Today is the 13th, which means that there is only two more months left of school left. That went quick. This wasn’t the first thought that passed through my mind this morning as I awoke, my thoughts were much more depressing, horrifying, and ironic, my thoughts were, “Oh my God! I’m Helen Keller.” Somehow, during the night, because of my illness, my eyes sealed shut. I couldn’t open them. It was horrifying. Not only did I feel like America’s favorite blind, deaf, and dumb communist, I felt like a kitten with an eye infection.
Stumbling towards the bathroom, I rubbed my eyes with a hot towel until I could see again. After confirming that I wasn’t going blind, I looked into the mirror and jumped back. My eyes were bloodshot, half shut, awful-looking really. I looked like a druggy, but I knew that couldn’t be the case. I don’t believe in drugs, just jokes and references based on drugs. I mean, I believe that they are real and some of them can be used for medicinal purposes, but for the most part they seem like a waste of time. Unless of course you are working on becoming a celebrity, then I must whole-heartedly welcome the idea of illegal drug overdoses. You are not a celebrity until you’ve had your stomach pumped at Mt. Sinai, gone to Promises Rehab clinic, and then share your heart-wrenching story on TV, hopefully Oprah or Ellen, if you have to, Rachel Ray. Anyway, my eyes were gross.
The Metro ride was very nice today, there were seats on every train, so, I was lucky enough to sit for the entire journey! Joy! When I got to the Pasteur station, they had to check our tickets, it was fun to watch them round up the hobos and other lawbreaking hooligans…
I got to school in plenty of time and got changed quickly. I talked with some of my acquaintances in the Winter Garden and together we all headed upstairs. Usually school is in this awkward level halfway between the basement and the first floor. It is a bizarre space. But today, to my complete delight was in a room on the second floor with windows that face the sun. It was so nice to be able to look outside at the pigeons flocking about as the clouds lazily wafted over Paris. I realize now that this must be something psychological. Some irritation occurred though, there is this one girl who never listens or stops talking. She asks so many questions to the translator and the chef and those around her about such simple things that have been explained twenty times. She drives me insane. She also has an alcohol issue, she refuses to touch it. We all kind of laugh at her.
Then, like a dramatic moment in a cheesy soap opera, not Passions, because that was genius, the doors burst open and the Brazilians burst in with cameras blazing. YES! Today was one of the TV days! I immediately started to look more interested and studious so that I would get a good profile shot, but they were more interested in the actual cooking. Oh well…
After the demonstration, I headed to the practical class early and got myself organized, which really did help a lot. It is probably why I love prep bowls so much. Organization at the beginning makes cooking easy and not at all stressful. Anyway, Chef wasn’t there today, it was an older man who isn’t a chef at the school. He works there often, but he’s not an official teacher. He was fantastic, I really enjoyed the practical with him.
Anyway, we were making madeleines which are small, shell shaped cakes. They taste of lemon and are quite delicious. Nobody was doing it like Chef had demonstrated earlier. We were supposed to boil all of the wet ingredients, aside from eggs, and then add it to the batter. But nobody did that aside from just melt their butter, so I did it too, wrong. It all worked out alright, but it was just bizarre. I couldn’t have been the only one confused by the errors of the others, but whatever, they were still delicious.
Now it was time to make…wait for it…fruitcake. Fruitcake! The most disgusted food in all of America! I was wondering just how many of these suckers sell, but it was still easy to make. I always love being the one in a class who asks a question to the teacher, and then they do it for you as an example for the class. That happened with my butter today which I had to cream. Chef did it for me, then I became the butter creaming God. Everybody was asking me if theirs looked alright and how you do it. It was delightful doling out orders. And, I was like the first one today, suck it classmates who were bragging yesterday!
Candied fruit is truly vile and does not taste like candy at all. I also have two new Asian friends. They don’t speak English and I don’t speak Korean, so we talk to each other in broken French. It is very bizarre having to communicate like this, but it is kind of fun. And, I have a new irrational mortal enemy. It’s no longer the hippie.
Then as I was washing my dishes, the soap opera started again! The Brazilians were back! I dashed back to my food and looked super intelligent and adorable and friendly. The Asians and I chatted and laughed as the camera rolled. I made sure that nothing was blocking me from the camera, and I must say was rather successful in throwing myself in almost all of the scenes. I also made sure that my name badge was prominent. So, soon, in countries all over South America, I will be popping up all over their television screens! Celebrity will follow soon when I’m offered my position on Big Brother Brazilia!
When everything was out of the oven, the Chef judged our foods. He really liked my madeleines, and why wouldn’t he? The cake rose a bit too much, but that was out of my control. He was very positive about it all.
One of the Asian girls always wants to trade one of her things for one of mine and the other Asian girl’s. I think it must be a custom, because they both eat them very quickly and exclaim how delightful they are, so I did the same thing. I felt very cultural.
Then I went home. Actually, I went to Picard first, and made a fool of myself. I forgot basic French politeness and forgot to wish the shopkeepers a good evening when I walked in, so they think I’m a rude punk, but oh well. I didn’t like it there anyway. They didn’t have what I wanted, so I had to buy something different.
As I walked home, I realized I needed to find a friendly hobo to give my cooking to. I’m not going to eat but a small bit of it and the rest of it will be thrown away. It feels such a waste when I have been a crusader for world hunger, since yesterday. I would give it to the cat lady at the Galeries-Lafayette, but they are so far away. I would give it to the hobos near here, but then they might harass me, and I have no upper body strength. So now, it just goes to waste.
I need to take out the garbage…my chicken for dinner was weird, night.
Oh. I only have a two hour demonstration tomorrow! Four day weekend!
Some of the kids in my class have such weird names. When you see them with Latin letters and not Asian symbols, they look like Wan-Ting and Yer-In, say them out laud and try not to laugh.