It sure feels surreal to step on the speedy river raft of a Life Dream. When you fantasize about something for so many years--decades, even--it's weird to start experiencing the real-life details that accompany the dream. Fluorescent lights. Combination locks. Attendance.
The first week of culinary school was a heaping platter of details. We survived a four-day onslaught of information about the school's program and individual instructor expectations. Being in a cohort-style group, the 26 of us managed not to get lost by more or less shuffling around together from place to place.
Seattle Culinary Academy's program itself is brilliantly organized, and it runs like a well-oiled machine. The whole system must have taken years to perfect. I wish I could draw you a diagram of how it all works--it's that cool. Anyway, as first-quarter students, we'll rotate through many experiences during these next weeks, both in our own kitchen and those of the more advanced students.
Some days I'll be in our 1st quarter kitchen doing prep for SCA student lunches, other days I'll be in the galley washing pots, and others I'll bus tables in the school's two restaurants (for which the more advanced students cook). On other rotation days, I'll visit the advanced students' kitchens, and they'll give me something innocuous to do while I observe them in action, making me both useful and able to absorb what's to come.
The teachers themselves seem amazing, too. I'll likely be telling more about them as the weeks and quarters pass. Chef Gregg Shiosaki, the one who teaches us the bulk of our first quarter theory and practicum, comes from a well-rounded professional background and obviously holds high standards for himself and us. I reckon this is the kind of chef you want teaching the new lot--a teacher that people want to work hard for. On the first or second day he told us that we should walk with purpose and pride when we are in the kitchen. When we cook, we hold ourselves accountable, and we present what we have prepared with pride, not carelessness.
Here's something I liked from his knife demonstration yesterday. It's about onion slices versus julienned onions (example pictured above). During the demonstration Chef Gregg was showing us sliced and julienned onions. To explain the different cuts, I'll pretend the onion's a globe, with north and south poles. If half an onion lies north/south on a cutting board, flat side down, then onion slices are cut through the "lines of latitude," east to west, basically making half onion rings. Julienned onions are cut north to south, like lines of longitude, or time zones. Julienned onions require angled cutting near the cutting board to create consistent shapes. In the picture above, the slices are on the left and the juliennes are on the right.
So, why do we care about the difference between slices and julienne cuts for onions? When you cut slices, you have cut against the grain of the onion, which makes them easier to break down easily in soups, and also makes them easier to eat in salads; julienned onions, since they are sliced along the fiber lines, would be more stringy and less easy to eat raw in salad. Sometimes you want your onions to retain their form in certain cooked dishes, though, such as a stir fry. So juliennes are better for that.
On some level I must have known all of this and how the onion fibers affect different cut types. It's common sense, right? Chef Gregg reminds us to use our common sense quite a bit. Still, though, this small fact has filled me with geeky glee today. It's the sort of "Ah ha!" that I've been hoping will fill my next 7 quarters.