Day One

The first day of my quest for chefdom was filled with information. Primarily, I was lectured about rules, regulations and expectations. The delivery of this ordinary and predictable information, however, was new and exciting. You see, me and my eleven classmates were lectured by the Head of Everything. This guy is way cooler than your typical human resources representative. As soon he opened his mouth, we could tell that not only was he the Head of Everything, but he was the Real Thing. Spectacles, check. French accent, check. Grey hair, check. Slight ego, check. Positively charming, check. Basically, you want him to love you. I got the feeling he despises a kiss ass. Ugh – one of my best skills is out of play.

He explained what we must know to successfully complete the program. “Rhemembur, zee furst time you make a meestake, you shuood hav asked bettur direcshuns. Eff you make zee same meestake again, you are zimply neglijhaht.” So true. Love him. After he said that it became clear to me that to become a chef, it is going take a tremendous amount of focus and good old fashioned hard, hard work.

My classmates seemed to be diverse in background. There was one extremely Strange Agent, but thankfully this person is in the pastry section so I won’t have to judge her (or him) daily. Judging is my favorite bad habit.

All of us students pretended to be shy today. I hope to have better stories tomorrow after they give us knives and someone unsuccessfully tries to show off. I guess that’s not funny. Given I am the world’s numero uno klutz, I hope I’m not the first of the group to suffer a cutlery mishap. “Zee furst drehssing is on us,” the Head of Everything explained, “aftur zhat, you will bandhage your khuts yourzelf.” The fact I’ve accepted my fingers will be susceptible to amputation every day is insane. Oh well. The Head of Everything stated multiple times today, “All schefs are chrayzhee.”

The most thrilling part of the day was receiving my uniform. Since I’m attending a French culinary school, we’re required to wear the traditional neckerchief. It’s an old school accessory, intended to catch sweat droplets and protect our sensitive necks from extreme temperature changes (think 125 degree grill line to 25 degree freezer in five seconds). It is tied exactly like a men’s neck tie and it is damn cute. Not quite as cute as my black and white check pants, however. And so it begins…….