passionata; Shaped pear jelly

Wednesday

The morning began with a cuisine practicum to make the steak, flan, and potatoes. The fact that we were going to be making steaks had everyone pretty excited--beef had noticeably been lacking from the practicums in Intermediate. Some annoying mental block caused me once again to forget to degrease the bones before making the stock, and I spent much of the class trying various creative ways to get rid of the grease. In the end my meat was bleu instead of rare as the chef requested, my potatoes,though cooked well, were not uniformly turned, and my flan was okay although not very attractive. The sauce was actually the only perfect part of the dish.

We finished class before 11:00 AM and I set out on my quest for all items needed for a perfect Thursday morning birthday breakfast. Somewhere along the way I decided that I also needed no-bake cookies--cream and mousse cake on my birthday just wasn't appropriate--and I added oats and peanut butter to my shopping list of elusive grocery items in France. Between Marks & Spencer and Monoprix I found everything that I needed (I had to settle on a little box of Quaker oats and a tiny jar of something called Sun-Pat peanut butter that was priced about three times more than Nutella per gram). The last item on the list was half-and-half for my coffee. When you look for milk or creamers in France, don't go to the refrigerated section--these dairy products are contained in Tetra Paks and don't need refrigeration until they're opened.

When I got back to school that evening the locker room was slammed--some classes had just gotten out and others were getting ready to start--and I practically had to crawl over the two girls with lockers below mine to get my uniform and knife kit. Hurrying to get out I noticed that my tennis shoes were still lying on the ground, so I dug the key from my pocket and shoved the shoes into my locker before running off to class.

Chef Daniel, one of the newer chefs, was supervising our Entremets Passionata. We made the cigarette and biscuit sponge batters together in groups of four because we needed only one strip per person, so the cake was moving along quickly. Both the passion fruit cream and raspberry mousse contained whipped cream, and Chef Tranchant had suggested that we whip all of our cream at once to save time. Making my passion fruit cream base first, I pulled out the 240 ml of  cream that I had whipped and, in case you haven't already guessed, I used all of it rather than the 65 ml that the recipe called for. It wasn't until I was making my raspberry mousse that I realized my error, though, because the chef had checked my passion fruit cream and said that it was perfect (I did briefly wonder why it was so much more lightly colored and thicker than my classmates'). In order to make the mousse I needed to whip up more cream but I was afraid that in doing so I would clue the chef in to my mistake. Stealthily whipping cream in a metal bowl with a metal whisk is no easy task, but if chef figured it out he never let on--his final evaluation was that my cake was very nice. There are occasionally advantages to the chefs not cutting into or tasting our cakes.

Entremets passionata, heavy on the cream

When I got back to my locker my heart sank when I noticed that the lock wasn't on it. I exclaimed, "Oh no! I forgot to lock my locker!" to which a classmate a few lockers down from me replied, "So did I but there's nothing in there worth stealing." Opening the door I saw my lock lying inside with the key still in it, something that I may have done, and although nothing looked unusual I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. One quick look confirmed my fears: my cash had been reduced from 80 euros down to 60. My pre-birthday high hit an all-time low--was this locker thief checking my locker during every class? In a world of women who forget to lock up was I the only one getting robbed?

My thoughts during the disgruntled walk home that night swirled around plans for entrapment. Throughout this ordeal I've kicked myself many times for making stupid mistakes, but the money getting stolen is not my fault--the only person to blame is the thief and she needs to be stopped. Yes, putting on my lock correctly and actually locking it would be wise, but it doesn't solve the problem because there will probably be more times that I forget or someone else will become a victim. It's possible that I've been watching too many British crime dramas, but if Lewis, Hathaway, and Morse can solve the daily murders at Oxford then I certainly should be able to catch a locker thief. As with the other thefts, though, the Lord took care of this one with a special birthday gift that evening. Actually, these thefts have just about turned a profit for me from some philanthropic friends and family (but I still want to catch the crook).

Thursday

With my first and only class of the day not starting until 12:30 I had plenty of time to prepare my birthday breakfast (I also woke up early--couldn't sleep well with my brain scheming). The afternoon before I had done a test run on the percolator with great success, but when I opened up the cabinet to get out the coffee I saw my little box of cream as well--I had absentmindedly stuck it back in the cabinet on Wednesday after using it. While I can drink coffee black in an emergency, I was not about to be so easily defeated. Quickly changing out of my pajamas, donning my glasses, and giving the mirror a quick check to make sure that I didn't have anything like streaks of drool on my face, I ran to the little store down the street and found just what I needed. Rounding out my meal with a bit of ambiance thanks to the cigarette lighter that I had purchased the day before, I was finally able to sit down to the best breakfast--the first real breakfast--that I've had in almost five months.

Just waiting for the waitress to come refill my coffee

It was still early by the time that I finished and I decided to make my birthday cookies right then. Back in the olden' days when I had a real job at an office, birthdays were synonymous with office treats. It would be the first time in twelve years that coworkers wouldn't be bringing me goodies, so my only option was to turn the tables. Not having any measuring cups or scales, I used the studio's whiskey glasses and made rough approximations. The no-bakes turned out quite nicely in the end--a little flat, but every bit as tasty as I remembered them. Reserving only four to keep at home (not counting the one or two that I had already eaten), I bagged up the rest to share among my classmates.

Once at school I began freely passing out cookies, even giving one to a French visitor who was curiously eyeing my bag while waiting to go into our cuisine demonstration. She seemed to enjoy the cookies but puzzled over them, unable to identify the "secret" ingredients of oats and peanut butter, two totally foreign concepts in French desserts. I couldn't remember the French word for either one so I was never sure if she managed to figure out the mystery.

The new chef had his act together a little more for this demonstration although it was still slightly convoluted (though not much worse than what we used to get from Bogen whom, I recently found out, was given the boot). This preparation was focused on Lyon which is well-known for its cuisine, so it was a little surprising that the meal was completely the opposite of extraordinary. The starter was Lyon-style sausage with potatoes, but the sausage casing burst while it was poaching, creating a rather unattractive presentation. I really liked the potatoes, though--they were covered in a vinaigrette that was heavy on the vinegar just the way that I like it. The main course was pike perch dumplings--pike perch mousseline combined with a choux pastry batter and then poached--covered in crayfish (or crawdad for y'all back home) sauce. The crayfish were unfortunately alive prior to cooking them--something to look forward to in practicum. For dessert he made Mardi-Gras fritters, little fried pastries reminiscent of sopapillas only denser and without the accompaniment of honey and cliff divers (Casa Bonita fans--anyone?).

Sausage and potatoes; Pike perch dumplings with crayfish sauce;
Mardi-Gras fritters

Friday was going to be a full day of classes and I really wanted my cream of tartar--I was attempting to make a substitute for corn syrup so that I could make peanut brittle because 1) corn syrup is hard to find over here and 2) it's supposed to be really bad for you. As it turns out, you still need it to make really good microwave peanut brittle... Anyhow, a chef advised me to try Bon Marché which was indeed a really huge, fabulous store--almost more like a mall--but they didn't sell cream of tartar. They did, however, have three sections labelled as "USA" containing all foods that France equates with Americans for about three times the price: Cheez Whiz, Heinz hot dog relish, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, Grandma's Molasses, and yes, even Karo corn syrup (I didn't buy any since my mind was set on making the substitution). I did manage to score some Arm & Hammer baking soda at least.

Friday

Our pastry written exam began at 8:30 AM. I spent an hour or two studying for it the night before, but my motivation was low--as we learned from basic, the written exam counts for only 10% of the overall grade, but the overall grade is meaningless--the only way to pass intermediate is to get over 50% on both the practicums and the final exam. As we also knew from basic, many questions would border on ridiculous--passing remarks that chefs might have made in demonstrations. No, I didn't know the name of the man who first made Baba au Rhum nor did I know what the other ingredient (besides sodium bicarbonate) in baking soda was... or that there even was another ingredient. My confidence was pretty good for probably over half of the questions, though, and within 30 minutes I was back to running around Paris looking for cream of tartar, this time heading straight for G. Detou. Because most of the pastry and cooking stores are located in the same neighborhood, I took the opportunity to stop in at at Bovida and buy a piping tip to replenish one that I had lost.

After taking an early lunch back at the studio, I joined my classmates to make the pike perch dumplings. Our fist task was to prepare the crayfish by first grasping the middle fan on their tails and pulling out their intestines. Unfortunately that was only enough to torture them but not to kill them, and they would become extremely agitated, flapping their tails and grabbing at us with their claws. To finish them off we threw them into a pan of hot oil where they took approximately five minute to finish dying. If you ever want to witness something unusual, walk into a classroom of eight students all apologizing or sadly yelling, "Hurry up and die!" to large pans of crayfish.

Once the crayfish finally finished cooking to death, we twisted the tails off from the torso, throwing the latter back into the pan for the sauce where we proceeded to smash them to bits with a rolling pin. After peeling the tails to get out the rather paltry amount of meat that remained, we moved on to the pike perch mousseline. Someone had already filleted the fish for us and we needed to remove only the pin bones and skin. Going back to my knife kit to get my fish tweezers, I discovered that not only were they missing, but so was my pastry crimper that had been nested inside of the fish tweezers. That was the last proverbial straw--invading my wallet to get out money was one thing, but pulling out my knife kit and selecting utensils was somehow in my mind far worse. The school doesn't provide fish tweezers in our knife kit, but the chefs do expect us to have a pair and I made a special trip out to Dehillerin in basic to get some--they were a lifesaver when I pulled the sea bream fillets on my final exam.

My dish turned out mediocre--the dumplings were cooked well but my sauce was too bland--but I hardly cared. Sitting in the next cuisine demonstration class my mind mulled over more schemes about how to catch the thief. We had a guest chef to start the class--an MOF (Meilleur Ouvrier de France or Best Craftsman in France) butcher was there to demonstrate how to cut up a lamb. He was the most interesting-looking man--almost cartoonish or how one might draw a caricature of a stereotypical Frenchman--but he was an amazing craftsman, making the process look incredibly easy and completing it in about 90 minutes. He also had beautiful hands and manicured nails, a feature that struck me as odd because I was actually checking to see if he was missing any fingertips.

Butcher Thierry Michaud (the striped collar is reserved only for MOF recipients)

Chef Poupard took over the last half of the class to make the main course of lamb fillet stuffed with dates, apricots, and rosemary and couscous with golden raisins, currants, pistachios, and hazelnuts. For dessert he whipped up a frozen catalan cream that I never had the opportunity to taste because our pastry demonstration was beginning. I was, however, quite excited at the prospect of making this delicious meal.

Stuffed lamb fillet & couscous; Catalan cream

The walnut cake was the last recipe on our final exam list. The bottom consisted of a biscuit sponge cake with chopped walnuts--a nice change from the usual almonds, hazelnuts, and pistachios. The main focus of the demonstration, though, was on making caramel. The mousse, imbibing syrup, and glaze for the cake had a caramel base and Cotte was making soft caramel candies as well. Having inherited whatever gene that my mom possesses that craves caramel, I loved this demonstration (the decorative macarons didn't hurt, either). I'm actually a little worried about the consequences of knowing how to make caramel from scratch now.

Walnut mousse cakes; Salted butter and chocolate caramels

Saturday

We began the morning by making the walnut cakes in our practicum. My caramel base came out perfectly on the first attempt and the mousse whipped up beautifully. I didn't have to make the macarons because we were sharing three batches between the entire class, but my cake came together without a hitch and for once I was even pleased with my decorations. At the end as Chef Daniel evaluated it he said, "Good mousse, nice glaze, simple but attractive decoration... Very good work today." Three for three in pastry practicums in one week was some kind of new record for me (even if one of the three was secretly messed up) and for the first time this semester I felt a little optimistic about the final exam in two weeks.

My Walnut cake

The written exam for cuisine was scheduled for 12:30. If my motivation for studying for the pastry exam was low, it was almost non-existent for cuisine. Chef Poupard, a.k.a., Map Chef, had written the exam and we knew that the questions would be almost entirely about the different regions of France. I used the hour-and-a-half between the practicum and the exam to look over my notes, but it felt more like studying for a geography test--I wasn't sure if we should know the capitals of each region, if we should be able to locate them on the map, or if we should study only the foods associated with each one. The last option made the most sense but seemed impossible--the 19 regions covered had scores of meats, produce, principal dishes, desserts, wines, and cheeses listed, many of them overlapping from one region to the next. I tried to pick out what might be the most specialized foods from each region but even that was hard to determine. The test did not disappoint my expectations, either--on the matching sections in particular I was making my selections based primarily on what sounded like a good ordering of the letters A through E. Statistically speaking, though, I figured that I should get at least a 25% (more True/False would have brought that up).

The last order of the day was to make the lamb fillets in our cuisine practicum. A new chef--one who shadowed our practicum class a couple of weeks ago--was in charge and when I asked for some help on how to trim my fillet he ended up doing almost the entire thing for me. That allowed me to get a considerable lead for once to the point that my classmates were asking with a little too much shock in their voice when I began to plate, "You're already finished?" As a matter of fact, I was one of the first to finish and had only to wait for the chef to evaluate the two students who got his attention first before he tested mine. His only critique was that in the presentation I should cut the meat into smaller slices, but he said that it was cooked well, all of the seasoning was good, and my jus was perfect, and he finished with a, "Very good work today." As if the day couldn't get any more bizarre, his final remark as he was evaluating the last student's plate was, "Everyone today made a sauce instead of a jus... every person but one," while pointing to me. Perhaps the collective gasp in the room should have been insulting, but I was quite pleased.

Sunday

Although I think the whole "spring forward, fall back" time change is completely ludicrous, I woke up early feeling quite refreshed and even made myself another "American" breakfast. At church I met the Nutzes who had come to Paris with the rest of the retirees from last weekend but had stayed over longer to visit with their daughter. Mrs. Nutz handed me a bag from Jean Martin explaining that it was a "little" something from both the travel group and my Hampton Park Life Group back home. Jean had told me that some of the retirees wanted to give me their extra unspent euros before they left so I was expecting a few coins, but inside the bag were 240 euros--one person alone that I had only met last Saturday evening had put in 100 euros. I was overwhelmed with gratitude, wondering how I could possibly thank all of these people for their kindness and generosity. The pièce de résistance, though, was the little plate that some of the ladies had found in a gift shop and that automatically achieved the sentimental status usually reserved only for my mugs. I'm not really sure how they even knew what it said:

"I never put my elbows on the table"

Intermediate Week Seven

A few times this week I had to answer the question, "How do you feel that you're doing in school?" Usually my verbal reply is something like, "Getting by," or "Not too badly, I hope" while the first phrases in my head are things like, "In over my head," or "Out of my league." I never expected to be the best and a while ago I abandoned the idea of "really good"--right now I'm hanging my hopes on "good enough to pass" or "finish without being the person about whom the chefs will tell threatening stories to their students for years to come," but after this week I wondered if even that was aiming too high.

Monday

Such plans I had for my Monday off--maybe a day trip to Strasbourg to see if I could find any fall color or a visit to Normandy to visit Omaha Beach finally--but a late night of FaceTime with a friend coupled with the perpetual feeling of being too exhausted to have fun kept me holed up in my studio all day. The only thing that inspired me to change out of my pajamas was a minor emergency: my newest favorite meal is fried eggs served over baguette slices soaked and fried in salted butter (French culture has grown me to love runny egg yolks spilling all over my food--pizzas, sandwiches, toast, etc.), so when I realized that I wouldn't have a baguette for breakfast the next morning I threw on my "workout" clothes and  hightailed it across the street to Eric Kayser.

Tuesday

After waking up blissfully late and leisurely enjoying my fried eggs and baguette breakfast, I headed to school to make the Mediterranean Scorpion fish and John Dory fillet Provençal stew (bouillabaisse) from Saturday's demonstration. For 16 weeks I have managed to keep my uniform jackets and aprons stain-free--everything has washed out of them--but apparently the black filth contained inside of a scorpion fish is impenetrable... and it splatters a lot. This fish also had sharp fins--after class I counted about seven puncture wounds (some may have been attributable to my fillet knife). The John Dory, however, though kind of large and unattractive, was probably the easiest fish that I've prepared so far--it practically divides itself into 6 beautiful fillets. Chef thought that my soup lacked enough saffron and she was worried about my timing (I barely finished on time and this dish is in our final exam list), but I wasn't too concerned--I figured out where I could rearrange my order of preparation and buy myself several more minutes. As a matter of fact, this is one dish that I hope to get in the exam.

Changing into a clean jacket, I joined the pastry students for our demonstration with Chef Tranchant on wild strawberry and vanilla treasure and pistachio dacquoise. It followed the stereotypical French pastry formula: sponge cake + mousse + pastry cream. The strawberry mousse was quite nice, though, and possibly for the first time I actually liked the taste of the cake by itself (and it wasn't even imbibed with syrup!). The pistachio dacquoise was under-impressive--just a cake covered in, naturally, pistachio cream.

Wild strawberry vanilla "treasure"; Pistachio dacquoise

Wednesday

Our only class of the day was a morning practicum to make the wild strawberry cake. It started off with a hiccup--we ran out of ground almonds just as I was ready to use them and I had to wait about five minutes for the class assistant to bring more (he was busy finishing his dacquoise)--but I managed to catch up by the time that we were ready to add the mousse and I was actually one of the first people to finish my cream layer. For the decoration we had to sprinkle the cakes with sugar and then caramelize it with a blow torch. If I had looked back at the picture from the demonstration I would have remembered that the chef's cake was hardly colored, but instead I attacked my cream with vigor, nearly blackening half of it and almost catching the cake on fire. A little glaze and several berries later it looked almost decent, and the chef didn't act as if it were too bad. My mound also appeared a bit lopsided and wider than the other cakes, but even that didn't seem to phase him (although Tranchant tends to be secretive with his evaluation marks).

My slightly-blackened, giant-mounded cake

Thursday

The morning demonstration was one that I had been excitedly anticipating--Toulouse cassoulet, a sort of white bean stew with tomatoes, lamb, duck, and sausages. For one thing, we had never done anything with beans before and I absolutely love beans (especially black beans, but I can probably abandon any hope of finding them on a French menu). Cassoulets also have the reputation as being a fabulous dish, and I liked the idea of making something that didn't require cleaning fish or birds. Chef was focusing on the southern coastal Languedoc region of France, so the starter was a salted cod purée with garlic and parsley cream and tapenade gressini. This was one fish purée that I actually enjoyed--it sort of had a creamy tuna salad feel. For dessert he made a tasty apricot and fig gratin. Another food that I've come to appreciate since coming to France is the fig, particularly fig preserves with whatever baguette slices aren't covered in egg yolk.

Cassoulet; Salted cod purée; Apricot and fig gratin

During the three-hour break between the demonstration and our practical, I went home and dutifully typed up my recipe before going back to school. We had one of the newer chefs for the second time--he doesn't speak any English but he's quite helpful... maybe a little too much. While I was sharpening my knife on the steel rod he said, "No, no, no!" and proceeded to stand behind me and take both of my hands in his as we awkwardly sharpened my knife together. Four months ago I might have found it surprising and slightly more embarrassing, but I've learned that it's just the French way--he had an arm around every woman in the class before it was over. Being a fan of classic movies and TV shows, I often mentally place the French male in the 1945 office atmosphere where a man would casually refer to a female secretary as "doll" or "sweetheart" and nobody would blink an eye.

The cassoulet wasn't supposed to be a difficult dish but it's also not something that should be prepared in two-and-a-half hours--the beans should cook slowly for a long time to absorb the flavors and the lamb should cook for hours until it's fall-off-the-bone tender--so we already knew that we weren't making the best cassoulets ever. This chef also wanted us to do things completely differently than the chef in demonstration, causing all of my pre-class organization to fly out the window in a manner of speaking. To make matters worse, I burned my pan of diced tomatoes and onions and could use only about half of them, which weakened the flavor in the already flavorless soup. Instead of plating our cassoulets we were putting them in foil pans so that we could sprinkle the finished product with breadcrumbs and give them a final bake in the pastry oven. After placing down the first layer of beans I turned to retrieve my lamb meat from the stove only to discover that a classmate had thrown it away. It was my fault--she wanted the strainer that I was using and I told her I was through with it, not remembering that the lamb was still inside--but I managed to scrounge a couple of pieces from some classmates. My evaluation, though disappointing, was hardly surprising.

Somewhat bland cassoulet

Friday

Because it was only a four-day class week, Friday was jammed with four back-to-back classes. Chef Poupard started off the morning with a chestnut mousse cake and chestnut barquettes demonstration. The cake was composed of three layers of hazelnut dacquoise cake, chestnut mousse, and candied chestnut pieces. Chef then covered the outside in chestnut cream "spikes" which reminded him of a girl he saw with spiked hair which segued into a talk about the cause and necessity of teenage rebellion (pastry chefs usually have a lot of time to kill when they're doing things like piping a million spikes on four identical cakes). It led me to think that he chose the right profession as opposed to say, psychology. The barquettes were simply sweet pastry dough baked with almond cream and covered in the same chestnut cream. The final step for both pastries (and something that should make Monday's practicum interesting) was spraying them with chocolate using an actual Wagner paint sprayer.

Chestnut mousse cake; Chestnut barquettes

After lunch we joined Chef Vaca in a cuisine demonstration on the region of Brittany. He made roasted langoustines and Brittany artichoke salad for the starter before moving on to the main course of Monkfish wrapped in bacon with braised artichokes and broccoli and cauliflower pannequets (a sort of pancake made with yeast)--naturally the one time that we use broccoli we bury it in batter. For dessert he made prune flans that were actually more similar to souffles and quite delicious. 

Roasted langoustines and artichoke salad; Monkfish wrapped in
bacon served over  pannequets with braised artichokes; Prune flan

At 3:30 we had our pastry theory class on ice creams. After already sitting through six hours of classes that day I was hoping for something that would keep me awake, but the chef spent two hours reading internet printouts on the history and types of ice, ice creams, and sorbets. While I love ice cream, listening to someone lecture on it for that long without so much as a sample felt like some kind of horrible torture. I did learn a few interesting facts, though. For example, did you know that Americans consume 23 gallons of ice cream per year on average? Yes, the French chefs enjoy pointing out our bad eating habits (I may be closer to 50 gallons).

Our first practical of the day finally came at 6:30. Although it had a lot of components, it was a straightforward recipe that shouldn't take too long... which should have been my first warning. We were in the nicest and largest practicum room, too--fitted with 14 oven/stove units, it provided plenty of room for the eight of us. Someone had already removed the head and intestines from the monkfish so we had only to remove the central bone and the skin. My problems began with the jus--it required that we brown the fish trimmings with chicken wings but chef said mine weren't caramelized enough, then I forgot to degrease the pan before deglazing and it ended up too greasy. The artichokes would have been okay except that chef pointed out some tough bits of stem still attached. Only two of my four pannequets survived being flipped over in the skillet (fortunately, I needed only one to plate).

The monkfish appeared to be my last hope, but when chef cut into the medallion it was uncooked in the middle. That was a surprise--after searing the fillets I intentionally left them in the oven longer than the demonstration chef recommended just to be on the safe side. Turning with a sigh to turn off my oven I was even more surprised to see that it wasn't on. The problem wasn't that I had forgotten to turn it on; the problem was that I had turned on the oven next to it. What's more amazing is the fact that the two times I opened the oven door--once to put in the fish and once to pull it out--I didn't wonder why the usual blast of heat didn't hit me in the face. My non-functioning brain went one step further by telling me to explain to the chef why my fish was uncooked... as if that made me seem any less incompetent (the look on her face led me to believe that it did not). The whole thing might have been excusable if I hadn't done something similarly idiotic several weeks ago when I plated the uncooked salmon-stuffed cabbage for Chef Caals instead of the one that I had cooked.

Saturday

Having a free Saturday following my rather stellar performance the day before was an incredible relief. A group of retirees, some who attend my church in Greenville, were visiting Paris and wanted to treat me to dinner and a Seine boat cruise, so after doing laundry, cleaning the studio, and typing up the recipes from Friday's demonstrations, I joined three of the ladies near Pont Saint-Michel. Two of them I had never met before, but I knew Jean Martin well from our Life Group and was absolutely overjoyed to see a familiar face from back home.

Mrs. Martin had to knock a few kids out of the way to get this shot

After an early dinner at a small pizza place we still had over an hour to spare, so we strolled a little farther down the street to find coffee and possibly dessert at some place with the ever-elusive public restroom. Everything was crowded but La Gentilhommière looked like it had some available seating inside. One downside of not having access to cellular data on my phone is that I can't use TripAdvisor--seeing the reviews and 1.5-star rating might have changed our minds. Our waiter was acting overtly annoyed from the beginning although we weren't doing or ordering anything unusual, but I shrugged it off--I had probably experienced worse. Normally servers visit your table only three times in Paris--to take an order, to deliver the order, and to get your payment--so I was surprised to see him approaching our table after we all had our orders. He muttered something in French while pointing down in the direction of the table in front of me. I had my coffee cup cradled in both hands, so I lifted up my arms to look down where he was pointing. He said, "Oui," with a nod and marched off. Right then it hit me--he was telling me to take my elbows off the table.

Now I may not be the leading expert on table etiquette, but I never chew loudly or with my mouth open, I hold my fork and knife correctly, and I never eat with my elbows on the table. This was just casual conversation and coffee in the late afternoon before Paris dinnertime at a mediocre café that was missing the seat on the toilet in the women's restroom. Still, when in Rome... But as I began looking at the tables around us I saw that they were covered in elbows--a girl at the table across from us was laying her head on her elbow on the table. The ladies with me were bordering on livid, brazenly putting their elbows on the table before quickly removing them, and one in particular was rehearsing the piece of her mind that she was going to give the waiter whenever he came back, but I decided to take the initiative instead. After he took our check I asked him in French (he also pretended off and on not to understand English) if putting elbows on the table was bad. He tentatively nodded yes but then looked at me with a stupid "Huh?" expression on his face so I repeated myself, pointing to all of the tables around me saying, "Like that, and that, and that? Is that against the restaurant rules?" He held up his hand and said, "No, it's not serious," as he turned and left right in the middle of my interrogation.

We joined about 15 other people by the Pont Neuf to board our evening boat cruise. There I saw some more familiar faces including the Stevesons who usually sit behind me at Hampton Park and who assured me that they were faithfully saving my pew for me. The evening was beautiful and after some final hugs I strolled the 2.5 miles home with a full heart, reflecting on the blessings and encouragement that God brings into my life and looking forward to my quickly approaching return home.

Cruising down the Seine

Intermediate Week Six

First, I'm going to start off with a little PSA. Actually, it's more like begging, except it won't cost you anything! My Facebook friends who already voted can just skip to the next paragraph, but my credit union had a calendar photo contest and I was one of the thirty photos chosen for the finals. The grand prize is only $250, but for a starving student... well, a student without an income, it's a huge deal. I'd promise that angels will visit you or Bill Gates will send you $1000 if you vote, but I trust that you'll do it simply for altruistic reasons. If you're on Facebook, all you need to do is click here, "Like" Truliant's page, and vote for my photo (Claude Monet House & Gardens). You may be tempted to vote for another photo (the one with the horses is actually my favorite, but they don't need any more affirmation), but it's not about the best photo, it's about... well, me.

This week was pretty relaxed as class schedules go--only five practicums and six demonstrations spread out fairly smoothly over six days--but a bit on the distressing side. Actually, I figure that I've been in a perpetual state of anxiousness for these past four months. I've probably been under greater pressure before, but not for such an extended period of time. Each day, even the ones where I don't have classes, greets me with nervous butterflies in my stomach. The feeling isn't one of dread, but more like what you get while waiting in a lobby before a job interview or sitting on a stage right before a speech in front of a large crowd or on a roller-coaster as it slowly crests the top of a huge hill right before a big drop. I'm always hopeful that I'll make a good impression, not screw up and embarrass myself, and not go plunging off the edge, but I'm never quite sure how things are going to go. What I do know is that everything sets me off more easily these days--something as little as Andy Williams coming on Spotify singing "Moon River" almost put me in the fetal position. Am I soon to become like Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice, just begging people to have "compassion on my poor nerves"? We shall see.

Monday

Chef Poupard greeted us first thing Monday morning with Auvergne-region fare: foie gras-glazed pigs' trotters on toast (yes, they are exactly what they sound like), braised cabbage stuffed with veal forcemeat (of course) with a side of daikon radishes, carrots, celery root (real veggies again!), and potatoes, and a sweet apple "flan" and strawberry soup with white pepper. The only part of the meal that I truly enjoyed was the flan which the chef insisted was mislabeled because it was more like a custard. Whatever it was, it was terrific.

Pigs' trotters; Braised stuffed cabbage; Strawberry soup & apple flan 

Our next demonstration began at 3:30, so after a trip home to iron the rest of my uniforms and to type up my recipe for practicum (yes, I'm still keeping up with that), I joined the pastry students for a demonstration on Baba au Rhum and Kugelhof with Chef Deguignet. It was our first demonstration with this chef although he wasn't unfamiliar to us--he was in charge of our Opéra cake practicum and he frequently walks into other chefs' demonstrations to tell us to be quiet if we ever want to get into superior. Each chef has his own pet-peeve, and Deguignet's is talking. He did a good demonstration, although the Baba au rhum was typical of French pastries--a tasteless cake made edible by soaking it in syrup and covering it in vanilla cream. During this time we also received our pastry final exam recipe list. I immediately identified exactly three of the ten that didn't terrify me. 

Kugelhof; Baba au rhum

The basement kitchen chef,"Phil," supervised our practicum on making the braised stuffed cabbage. We hadn't had him in class since we were in basic and I was happy to see him again--he's one chef that always makes me feel at ease even when I mess up. When we did the salmon-stuffed cabbages a few weeks ago we wrapped them in plastic wrap before boiling, but braising requires something less synthetic and more porous such as caul, the membrane surrounding a pig's internal organs. It wasn't one of my favorite dishes, but it was quick and easy (although I overcooked my potato batons and the meat inside of my cabbage was a little too pink).

Tuesday

In the morning Chef Caals began the demonstration on the French Riviera cuisine with braised beef and olives, getting our hopes up that we were finally getting to make beef until we realized that we would be doing only the starter in practicum--a galette, which is a sort of puff pastry pizza covered in tomato concassée, black olives, balsamic vinaigrette, and marinated raw sea bass. Caals then made lovely "tulip" cookies with lemon emulsion for dessert. Most of the desserts in our cuisine demonstrations have been more appetizing than anything we make in pastry, but they also tend to be much simpler which is why, I suppose, we will never be making them. At the end of class we received our cuisine final exam recipe list. It wasn't quite as scary as the pastry list but I still quickly identified the less desirable options.

Galette with marinated sea bass; Braised beef;
Tulip cookie with lemon emulsion

Over our lunch break my cuisine practicum group began discussing our game plan for making the sea bass galette. We've transitioned into a more team-centered group to speed things up--one person may take on the task of peeling all of the tomatoes while another person may reduce the balsamic vinaigrette and someone else will roast the peppers and tomatoes for everyone, for example, but it's almost becoming too extreme. For one thing, in the exam we will be working independently and I can certainly use all of the practice that I can get. But more than that, if someone in the chain does something wrong, particularly if it involves seasoning, it could effect everyone's evaluation. I didn't want to be the wet blanket, but I casually tried to suggest that we should each do our own tomato concassée, and I noticed that Dao was vigorously nodding in agreement with a worried look on her face.

In the end it didn't matter, because while the Korean lady chef normally wouldn't have given it much thought, a new chef was joining our group to observe. Before he came into the room, our chef warned us to be on our best behavior and quickly cut down the teamwork plan. I thought that my concassée was quite good, but my sea bream lacked enough lemon juice--I wouldn't know otherwise because I couldn't bring myself to taste the raw fish. Throwing all of my fish into the trash, I wolfed down the rest of my little galette before heading home.

Wednesday

Back to that whole perpetual state of nervousness thing--one of the many contributing factors is the question of which chef will greet us in our practicals because it will set the mood for the next three hours. So when I asked, "Do you know who the chef is?" as I joined my pastry group Wednesday evening and a student whispered, "Jordan!" I thought for a moment that he was pulling my leg... because that's actually a really good prank to pull on someone. It wasn't a joke, unfortunately, but Chef Jordan seemed in a much better mood than our first encounter with the Bavarois. That's not to say that he was smiling or being friendly, but he wasn't exactly scowling and calling people stupid, either.

My cake came out just fine, but my vanilla cream had issues--it was edible but a little too heavy. Chef also stated that my cake wasn't imbibed enough although I wasn't sure how it could have held any more syrup--I could actually squeeze liquid out of it. He didn't make any positive comments but I heard him giving them to other classmates which was a welcome change from the last time. For his closing speech he said, "All the cakes tonight were good and everyone got good marks... almost everyone got good marks," and I caught the quick glance in my direction. Oh well... he's kind of like the Simon Cowell of patisserie--nobody likes him but a positive remark is like getting a standing ovation (or I'll have to assume that's the feeling for now).

Thursday

Our only class of the day was a morning demonstration on the Loire Valley cuisine with Chef Caals. In it he made a warm salad with lightly smoked pike perch, rabbit tournedos with prunes, potatoes with cheese, and anjou-style choux fritters with orange cream (again, a dessert that far exceeded the ones in our pastry practicums). The rabbit wasn't half as terrifying as it was when Chef Lesourd introduced it to us in basic--we have handled much worse items in the days since then--but former intermediate students claim that it is the most difficult exam dish. Indeed, Caals spent the first half hour of class just preparing the rabbit which in student terms translates to at least an hour. Unlike the rabbit in basic, this one needed to be carefully deboned prior to cooking in order to stuff it. Still, it didn't look that hard...

Warm salad with smoked pike perch; Rabbit tournedos & cheesy potatoes;
Anjous-style choux fritters with orange cream

On my way home I stopped off to get the groceries that I always have to have in stock--apples, butter, eggs, and a baguette. Not having bought anything for a a few days and having a lot of free time on my hands, I pulled up my budget spreadsheet when I got home to enter my purchases and do the regular check of my bank account, credit card, and cash on hand. The last item came up exactly 20€ short. I've come up short before on my expenses and usually figure it out quickly or in rare cases for small amounts mark it up as a forgotten purchase; this time, however, panic suddenly hit me with a strong sense of déjà-vu. The week before I had marked a 20€ shortage thinking that the ATM must have given me the wrong amount, and the week before that I had marked a 20€ shortage thinking that I didn't get my change back from a restaurant. My first thought was that I was losing my mind--maybe sleepwalking at night and spending money at best and completely losing my memory at worst. I even looked around the studio a few times to see if there were any new items sitting about. It was probably the closest I've come to a complete meltdown since I arrived in Paris--even more than when someone stole my flash drive with all of my life's information on it.

After regaining some of my composure I finally decided that I was (mostly) sane and that someone must be taking the money from my locker at school--the only place where my purse is not with me. A pickpocket was out of the question--if someone could manage to get in my purse and get out my wallet and take only a 20 while leaving the rest of the money, and do that every week... well, he probably deserves the money for such brilliance. My first course of action, thinking that my lock was compromised, would be to get a new padlock and report the theft to student services in the morning.

That evening I watched an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 because it never fails to make me laugh out loud and I figured that I could use it. Within the first minute it reminded me of a couple of friends, so I recorded the scene and texted it to them. Soon we were having a three-way conversation that had me smiling and feeling better than watching any TV show could ever accomplish. Sometime during that conversation one of my friends deposited $100 into my PayPal account, and before the night was over someone else deposited the same amount into my bank account. While it didn't completely relieve the anxiety over the locker mystery, it made me stop and thank God for all the wonderful people that he has put into my life--not just the ones who help me financially, but those who pray for me and encourage me--a treasure that far outweighs stolen money. My last tears for the day were only those of gratitude.

Friday

I didn't have a class until 3:30 but our mid-term evaluation meeting for pastry began at 12:30 so I left early to buy a lock and talk to student services. The only place that I could think of to look for a padlock was at a key shop (how I miss Walmart). The clerk ripped me off by charging 10€ for a lock that couldn't have been more than 5€--he replied too quickly when I asked the price, took only cash, and just handed me the lock without a receipt--but I was in too big a hurry to install the new lock before something more important was stolen to quibble with him.

As I tried to put the lock on my locker I related my story to a classmate a few lockers down. She watched my frustration with the padlock not fitting and said, "You're doing it wrong--look," and proceeded to demonstrate how to properly put it on. Suddenly an idea hit me--I put on the old padlock the wrong way as I had been doing it for the past six weeks and tried turning the lock handle. Sure enough, it rotated just enough to get the door open. Apparently the thief had noticed my error a few weeks ago and was using my locker as her personal ATM, taking just one bill each week in the hopes that I wouldn't notice. I felt a mix of anger for being violated and relief that the perp hadn't decided to go for something more expensive like my knife kit, uniforms, or my entire wallet. My next step was to report it to student services who said, as I guessed they would, that the couldn't do anything about it.

Chef Tranchant had just returned from vacation and was in charge of delivering the grades to us. When I say, "deliver," I mean that when I entered the room he sat watching me as the translator handed me the grade breakdown and asked if I had any questions (I did not). After about 30 seconds I thanked them and left. My grade was 3.316, below the group average of 3.443 but better than what I expected. Out of the ten practicums graded, I remembered only two or three that went well, but this grade was definitely in the "safe" zone for passing practicum. Only the final exam hangs in the balance.

A few classmates and I headed to the cheap Chinese restaurant and then to Starbucks to fill in the gap before our 3:30 demonstration. [In case you're wondering, yes, their caramel maccchiato IS as good in France as in America.] I had been looking forward to this class ever since we got our recipe folders--savory petit-fours. After five weeks of being up to our elbows in chocolates, creams, and syrups, "savory"sounded fabulous. Starting with an inverted puff pastry dough, Tranchant made little pizzas, cheese straws, and pastries stuffed with chorizo, meat pâté, sausage links (i.e., pigs in a blanket), and salmon and dill. As a bonus, the chorizo was actually a bit spicy--a rare treat in France.

Salmon palms; Pâté-filled pastries; Chorizo pastries;
Pigs in a blanket; Pizzas; Cheese straws

Saturday

The consequence of a slow week at school was that Saturday was the biggest schedule slam. We started at 12:30 making the rabbit tournedos with one of the nameless chefs that speaks only French. As he "helped" me debone my rabbit leg (he actually did the whole thing) he looked at me and said something about a chapeau. I gave him a puzzled look and repeated, "Chapeau?" while patting the one on my head... which actually wasn't there, nor was my hairnet--I had completely forgotten them. By the time I ran downstairs and came back he was almost finished.

Even with his assistance we didn't finish preparing our rabbits for over an hour. Apart from carefully deboning one leg and the saddles we still had to caramelize the bones for the sauce and make the stuffing--a mix of the meat from the other hind leg, chopped prunes, mushrooms, and parsley. The cheesy potatoes were simple at least--the assistants had put them in to bake at the start of class, so we had only to halve them, scrape out the centers, mix them with goat cheese, butter, and scallions, and rebake them in the skin. We could hear the next class waiting outside for us to finish and even the dishwashers were telling us to hurry. I finished my plate by 3:20 (on the exam that would be 20 minutes late--a deduction of 40 percentage points), but the chef said that all of it was good--the meat, stuffing, potatoes, and sauce--so I just need to work on speed.

Most of our group arrived to class about five minutes late but Chef Caals let it slide under the circumstances. He was focusing on the Provence region of France, a southern coastal region, so he of course introduced seafood recipes. The starter was a baby calamari salad, the main course was Mediterranean Scorpion fish and John Dory fillets in Provençal fish stew, and dessert was a Menton lemon and candied orange tart.

Baby calamari salad; Fish stew; Menton lemon & candied orange tart

Chef Olivier joined us in our pastry practicum to make the savory puff pastries. The inverted puff pastry dough was actually easier to work with than the regular one that we did in basic. A regular puff pastry is made by folding dry butter into a dry dough; an inverted puff pastry is made by kneading flour into the dry butter and layering a wet dough on top of it before doing the turns. After making our dough we divided it into four and made the cheese straws, pigs-in-a-blanket, chorizo-stuffed pastries, and pâte-filled pastries. Olivier declared that everyone did a good job and sent us on our way. These pastries won out over the rabbit as my 9:00 PM dinner of choice.

--------------------------

Reflecting back over the week, the hardest lessons that I learned were on love and forgiveness. While I certainly experienced love from others, if I'm honest, that was not my spirit when I thought about the girl who has been stealing from me. There was no love in my heart for her--as a matter of fact, for a couple of days I entertained visions of me catching her and slamming her face into the locker and then shutting the door repeatedly on her head. These imaginings would make me feel better only temporarily, which is I guess how hatred and bitterness work. They may offer some temporary consolation, especially if you can get other people on your side, but they just feed and grow off of such thinking. And why do I feel so angry? If this happened to anyone else but me I'd be sympathetic towards that person but I wouldn't feel that same level of hatred towards the thief. It's a proud and selfish reaction--that because I was the victim it's somehow worse.

I finally had to remind myself that my sins are just as terrible in God's eyes, including the sin of hatred, yet He forgave me when I asked--sent His Son to die for those sins. The girl stealing from me is a soul that will one day be in hell if she doesn't find the way to Christ. I couldn't wish that on anyone, but loving her still doesn't come naturally. I can't say that I'm quite there yet, but I am forcing myself to add her to  my prayers each day--no longer in the context that she'll return my money, but that she'll come to know Christ somehow--and it has helped to bring peace.

John 3:16-18: "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God."

Intermediate Week Five

I have a confession to make: I don't really care for French cuisine. This realization hit me this week while looking back over all of the dishes that we've made so far. Not that I find everything to be repulsive--it's what I've been living on for four months--but given the choice I might order maybe one or two of the items in a restaurant, and more likely avoid the restaurant all together if those were the only menu options. French pastry and I get along a little better although the spongy, somewhat bland cakes covered in various forms of cream can get a little boring (they have no concept of cream cheese frosting). The French have admittedly got some things right, such as the liberal use of butter and fried eggs, and their bread is always amazing, but I'm beginning to understand why French cuisine hasn't taken off in the States where so many others have succeeded.

That's not to say that this whole experience has been a waste of time or that I plan on subjugating the rest of my life to making food that I don't love. The most important thing that I'm learning is technique, and the proper fusion of French with southern cuisine could prove amazing... just as long as that fusion doesn't involve fish mousse or aspic jellies.

Monday

The week began at 8:30 AM with Chef Poupard making marinated sardine fillets as the appetizer, lamb fillet  and peppermint jus with potato "noisettes" and a vegetable tian (cooked spinach, tomatoes, and onions) as the main course, and a Parisian-style frozen nougat for dessert. To say that I was excited that we'd be making real vegetables (as opposed to potatoes) for a change would be an understatement.

Marinated sardine fillets (with Poupard's signature right angle);
Lamb fillet with vegetable tian;
Parisian-style frozen nougat

The practicum to make the lamb fillet followed after lunch. It was quite possibly the best dish that we've made so far--one that I truly liked. Aside from the tasty vegetables, the meat was great--and that's saying a lot because the only meats that tend to excite me are hamburgers and barbecue. The dish was also incredibly quick and simple to prepare--the meat had only to be cut off the bone and the potatoes were formed with a melon baller--meaning that we shouldn't expect to do this one on the final exam. It lacks the fun technical stuff like cleaning an animal or turning a vegetable.

Tuesday

The morning cuisine demonstration with Chef Caals centered on the central Berry region. Like the rest of France, it has the puzzling propensity for making dishes with forcemeat, so Chef began with the Easter pâté--a pie filled with pork jowl, fatback, and veal. The more exciting dish was the the coq en barbouille, more commonly known as coq au vin. We had to settle for chicken rather than rooster and chef mercifully thickened the sauce with potato starch rather than pig blood as the recipe called for. He finished the demonstration with a pear and walnut tart. The addition of black peppercorns to the pears seemed a bit odd, but the end result was amazing.

Easter pâté; Coq en barbouille; Pear & walnut tart

The semester's Intermediate Cuisine and Grand Diplome lunch followed the demonstration at Le Petit Bordelais. Remembering my sadly casual attire that stuck out like a sore thumb at the Basic lunch, I had set out a dress and heels at my studio to change into beforehand, but we didn't get out of class until 11:30.  The instructions were to be at the restaurant no later than 12:00 because we would begin eating "promptly" at 12:30. Most students had brought their clothes to the school to change into, so I booked it home and threw on my dress before running to the metro.

By 12:15 I arrived at the address only to find a locked door and no other students anywhere in sight. The street was a small one, so I walked all the way up it and back down, thinking that maybe I had the wrong building number (I couldn't remember the name of the restaurant) or that I had been shut out for being late. The lunch was a requirement, so I broke into a sweat of panic (plus it was kind of hot) as I realized that I didn't have any phone numbers for the school or my classmates. Walking the length of the street again, I turned around to head home when I recognized three classmates approaching the locked door. As it turns out, I was the first person to arrive--before any other students, any of our hosting chefs, and any student service organizers--because in Paris 15 minutes late is still too early.

The rest of the group slowly trickled in while I got to know my other early-arrival table mates--two of the only French students that I've met at the school and a nineteen-year-old kid from the States whose whole family became expats to France. We had the "tasting menu" which consisted of cod with guacamole, turbot with tomato confit, celery root puree, and tonka beans, Bresse chicken with carrots, and a Napoleon mille-feuille for dessert. The meal began with an aperitif and each course came with a different wine so that by the time dessert arrived I was the only sober person in the room. The meal was disappointing--not as good as our basic lunch on the Seine River boat--but the three bones that I found in my Turbot fillet made me feel a little better about the number that I tend to miss in my practicums.

Wednesday

The coq au vin practicum began at 8:30 AM and finished by 10:30 AM--of all our dishes it required the least amount of preparation because the chicken was pre-cut and sitting in the marinade for the past 24 hours. Mid-semester evaluations with the chef were at 12:30, so I took my food home for a quick brunch before heading back to school.

Most of my group decided to skip evaluations altogether, and when I arrived at the school only two people were ahead of me. Unfortunately, one of those people was Brian. Brian is a nice kid from China who did his basic certificate about two years ago before coming back this semester. His problem is that he asks more questions than a three-year-old child to the point that chefs and translators roll their eyes and students audibly groan and develop almost a mob-like mentality whenever he raises his hand. The questions aren't necessarily dumb, but usually they're irrelevant and time-consuming.

Brian went into the meeting immediately before me as I stood outside and waited... 30 minutes. A normal meeting takes five minutes. When he finally left and I went in, both Chef Poupard and the translator were laughing and shaking their heads. My grade was less hilarious--3.31 out of 5--passing, but below the class average of 3.33. Poupard pointed out my weakest areas of presentation and organization, but when I replied, "Yes, I'm always last," he just shrugged and said, "Someone is always last and someone is always first--you shouldn't let that bother you."

I still had over two hours before my next class. I again made the trip home and back before going to our pastry demonstration on milk chocolates. Chef Cotte showed us the art of tempering the chocolate and used it to make muscadines, rochers, pralinés, and mendiants. Except for the mendiants, all of the candy fillings were some combination of mostly chocolate and hazelnut praliné (similar to Nutella), but the rochers were my favorite--they contained crispy feuilletine made from crushed Gavotte crepes. Anyone who's had Ferrero Rocher will understand.

Muscadine; Rochers; Pralinés; Mendiants

In the pastry practicum that followed we were making only the muscadine and praliné chocolates. While we waited outside the kitchen classroom Chef Jordan (a.k.a., mean chef) walked by and we all exchanged looks that said, "Oh, please, no." The last thing that anyone wanted to attempt with Jordan was chocolate tempering, so when sweet old Chef Walter came up a minute later he actually received some applause and I had to resist the urge to hug him. He ended up doing most of the work for me by "helping" with everything, and my chocolate come out perfectly. I also finished really early. Perhaps I should have been insulted when a classmate sounded overly surprised as she exclaimed, "You're finished so early!" or when Chef declared my chocolates to be the prettiest and people gasped and clapped, but I kind of beamed the whole way home. Chef's doing or not, the grade could only help the terrifying mid-semester evaluation in pastry next week.

My (slightly chef-assisted) muscadines and pralinés

Thursday

Chef Poupard began our morning by making asparagus in a puff pastry with a mushroom flan. He followed it with braised lamb chops and leek cannelloni (leek stuffed with mashed potatoes), ending with chocolate fondant and pistachio ice cream for dessert. Surprising us all, he spent no time talking about the Île-de-France region, probably because we were living in it and its cuisine tends to be a melange of all of French regions. The asparagus was wonderful--just the smell of it cooking had my mouth watering all through class.

Asparagus puff pastry and mushroom flan
Lamb chops and leek cannelloni
Chocolate fondant and pistachio ice cream

Our next class was the cuisine practicum but it didn't being until 6:30 PM. I used my free afternoon to visit Dehillerin and buy long tweezers (good for the delicate placement of food on a plate), a triangle scraper (good for tabling chocolate), and kitchen scissors after someone took mine earlier in the week (the school sold them for 22€; Dehillerin had some for less than 6€). Back at the school, we got through the lamb chops in practicum quickly--another dish far too easy to be on the final exam.

Friday

The next morning we had our pastry practicum with Chef Olivier, back from his vacation in India and acting unusually chipper. He cranked out six Douceur Chocolat (Heavenly Chocolate) cakes--a hazelnut dacquoise sponge cake covered in the crispy rocher filling and then topped with chocolate mousse, a milk chocolate disk, more chocolate mousse, and another chocolate disk. It had well earned its name.

Douceur Chocolat

I looked forward to the practicum afterwards to prove to myself that I could temper chocolate without the help of the chef. We had Chef Pascal--someone who terrified me the first time that I had him but then kind of grew on me later--for the first time since we were in basic pastry. My half of the room, usually the slower ones, got a head start when the other half of the room discovered that someone had poured salt into their bowl of sugar and they all had to remake their dacquoise. The chocolate tempering went well, too--mine wasn't as shiny as Chef Olivier's--but Pascal's only critique of my cake was that the disk layers were too thick. The rocher filling was by far the best part. I saved what I had left over and another student gave me hers, and then I ate it for breakfast the next morning with a spoon. Vive la France!

My thick-disk Douceur Chocolat

After the practicum we joined the other cuisine students in a demonstration with Chef Caals on the Champagne region. While I absolutely loved the leek and Chaource cheese tart starter, the main course combined two of the things that I hate the most about French cuisine (after aspic jelly): vegetable flans and fish mousseline. The sole fillet was stuffed with pureed whiting fillet and the flan was made of oyster mushrooms, creating something that had a nasty texture, disgusting color, and bland flavor. The madeleines for dessert were nice and the Champagne sorbet finished too late for the tasting.

Leek and Chaource cheese tart;
Sole fillet and whiting mousseline paupiettes with mushroom flan;
Champagne sorbet and madeleines

Saturday

Our cuisine practicum was the only class of the day but didn't begin until 6:30 PM. Chef had three practicums that day and was as anxious as we were to get out quickly. I was the cuisine assistant all week which up to this point hadn't been too difficult. When I picked up our class food trays from the basement kitchen, however, I noticed that we were missing the whiting fillet, we had turbot fish instead of sole, and the principal sauce ingredient, Champagne, was missing. The basement kitchen chef said that our chef had it, but when I ran up the three flights of stairs to the classroom, our chef insisted that I needed to recheck the refrigerator in the basement.

Meanwhile, our chef managed to switch out the turbot for cod, splitting it with the class next door who was doing the same dish and having the same issues of missing ingredients. Returning to the basement, I searched in vain for the missing box of ingredients until both chefs from upstairs joined me and found it in another refrigerator (to which students don't have access). Running up the stairs again I finally joined the rest of my group, but when I went to get my cod, they were all gone. Our chef had miscounted and given mine to the class next door. Some classmates offered to share some of their fillets, but this recipe is an exam dish and I knew that if I didn't practice filleting the fish myself I would definitely pull it on exam day. For the third time in the first half-hour I made the trip down to the basement and back up again, cod in hand.

Fortunately I was able to clean my fish in record time--Chef Caals showed us a nifty little trick for quickly ripping off all of the skin by hand--and I finished everything last as usual, but not as far behind as I thought that I would. It helped that we shared the preparation of the flan and mousseline--as we do with most recipes that involve using the classroom's one food processor or blender--although the other assistant threw away all of the leftover flans before I plated. The flans were terrible anyhow--overcooked in addition to being just a gross recipe--and nobody wanted to take them home, so someone whom the chef had just evaluated handed me her flan to finish my plate.

That evening while most Parisians that I passed on my way home were bundled in jackets and scarves and the outdoor seating areas were empty, I wore a t-shirt and savored the lovely breeze from the cold front blowing in, a beautiful relief from the steamy, sweaty kitchen. Sunday morning dawned cold and cloudy, and on my walk from the metro station to the church I caught a scent for the first time--fall. Saint-Denis has more trees than Paris, and the sidewalks were littered with damp, rotting leaves. It was... lovely.