07 Cooking: Bitchin’ in the Kitchen/People Soup
We line up for the student meal.
The knives truly come out after a few days. We have a few students who insist on instructing others—true fonts of un-requested advice and correction. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. You haven’t lived until you’ve been busted by a Kitchen Nazi—I got it (rightfully) for not carrying my knife point down—a dumb move; fortunately I’m ignorant, not stupid. But free advice can be mighty unwelcome: it takes some longer than others to understand that unsolicited advice from someone who knows little more than you do is just plain annoying. The worst part is, sometimes it’s GOOD advice, but you become deaf to it because—well, if these people are in a beginning cooking class, why should you listen to them? Aren’t they there to learn too? Could they secretly be scouts for Iron Chef? How’s my hair?
Most students are hard workers who will pick up any job, no matter how messy—earning the respect and gratitude of others. Others, alas, have earned the sobriquets “Kitchen Barbie” and “debutante” (yes, that CAN be a guy) and their names are included in the phrase “Where’s …?”, always followed by an eye roll and derisive snort. This is the big kitchen Zen lesson, since it’s all about helping each other. There’s no squeaking by in the confines of the big gray rom—EVERYBODY notices if you take frequent breaks, disappear, or don’t dive into the gross bits. And there are always gross bits, more than you’d ever suspect.
We’ve begun having student meals prepared by members of our class, which are close to heaven—just a few bucks for some decent-to-great chow and a variety of sinful desserts from the pastry people. Everyone is going to be on that station eventually, so what used to be complaints about “too much salt, not enough thyme” has turned into finding what’s right about the meals—what goes around etc. In this little hive, all the bees have stingers, but we can make some powerful honey, too.