For the past few days, crazy Chef Weber has been calling my class his "angels". To the casual outsider, this might seem to be a term of endearment, as though Chef didn't want to throw knives at us on a daily basis. Perhaps tourists thought he enjoyed spending all day, every day with us, or that he is exceedingly religious. Maybe they thought he just really enjoys Charlie's Angels... Whatever they think, it's probably not that this new nickname originated a few days ago on Halloween, when Chef told us he thought the perfect costume for our class would be angels.
"Nobody woold eeever recognize you!"
This was the same lecture that he also informed us of his escape plan, should he ever be sent to jail.
I'm not sure why he decided he needed to let us know of his plans, maybe to reinforce our fear that no matter what, even if he gets sent to JAIL, we will never be free from him... I feel like a good time to mention this might have been last week on Day 1 when he professed his love for throwing knives at his students, but as I didn't feel like being the example of his throwing skills, I didn't say anything.
The most concerning part of this rant was not actually that he had an escape plan, but that he has multiple! I think he's actually concerned about being thrown in jail! "Eef zat plan does not work, I ave Plan B. And zen Plan C. But Plan A is ze best." It usually is, that's why it's chosen as Plan A...
"But do not werry, my angels, I don't exxxpect you to elp me escape from jail. I do not rely on ze American monkeys..."
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
The Calling Card
Tonight was Laundry Night in room 326 of Angell Hall, and at the Culinary Institute of America, that involves playing with toxic chemicals that have labels specifically advising against mixing them. Despite these clear warnings from companies like Oxyclean and Clorox, mixing whitening agents is the closest thing to a school sport that the CIA has. Students all have their own combinations that they swear will make their chef whites whiter and remove more stains than any other. There is a well-known process for bleaching your whites, involving putting your concoction of whitening agents in a bucket, filling it with water in your room's shower, shoving your jackets in to soak, then taking them to the laundry room to wash. It's a very simple procedure (assuming you don't make a mix of chemicals that will set your room on fire or inebriate everyone on your floor), and most "American monkeys" can probably handle it.
That being said, I blame the bleach fumes entirely for what transpired tonight.
All was going well as my roommate Arbil (Babs) and I filled our bucket and soaked our jackets and aprons. It wasn't until we decided that instead of just pouring out the bleach, water, Oxyclean, and dish soap, then taking the bucket of wet whites downstairs to wash, we would instead prove every ditzy, teenage girl stereotype correct.
We put the wet, bleach soaked whites into Babs' mesh laundry bag, then proceeded to drag it down the hall, into the elevator, down 4 floors, down another hall, and into the laundry room.
Once there, we realized we had neglected to look online to make sure there was actually a washing machine available.. We stood there for a minute contemplating what to do with our dripping bag of whites and no free washer, when lucky for us, no less than 7 people walked in to move their laundry into a drier, all noticing the growing puddle on the floor around our laundry.
After putting our whites into a machine and congratulating ourselves on an accomplished, mature adult laundry session, we started walking back to our room. It didn't take long to notice the very obvious snail slime trail of bleach that ran the entire length of the hall and disappeared into the elevator. After running up the stairs and back to our floor, we were dismayed (though not surprised) to find the bleach trail emerging from the elevator and leading directly to our door.
In continuation of the general "mature adult" theme of the night, we decided to hide in our room until we could figure out what to do.
No less than 5 minutes later, we heard a knock at our door, and I opened it to find one of the new friends we had made in the laundry room holding our forgotten detergent.
"I just followed your trail..."
Poor kid, just moved onto campus and this was his first experience with college laundry.. Must be rough.
We did eventually decide we had to do something about the incriminating trail of toxic fumes (mainly because the trail continued into our room and to the shower), so we took the swiffer and attempted to soak up the bleach. We succeeded more in just spreading the bleach from a swerving line about a food and a half wide to cover the entire width of the hallway, but in the end it dried quicker that way, and everyone assumed someone had drank entirely too much and puked their guts out, instead of just a completely innocent laundry night.
If Dr. Seuss has taught me anything, its that all stories must have a moral, and therefore, the moral of this one is that if you are ever in the need of friends, drag a bag-full of a bleach down the hall of your living complex and just wait for someone to show up.
It's the best calling card since the Joker.
That being said, I blame the bleach fumes entirely for what transpired tonight.
All was going well as my roommate Arbil (Babs) and I filled our bucket and soaked our jackets and aprons. It wasn't until we decided that instead of just pouring out the bleach, water, Oxyclean, and dish soap, then taking the bucket of wet whites downstairs to wash, we would instead prove every ditzy, teenage girl stereotype correct.
We put the wet, bleach soaked whites into Babs' mesh laundry bag, then proceeded to drag it down the hall, into the elevator, down 4 floors, down another hall, and into the laundry room.
Once there, we realized we had neglected to look online to make sure there was actually a washing machine available.. We stood there for a minute contemplating what to do with our dripping bag of whites and no free washer, when lucky for us, no less than 7 people walked in to move their laundry into a drier, all noticing the growing puddle on the floor around our laundry.
After putting our whites into a machine and congratulating ourselves on an accomplished, mature adult laundry session, we started walking back to our room. It didn't take long to notice the very obvious snail slime trail of bleach that ran the entire length of the hall and disappeared into the elevator. After running up the stairs and back to our floor, we were dismayed (though not surprised) to find the bleach trail emerging from the elevator and leading directly to our door.
In continuation of the general "mature adult" theme of the night, we decided to hide in our room until we could figure out what to do.
No less than 5 minutes later, we heard a knock at our door, and I opened it to find one of the new friends we had made in the laundry room holding our forgotten detergent.
"I just followed your trail..."
Poor kid, just moved onto campus and this was his first experience with college laundry.. Must be rough.
We did eventually decide we had to do something about the incriminating trail of toxic fumes (mainly because the trail continued into our room and to the shower), so we took the swiffer and attempted to soak up the bleach. We succeeded more in just spreading the bleach from a swerving line about a food and a half wide to cover the entire width of the hallway, but in the end it dried quicker that way, and everyone assumed someone had drank entirely too much and puked their guts out, instead of just a completely innocent laundry night.
If Dr. Seuss has taught me anything, its that all stories must have a moral, and therefore, the moral of this one is that if you are ever in the need of friends, drag a bag-full of a bleach down the hall of your living complex and just wait for someone to show up.
It's the best calling card since the Joker.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
30 Seconds
"Most of you have no talent."
Though I do generally appreciate criticism, this is not necessarily how I wanted to start the first day of a new class, at 5am, with a chef I'd only heard horror stories about. We are required to always acknowledge a chef whenever we come across one, though the collective "Good morning, Chef." from the class was a tad slower and more confused than usual...
"Zat being said, I weel try to teach you as much as you can pooosibly take. Probably about as mooch as a donkey."
I have had quite a few chefs with various accents since I've started school, but I've never been quite so relieved to not be able to understand half of what the little French man said. His accent was a wonderful buffer between what he wanted to say to the class of students he'd never met, and what that group of students was actually able to understand.
Though, good news, Chef was dedicated enough to his class to write the highlights of his introductory speech on the board:
do not email, I don't care entremet project
useless
toques under table inspections
will be dishwashers
American monkeys
rosemary and lemon
pvc molds no warnings
knives
Of all the...interesting... pieces of information shared during morning lecture, the part that stood out most to me (as well, I'm sure, to most of my classmates) was that little side-note of "knives".
When he wrote knives on the board, I immediately assumed he would start talking about OUR knives: not sharp enough, too sharp, how "American monkeys" shouldn't be allowed to have them, etc.
Nope.
"Theees ees my ferst block back from being soospended for throwing knives at ze students. Don't make me get soospended again."
Fantastico.
I'd never before been inadvertently threatened so many times before the sun came up. As the day progressed, it was interesting seeing how it would feel to work in an insane asylum that has been taken over by its patients. I could write the most wonderful Literature essay about Animal Farm, now that I've lived it. There was the tyrannical French pig, as well as the terrified farm animals, most of which went insane just a couple chapters in. And you can't forget those animal sacrifices... or in this case, very loud and public beratings.
"Captain Ook could ave made a better cake."
"If dees chocolate is anyteeng to go by, you weel grow up to be a garbage man."
"WHYYYY ARE DERE WATER MARKS IN DE SINK?!!"
The best part of my day was when 1:30pm finally rolled around after 2 hours of cleaning the kitchen, and class was finally over.
"You ave 30 seconds. Get out."
As if I wanted to hang around...
Though I do generally appreciate criticism, this is not necessarily how I wanted to start the first day of a new class, at 5am, with a chef I'd only heard horror stories about. We are required to always acknowledge a chef whenever we come across one, though the collective "Good morning, Chef." from the class was a tad slower and more confused than usual...
"Zat being said, I weel try to teach you as much as you can pooosibly take. Probably about as mooch as a donkey."
I have had quite a few chefs with various accents since I've started school, but I've never been quite so relieved to not be able to understand half of what the little French man said. His accent was a wonderful buffer between what he wanted to say to the class of students he'd never met, and what that group of students was actually able to understand.
Though, good news, Chef was dedicated enough to his class to write the highlights of his introductory speech on the board:
do not email, I don't care entremet project
useless
toques under table inspections
will be dishwashers
American monkeys
rosemary and lemon
pvc molds no warnings
knives
Of all the...interesting... pieces of information shared during morning lecture, the part that stood out most to me (as well, I'm sure, to most of my classmates) was that little side-note of "knives".
When he wrote knives on the board, I immediately assumed he would start talking about OUR knives: not sharp enough, too sharp, how "American monkeys" shouldn't be allowed to have them, etc.
Nope.
"Theees ees my ferst block back from being soospended for throwing knives at ze students. Don't make me get soospended again."
Fantastico.
I'd never before been inadvertently threatened so many times before the sun came up. As the day progressed, it was interesting seeing how it would feel to work in an insane asylum that has been taken over by its patients. I could write the most wonderful Literature essay about Animal Farm, now that I've lived it. There was the tyrannical French pig, as well as the terrified farm animals, most of which went insane just a couple chapters in. And you can't forget those animal sacrifices... or in this case, very loud and public beratings.
"Captain Ook could ave made a better cake."
"If dees chocolate is anyteeng to go by, you weel grow up to be a garbage man."
"WHYYYY ARE DERE WATER MARKS IN DE SINK?!!"
The best part of my day was when 1:30pm finally rolled around after 2 hours of cleaning the kitchen, and class was finally over.
"You ave 30 seconds. Get out."
As if I wanted to hang around...
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Bringin' It
"YOU LATE!"
I wasn't necessarily prepared to be suddenly accosted immediately upon walking into my Menu Development classroom for the first time this morning, especially considering I was 15 minutes early... I quickly scanned the room, hoping I didn't actually walk into the middle of a different lecture, and among the familiar faces of people I knew to be in my class, I found Professor Gaby. Professor is a short, portly man from Brazil, with a heavy accent, a comb-over, and absolutely no tan. I'm not generally one to talk about someone else being pale, as I'm pretty sure I show up on GoogleMaps, but seeing as Professor is from Brazil, I feel he has no excuse.
"Nahh, I just kid... How the heck are ya?!"
I didn't think "confused" would be a good first impression answer, so I responded with "Uhhh, good?" and hurried to the back row of the classroom, and as far away from the crazy Brazilian man as possible. Curiously enough, the first few rows of seats were empty...
As class started, we quickly learned the true eccentrics of Professor Gaby. During attendance call, he had no qualms about sharing his opinions.
"I said your name right? Really? I totally thought I said it wrong... It's weird."
"Where did you go on extern? Really? Why on EARTH would you choose that?!"
I was nervous about when he would get to me in the list, but thankfully, he stopped attendance at C because "I have A.D.D, depression, and various other deficiencies that make it hard for me to learn names anyway, so I don't really care." I don't know whether or not he can even remember his own name, as he spent the entire class referring to himself as "The Jungle Guru of Menu".
Professor Gaby then proceeded to jump onto the table at the front of the room and start singing Be Prepared from The Lion King as loud as his Brazilian lungs could go. About halfway through the second refrain, he suddenly stopped singing, declared he was bored, and got down from the table.
He then explained that his theatrics were actually a warning, that this class would be a lot of work, and that we all needed to be "bringiley". Professor continued to talk about this "bringiley", though only half was in English, and all of it was at a much faster pace than any normal human can understand. It wasn't until the 7th or 8th time Professor said we needed to be "bringiley" that I finally understood he was saying "Bringin' It."
"Bringin' It" is evidentially Professor Gaby's favorite phrase. Everything was "bringin' it", except for some restaurant in NYC that apparently he did NOT like and was "so NOT bringin' it."
I don't know if anyone in class actually knows what we talked about today, but we all are on the same page as far as agreeing with whatever Professor says, else feel the wrath of the Jungle Guru of Menu.
Being back at the CIA has everyone a little antsy about what this school year will bring, but if Professor Gaby is any indication, I think we have no choice but to be "Bringin' It."
I wasn't necessarily prepared to be suddenly accosted immediately upon walking into my Menu Development classroom for the first time this morning, especially considering I was 15 minutes early... I quickly scanned the room, hoping I didn't actually walk into the middle of a different lecture, and among the familiar faces of people I knew to be in my class, I found Professor Gaby. Professor is a short, portly man from Brazil, with a heavy accent, a comb-over, and absolutely no tan. I'm not generally one to talk about someone else being pale, as I'm pretty sure I show up on GoogleMaps, but seeing as Professor is from Brazil, I feel he has no excuse.
"Nahh, I just kid... How the heck are ya?!"
I didn't think "confused" would be a good first impression answer, so I responded with "Uhhh, good?" and hurried to the back row of the classroom, and as far away from the crazy Brazilian man as possible. Curiously enough, the first few rows of seats were empty...
As class started, we quickly learned the true eccentrics of Professor Gaby. During attendance call, he had no qualms about sharing his opinions.
"I said your name right? Really? I totally thought I said it wrong... It's weird."
"Where did you go on extern? Really? Why on EARTH would you choose that?!"
I was nervous about when he would get to me in the list, but thankfully, he stopped attendance at C because "I have A.D.D, depression, and various other deficiencies that make it hard for me to learn names anyway, so I don't really care." I don't know whether or not he can even remember his own name, as he spent the entire class referring to himself as "The Jungle Guru of Menu".
Professor Gaby then proceeded to jump onto the table at the front of the room and start singing Be Prepared from The Lion King as loud as his Brazilian lungs could go. About halfway through the second refrain, he suddenly stopped singing, declared he was bored, and got down from the table.
He then explained that his theatrics were actually a warning, that this class would be a lot of work, and that we all needed to be "bringiley". Professor continued to talk about this "bringiley", though only half was in English, and all of it was at a much faster pace than any normal human can understand. It wasn't until the 7th or 8th time Professor said we needed to be "bringiley" that I finally understood he was saying "Bringin' It."
"Bringin' It" is evidentially Professor Gaby's favorite phrase. Everything was "bringin' it", except for some restaurant in NYC that apparently he did NOT like and was "so NOT bringin' it."
I don't know if anyone in class actually knows what we talked about today, but we all are on the same page as far as agreeing with whatever Professor says, else feel the wrath of the Jungle Guru of Menu.
Being back at the CIA has everyone a little antsy about what this school year will bring, but if Professor Gaby is any indication, I think we have no choice but to be "Bringin' It."
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Yellow Polkadot Bikinis
Beyonce is going to the beach tomorrow. This in itself is not a startling piece of news, but the fact that she decided to get a bright pink bikini is. Beyonce is not a slight woman. Her physical being very well matches her attitude. I've seen her hip-check 300lb Justin a few feet, much to his surprise.
As Meemaw never wants to be left out of anything, she immediately called out, "I wanna go to da beach too! Where is dat UGLY lil man?!" to which Chef Cesar replied, "I'm in the office."
Meemaw then stormed into the office and proceeded to demand to have tomorrow off so she could accompany Beyonce to the beach to "shake her groove thang."
Seeing as Hawaiians are much better at hula dancing than confrontation, Cesar agreed to let Meemaw have the day off.
"Meemaw, what da HELL you gun do at da BEACH?!" Beyonce was clearly having as much issue picturing Meemaw at the beach as I was...
I spent much of the day trying really hard not to giggle every time I thought of how many inner-tubes it would take to keep Meemaw afloat.
"I gun get me one a dem yella polkey-dot bikiners! Sept dey prolly don make em in my full-figured WOMAN size... I'll jus have ta stretch out a smaller one." -good lord, please no- "Dem polkey-dots gun look like golf balls by da time I done wit em!"
I was extremely relieved when Irma walked into the bakeshop and scoffed, "Meemaw, you aren't gonna wear a bikini, you never wear anything but long pants."
"Well I gunna affer I win da Biggest Loser! Deys gun even up da prize money cause da weight is just gun FALL OFF! I gun be da SHIT round here and I aint gun wear no more pants!
I gun get me some CA-PRIS!!"
As Meemaw never wants to be left out of anything, she immediately called out, "I wanna go to da beach too! Where is dat UGLY lil man?!" to which Chef Cesar replied, "I'm in the office."
Meemaw then stormed into the office and proceeded to demand to have tomorrow off so she could accompany Beyonce to the beach to "shake her groove thang."
Seeing as Hawaiians are much better at hula dancing than confrontation, Cesar agreed to let Meemaw have the day off.
"Meemaw, what da HELL you gun do at da BEACH?!" Beyonce was clearly having as much issue picturing Meemaw at the beach as I was...
I spent much of the day trying really hard not to giggle every time I thought of how many inner-tubes it would take to keep Meemaw afloat.
"I gun get me one a dem yella polkey-dot bikiners! Sept dey prolly don make em in my full-figured WOMAN size... I'll jus have ta stretch out a smaller one." -good lord, please no- "Dem polkey-dots gun look like golf balls by da time I done wit em!"
I was extremely relieved when Irma walked into the bakeshop and scoffed, "Meemaw, you aren't gonna wear a bikini, you never wear anything but long pants."
"Well I gunna affer I win da Biggest Loser! Deys gun even up da prize money cause da weight is just gun FALL OFF! I gun be da SHIT round here and I aint gun wear no more pants!
I gun get me some CA-PRIS!!"
Saturday, June 23, 2012
The Foreigners
Apparently if you're the head of advertising for L'Auberge Casino, your birthday party is much more than just some candles and a balloon. I did the dessert this evening for a plated dinner for Kirk Williams and his 700 closest friends...
Who has 700 people they would consider "close friends"?! I guarantee half the people in attendance tonight have no idea whose birthday they were celebrating.
It was a huge birthday bash, complete with tuxedoed waiters, a huge plastic birthday cake, hundreds of balloons, 4 different fully stocked bars, and a concert by Foreigner.
They also had an extensive collection of Ladies of L'Auberge.
The Ladies of L'Auberge work at the casino, either on the casino floor or at the pool. They wear short, low-cut dresses, have monthly weigh-ins, and are hired (in theory) to bring drinks. In reality, they are around to remind people that they like looking at pretty girls. They're glorified Hooters Girls, and are definitely not hired for their cognitive abilities.
That being said, I love the LOL Girls. Making fun of them is one of my favorite pass-times. I desperately wish I was one of them, solely so I could laugh from inside their ranks. I love when they talk. It's always a thrilling experience, and tonight was no different.
I had just finished serving dessert and was starting to clean up backstage when Foreigner started playing. I was stacking empty sheet pans and wiping up melted chocolate when an LOL sauntered up to where I was working. It was very strange to get one on it's own, usually they travel in packs. She seemed flustered, and I asked if she was okay.
"I'm just like upset at how like rude L'Auberge is being!"
I asked what she meant, and was astounded by the answer...
"I just like can't believe this whole Foreigner concert! They should like call it like the Asian concert or something! I mean like it's just so like rude for them to keep like calling them FOREIGNERS!!"
"I see..." It took me a minute to realize she was serious... I then advised her to tell her concerns to as many people as possible. I mean, I wouldn't want the Asians to continue to be harassed because she didn't speak her mind... :)
Who has 700 people they would consider "close friends"?! I guarantee half the people in attendance tonight have no idea whose birthday they were celebrating.
It was a huge birthday bash, complete with tuxedoed waiters, a huge plastic birthday cake, hundreds of balloons, 4 different fully stocked bars, and a concert by Foreigner.
They also had an extensive collection of Ladies of L'Auberge.
The Ladies of L'Auberge work at the casino, either on the casino floor or at the pool. They wear short, low-cut dresses, have monthly weigh-ins, and are hired (in theory) to bring drinks. In reality, they are around to remind people that they like looking at pretty girls. They're glorified Hooters Girls, and are definitely not hired for their cognitive abilities.
That being said, I love the LOL Girls. Making fun of them is one of my favorite pass-times. I desperately wish I was one of them, solely so I could laugh from inside their ranks. I love when they talk. It's always a thrilling experience, and tonight was no different.
I had just finished serving dessert and was starting to clean up backstage when Foreigner started playing. I was stacking empty sheet pans and wiping up melted chocolate when an LOL sauntered up to where I was working. It was very strange to get one on it's own, usually they travel in packs. She seemed flustered, and I asked if she was okay.
"I'm just like upset at how like rude L'Auberge is being!"
I asked what she meant, and was astounded by the answer...
"I just like can't believe this whole Foreigner concert! They should like call it like the Asian concert or something! I mean like it's just so like rude for them to keep like calling them FOREIGNERS!!"
"I see..." It took me a minute to realize she was serious... I then advised her to tell her concerns to as many people as possible. I mean, I wouldn't want the Asians to continue to be harassed because she didn't speak her mind... :)
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Roadtrippin
In the recent swell of cannibalism and facial dieting happening in this neck of the woods, many people are coming up with their own safety plans. Of course, none of them will compare to camping out in Sam's Club... Nobody is really going anywhere as of yet (however I wouldn't doubt that canned food and bottled water sales have gone up,) but people are making comments about similarities between a hurricane evacuation and a zombie apocalypse evacuation.
I honestly don't know if the people of Louisiana would be able to figure it out.
I feel like if there was a mass freak out and zombies were to just start roaming Bourbon Street, the population wouldn't make it very far.
Where exactly are you going on 1.025gallons of gas?! I'm pretty sure a zombie would be able to walk that far! You might as well spend that $3.23 on a gatorade and bike your way to safety! Maybe while you're biking you'll find a really big stick and be able to use it to beat away the zombies that are rapidly closing in from all sides.
Then again, maybe not.
I honestly don't know if the people of Louisiana would be able to figure it out.
I feel like if there was a mass freak out and zombies were to just start roaming Bourbon Street, the population wouldn't make it very far.
Where exactly are you going on 1.025gallons of gas?! I'm pretty sure a zombie would be able to walk that far! You might as well spend that $3.23 on a gatorade and bike your way to safety! Maybe while you're biking you'll find a really big stick and be able to use it to beat away the zombies that are rapidly closing in from all sides.
Then again, maybe not.
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