Culinary School

these guys are confused and concerned.

Not much to comment on. I'm finally going back to work after my nearly week long hiatus. I can finally stop pretending to be a cook. I'm trying to write my application essay for culinary school. This paragraph didn't make the cut:

Rafael, the chef de partie, my first real culinary mentor and source of all my stress and anxiety at the kitchen where I work, said it more poetically through his thick south-mexican accent than Brillat-Savarin ever could have, "If I could not work with food, I would die of sadness." It was causally spoken without great thought or intention and might have been heard by no one other than myself, but this was the first time I ever felt connected to my coworkers. How could I? I had yet to prepare a dish without almost constant supervision, my knives were often dull and improperly honed, my battonet's too small, my julienne too big and all of them inconsistent and these were seasoned pros. I was, and still am, green as any blanched vegetable and clumsy and awkward at best in the kitchen. But Rafael might as well have been speaking for the entire culinary team with his accuracy and conciseness that somehow explained our devotion to a job that paid poorly, consisted of long and odd hours and lead others to search for a history of mental illness in the family. I knew I was at home.

Steph thought, and I agree, it's good but not something that admissions boards would take particular delight in and I need to realize I'm not Bourdain. :-P I still like it but need to tone it down. In other news, I'm about half way through Kitchen Confidential and it's really good. I highly recommend. Someone buy me a copy the The Silver Spoon for the holidays!