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.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
New Life Goals
The mega-nerds of the world are rejoicing, as they are finally able to say "I told you so." The zombie apocalypse has arrived.
In the past few weeks, some people in Miami have decided to create a new drug, something about bathsalts? It sounds very relaxing, but be warned, it will change your appetite drastically. This new drug is messing with people's brains and turning them into cannibals. People have been chewing off their friends' faces, mothers have been eating their children, and teenagers have been chompin on the homeless men living around the corner. There have been multiple reports of this zombie-like behavior resulting from the drugs, including two in Miami, one in South Dakota, and most recently, one in good ol Lake Charles, Louisiana.
In general, I would appreciate it if my friends did not eat my face, and therefore I have come up with a plan.
I am taking my non-bathsalted friends and we are going to barricade ourselves in Sam's Club. We will have food, beds, entertainment, George Foreman grills... everything we need to stay alive for years. There are also only two doors into the Lake Charles Sam's Club, and both are bulletproof. In case there is any chance of a zombie security breach into our lair, southern Sam's Club's also sell guns and ammo. We are all set.
If there is ever a time that it is safe to emerge from Sam's Club, I have decided to drop out of culinary school. Everyone will be eating other people, and therefore chefs would be obsolete. I have decided to become a mortician instead. There will be plenty of chewed up dead bodies lyin around, and the industry will be booming.
Sami's Mortuary, you stab em we slab em.
In the past few weeks, some people in Miami have decided to create a new drug, something about bathsalts? It sounds very relaxing, but be warned, it will change your appetite drastically. This new drug is messing with people's brains and turning them into cannibals. People have been chewing off their friends' faces, mothers have been eating their children, and teenagers have been chompin on the homeless men living around the corner. There have been multiple reports of this zombie-like behavior resulting from the drugs, including two in Miami, one in South Dakota, and most recently, one in good ol Lake Charles, Louisiana.
In general, I would appreciate it if my friends did not eat my face, and therefore I have come up with a plan.
I am taking my non-bathsalted friends and we are going to barricade ourselves in Sam's Club. We will have food, beds, entertainment, George Foreman grills... everything we need to stay alive for years. There are also only two doors into the Lake Charles Sam's Club, and both are bulletproof. In case there is any chance of a zombie security breach into our lair, southern Sam's Club's also sell guns and ammo. We are all set.
If there is ever a time that it is safe to emerge from Sam's Club, I have decided to drop out of culinary school. Everyone will be eating other people, and therefore chefs would be obsolete. I have decided to become a mortician instead. There will be plenty of chewed up dead bodies lyin around, and the industry will be booming.
Sami's Mortuary, you stab em we slab em.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Chicken Fried
"You eat squirrel baby?"
"Excuse me?" I figured I had misheard Mr. Sam when he walked into the bakeshop asking me if I frequently indulge in woodland creatures. It could have been the old black man's strong accent or the three loud mixers going that had caused me to believe Mr. Sam had said something more normal. Or it could potentially have been the fact that it was 3AM, I had been alone in the bakeshop all night, my ipod had died 2 hours previous, and I was starting to argue with the ovens, but whatever the reason, I asked Mr. Sam to repeat himself. Which he gladly did.
"I say you eat squirrel?"
Apparently I was not mistaken. The man did actually ask me if I eat tree-rats.
"Ummm, no?"
"Aww das too bad. Dey's gooooood!" Apparently Mr. Sam's wife had made squirrel for dinner. I didn't ask where she obtained the squirrel, and he didn't offer the information. I figured it's probably better that I didn't know.
Evidentially people in Southwest Louisiana frequently eat squirrel. There are many ways in which to deliciously prepare the southern delicacy, including but not limited to:
Fried
Stewed
Baked
Boiled
I now have various recipes for squirrel should anyone want them. They are also all good with various different proteins. Turtle works well boiled and stewed. Bats have very little meat, and are "tricky lil buggers", but are delicious when fried. Rabbit is great baked into chicken tender type objects. Etc.
Now, I can't help but think of Mr. Sam whenever I see a cute lil fluffy squirrel tail flying between the leaves of the giant mossy oaks outside. Or a less cute, less fluffy squirrel tail lying flattened on the side of the road...
I told myself I would branch out in my culinary endeavors while living down here.
I didn't think that'd be so literal.
"Excuse me?" I figured I had misheard Mr. Sam when he walked into the bakeshop asking me if I frequently indulge in woodland creatures. It could have been the old black man's strong accent or the three loud mixers going that had caused me to believe Mr. Sam had said something more normal. Or it could potentially have been the fact that it was 3AM, I had been alone in the bakeshop all night, my ipod had died 2 hours previous, and I was starting to argue with the ovens, but whatever the reason, I asked Mr. Sam to repeat himself. Which he gladly did.
"I say you eat squirrel?"
Apparently I was not mistaken. The man did actually ask me if I eat tree-rats.
"Ummm, no?"
"Aww das too bad. Dey's gooooood!" Apparently Mr. Sam's wife had made squirrel for dinner. I didn't ask where she obtained the squirrel, and he didn't offer the information. I figured it's probably better that I didn't know.
Evidentially people in Southwest Louisiana frequently eat squirrel. There are many ways in which to deliciously prepare the southern delicacy, including but not limited to:
Fried
Stewed
Baked
Boiled
I now have various recipes for squirrel should anyone want them. They are also all good with various different proteins. Turtle works well boiled and stewed. Bats have very little meat, and are "tricky lil buggers", but are delicious when fried. Rabbit is great baked into chicken tender type objects. Etc.
Now, I can't help but think of Mr. Sam whenever I see a cute lil fluffy squirrel tail flying between the leaves of the giant mossy oaks outside. Or a less cute, less fluffy squirrel tail lying flattened on the side of the road...
I told myself I would branch out in my culinary endeavors while living down here.
I didn't think that'd be so literal.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
Housekeeping's Revenge
American Idol has hit Lake Charles.
One of the final three contestants currently fighting to win American Idol is from nowhere but Lake Charles, Louisiana, home to L'Auberge casino and pretty much nothing else. This small town has been completely shutting down every Tuesday and Wednesday nights to watch Joshua Ledet sing on tv. There are cars with window paint cheering for Josh, flags have been raised with his face on them, every company sign and billboard in town is announcing their devotion.
When the American Idol season reaches the Final 3, each judge picks one contestant with whom they go back to their hometown for a few days. Lake Charles fairly exploded when it was announced Josh made the Final 3, and he and Jennifer Lopez would be coming back for a few days. There was a pep rally for Josh, a parade at which they threw beads in true Louisiana fashion, and a concert for the name nobody knew 3 months ago.
I walked into work today to find Chef Cesar attempting to make a sugar showpiece and throwing a hissy fit. He was stomping around and growling about how the humidity of Southwest Louisiana was his nemesis. Chef Bill usually does all of the showpieces, but seeing as he was out of town, and American Idol was IN town, it was up to Cesar. The piece was to be an amenity in the villa that would be given to either Josh or J-Lo "in secret". Evidentially L'Auberge and American Idol didn't think anyone would be able to guess that they were going to be staying at L'Auberge instead of the Microtel...
After a few hours of his piece falling over and breaking in various places, Cesar finally called Justin and I over to help him take his extremely fragile 3 piece centerpiece across the busy casino to the room that would be housing the biggest thing to come out of this town since they started drilling oil.
Guess which part I was trusted to carry...
I was a tad bitter until the metal stand hit the ground...
One of the final three contestants currently fighting to win American Idol is from nowhere but Lake Charles, Louisiana, home to L'Auberge casino and pretty much nothing else. This small town has been completely shutting down every Tuesday and Wednesday nights to watch Joshua Ledet sing on tv. There are cars with window paint cheering for Josh, flags have been raised with his face on them, every company sign and billboard in town is announcing their devotion.
When the American Idol season reaches the Final 3, each judge picks one contestant with whom they go back to their hometown for a few days. Lake Charles fairly exploded when it was announced Josh made the Final 3, and he and Jennifer Lopez would be coming back for a few days. There was a pep rally for Josh, a parade at which they threw beads in true Louisiana fashion, and a concert for the name nobody knew 3 months ago.
I walked into work today to find Chef Cesar attempting to make a sugar showpiece and throwing a hissy fit. He was stomping around and growling about how the humidity of Southwest Louisiana was his nemesis. Chef Bill usually does all of the showpieces, but seeing as he was out of town, and American Idol was IN town, it was up to Cesar. The piece was to be an amenity in the villa that would be given to either Josh or J-Lo "in secret". Evidentially L'Auberge and American Idol didn't think anyone would be able to guess that they were going to be staying at L'Auberge instead of the Microtel...
After a few hours of his piece falling over and breaking in various places, Cesar finally called Justin and I over to help him take his extremely fragile 3 piece centerpiece across the busy casino to the room that would be housing the biggest thing to come out of this town since they started drilling oil.
Guess which part I was trusted to carry...
We found out later that the showpiece was put in J-Lo's room. Evidentially when Jennifer Lopez walked into the casino this morning, she told the woman that showed her to her room not to even look at her. Rude much?? Maybe she should learn to not be so rude to the people who change her sheets and bring her clean towels.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Gravy
MeeMaw has found a boyfriend. He's 18 and currently working as a bartender at Jack Daniels Bar and Grill at L'Auberge. Evidentially she likes his biceps and his triceps and his tricycle and his bicycle. I'm not entirely sure what that means, but apparently it's a good thing?
"I love 'im more'n gravy!!" And thats saying something...
"I love 'im more'n gravy!!" And thats saying something...
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
The Gypsy
It's probably not the best idea to reject a gypsy... Especially in the voodoo town of New Orleans. Which is perhaps why Courtney and I are now cursed.
On a pleasant stroll through the French Quarter yesterday, Courtney and I happened upon a gypsy man setting up shop outside the cathedral.
"Let me read your palms ladies." he called. I smiled and declined, saying we were in a slight hurry to meet up with our aunt, not wanting to aggravate the man who thought he had magical powers... (Hopefully he couldn't read lies as well as palms, or else we might be in more trouble than we know.) I didn't really feel like paying the guy 10 bucks to tell me my non-existant cat was about to get run over by a truck, or that in my next life I'm going to come back as a zebra.
When he kept calling us over, Courtney rather abruptly barked "No!" Courtney is a fairly calm person, the gypsy probably would have said she'd come back as a hippy. Which is why it was somewhat surprising to me to have her act so aggressively. Though I guess, when in New Orleans...
"Never say no to a gypsy dear...." the gypsy quietly said with a mysteriously low voice that strangely enough reminded me of Sweeney Todd.
"Ya know Courtney," I said as we walked away, "I think that was a curse threat." We both laughed awkwardly, knowing that the gypsy man was probably a scam, but keeping in the back of our minds that we are in New Orleans...
We then immediately went to the nearest Voodoo store, (which was terrifying in itself) and bought lucky rabbits feet. Better safe than sorry I guess.
Maybe it'll be fun to come back as a zebra...
On a pleasant stroll through the French Quarter yesterday, Courtney and I happened upon a gypsy man setting up shop outside the cathedral.
"Let me read your palms ladies." he called. I smiled and declined, saying we were in a slight hurry to meet up with our aunt, not wanting to aggravate the man who thought he had magical powers... (Hopefully he couldn't read lies as well as palms, or else we might be in more trouble than we know.) I didn't really feel like paying the guy 10 bucks to tell me my non-existant cat was about to get run over by a truck, or that in my next life I'm going to come back as a zebra.
When he kept calling us over, Courtney rather abruptly barked "No!" Courtney is a fairly calm person, the gypsy probably would have said she'd come back as a hippy. Which is why it was somewhat surprising to me to have her act so aggressively. Though I guess, when in New Orleans...
"Never say no to a gypsy dear...." the gypsy quietly said with a mysteriously low voice that strangely enough reminded me of Sweeney Todd.
"Ya know Courtney," I said as we walked away, "I think that was a curse threat." We both laughed awkwardly, knowing that the gypsy man was probably a scam, but keeping in the back of our minds that we are in New Orleans...
We then immediately went to the nearest Voodoo store, (which was terrifying in itself) and bought lucky rabbits feet. Better safe than sorry I guess.
Maybe it'll be fun to come back as a zebra...
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Painting the Town Purple
Today was MeeMaw's birthday. Every time someone new came into the bakery, she would announce that it was her birthday, and every time she would be a different age. At one point she decided she was turning 21, and asked to come with Courtney and I to New Orleans tomorrow to party. Obviously, it would be just about the greatest thing in the world to watch MeeMaw do her runway walk down Bourbon Street, and we begged her to come with us, but in the end she revealed, with great fanfare and gusto, that she was not, in fact, turning 21.
The illusion has been shattered.
"Aww MeeMaw, you OLD!" I'm pretty sure if anyone but Beyonce had said this, the back of their head would have had a nice little meeting with the wooden spoon MeeMaw was brandishing.
"Yeahhhh but woooo-ee! When I was a chil, boyyyy I cou cut a rug! I can't cut no rugs no mo. LAWD, I can't even get in da caw!"
Soooo I'm guessing that means she won't be driving the two hours to meet us in New Orleans...
We were still trying adamantly to get MeeMaw to come to New Orleans, but she refused. She did demand of us, however, to make sure we told everyone we met there that it was her birthday...
"Now don't you go paintin tha town red, ya hurrr? Pain' it purple. Much better'n red."
Yes, MeeMaw.
The illusion has been shattered.
"Aww MeeMaw, you OLD!" I'm pretty sure if anyone but Beyonce had said this, the back of their head would have had a nice little meeting with the wooden spoon MeeMaw was brandishing.
"Yeahhhh but woooo-ee! When I was a chil, boyyyy I cou cut a rug! I can't cut no rugs no mo. LAWD, I can't even get in da caw!"
Soooo I'm guessing that means she won't be driving the two hours to meet us in New Orleans...
We were still trying adamantly to get MeeMaw to come to New Orleans, but she refused. She did demand of us, however, to make sure we told everyone we met there that it was her birthday...
"Now don't you go paintin tha town red, ya hurrr? Pain' it purple. Much better'n red."
Yes, MeeMaw.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
The Boob-Tote
In a few days, my friend Courtney and I are going to New Orleans. Though she has been there before, we have both been warned to make sure to not go into any bad parts of town. We have also been told that we are not supposed to carry handbags.
"Just shove everything in your bra!" Beyonce patted her huge boobs and exclaimed, "Errythang fits in here!"
Courtney nodded thoughtfully, evidentially it was a good plan.
"uhhhh..." Clearly they're not getting the picture...
"SHE HASN'T GOT ANY TITS!" Thanks MeeMaw. Beyonce and Courtney finally noticed the issue with the boob-tote plan, and proceeded to announce it to the entire bakery. Which isn't really that big of a deal, because I mean really, who am I kidding? At least I have bigger boobs than Preston...
"Aww hell girl, I can fit the eiffel tower in my boobs." Apparently Beyonce is a worldly woman.
"Now don you just feel bad babygurrr, you may not have the tatas us gurrls do, but you can wear a bikini! I can't wear no bikini, I gotta wear a TRIkini!" Apparently MeeMaw has to wear 3 bikinis...
Beyonce and MeeMaw then got in an overly excited discussion about what MeeMaw would need to wear in order to cover herself appropriately. They finally decided upon a king size bedsheet and window coverings.
"Just shove everything in your bra!" Beyonce patted her huge boobs and exclaimed, "Errythang fits in here!"
Courtney nodded thoughtfully, evidentially it was a good plan.
"uhhhh..." Clearly they're not getting the picture...
"SHE HASN'T GOT ANY TITS!" Thanks MeeMaw. Beyonce and Courtney finally noticed the issue with the boob-tote plan, and proceeded to announce it to the entire bakery. Which isn't really that big of a deal, because I mean really, who am I kidding? At least I have bigger boobs than Preston...
"Aww hell girl, I can fit the eiffel tower in my boobs." Apparently Beyonce is a worldly woman.
"Now don you just feel bad babygurrr, you may not have the tatas us gurrls do, but you can wear a bikini! I can't wear no bikini, I gotta wear a TRIkini!" Apparently MeeMaw has to wear 3 bikinis...
Beyonce and MeeMaw then got in an overly excited discussion about what MeeMaw would need to wear in order to cover herself appropriately. They finally decided upon a king size bedsheet and window coverings.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Prestonia
I found out today that Preston occasionally dresses in drag. Thinking back, I'm not as surprised as I probably should be... He does have an excessive knowledge in hair styling and how to find a dress for ANY body. I am slightly disappointed I missed Mardi Gras, where Prestonia made an appearance in her red halter dress and heels. I'm pretty sure it would have been the stuff of nightmares.
As a side note, I suddenly have another new nickname. Smurfette. It was created by Beyonce, but used by everyone in the bakery within hours. I asked about the origin of it, but apparently there isn't one...
As a side note, I suddenly have another new nickname. Smurfette. It was created by Beyonce, but used by everyone in the bakery within hours. I asked about the origin of it, but apparently there isn't one...
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Houston Shootout
Over my two days off this week, I took a lil jaunt over to Texas with native Houston-ite Andre. People often say they didn't know what they were expecting about new situations, but I definitely knew what I was looking to see in Houston... and the real thing and my visual were not even close. I was expecting a lot of brown and dirt, occasionally a cactus, some tumbleweeds rolling in the breeze, maybe MeeMaw doing her runway walk... What I was not prepared for was the dizzying amount of neon billboards, inordinate amount of mexican restaurants, and the insane tangle of highways that caused exit maps to look like pictures of Medusa.
While in Houston, Andre and I did all of the typical big city touristy things that seem completely out of place in my Houston mental picture. We visited the Galleria, got nummy Mexican food, toured downtown, etc. Only once did I feel like I stepped right into the Houston of my imagination... When we went shooting.
I've never been to a gun range, especially in Houston, but it was pretty much how I'd pictured it...minus the old western showdown. There were guys in spurs, lots of flannel and camo, lotsa dirt, and big guns. I felt slightly out of place in my sun dress and sandals, but I was more confused why a girl was such an oddity as opposed to the 6 year old boy shooting a rifle 100 yards at a duck decoy. In the north, kids watch cartoons about daffy duck. In the south, they shoot him. Maybe that's why everyone in Houston has a gun... They're waiting for the fowl to retaliate.
While in Houston, Andre and I did all of the typical big city touristy things that seem completely out of place in my Houston mental picture. We visited the Galleria, got nummy Mexican food, toured downtown, etc. Only once did I feel like I stepped right into the Houston of my imagination... When we went shooting.
I've never been to a gun range, especially in Houston, but it was pretty much how I'd pictured it...minus the old western showdown. There were guys in spurs, lots of flannel and camo, lotsa dirt, and big guns. I felt slightly out of place in my sun dress and sandals, but I was more confused why a girl was such an oddity as opposed to the 6 year old boy shooting a rifle 100 yards at a duck decoy. In the north, kids watch cartoons about daffy duck. In the south, they shoot him. Maybe that's why everyone in Houston has a gun... They're waiting for the fowl to retaliate.
Friday, April 20, 2012
My New Boyfriend(s)
Chef Cesar asked me to make tuxedo strawberries today. They were going to be plated at a banquet tonight, along with a few other desserts. Chef described how to make them, and said he wanted white tuxedos because there was already chocolate brown happening on the other desserts.
I promptly said no.
There is no chance I am making bad 70's prom tuxedos. Not gonna happen. I told Chef there would be classy gentlemen or none at all. He decided to retaliate by saying white tuxedos are classy, as that is what gentlemen wear at casinos in Europe.
"What country are we in Chef? America? Thought so. Don't worry, they'll be all ready for the banquet in their nice BLACK tuxedos."
Chef looked at me, stuttered a few times, and walked away.
And so I made my classy gentlemen.
Meet Bond. Berry, Bond.
Chef grudgingly approved, which was nice, though Beyonce's assessment was far greater.
"Who needs a boyfriend when you've got a tray of fine gentlemen right there?!"
I promptly said no.
There is no chance I am making bad 70's prom tuxedos. Not gonna happen. I told Chef there would be classy gentlemen or none at all. He decided to retaliate by saying white tuxedos are classy, as that is what gentlemen wear at casinos in Europe.
"What country are we in Chef? America? Thought so. Don't worry, they'll be all ready for the banquet in their nice BLACK tuxedos."
Chef looked at me, stuttered a few times, and walked away.
And so I made my classy gentlemen.
Meet Bond. Berry, Bond.
Chef grudgingly approved, which was nice, though Beyonce's assessment was far greater.
"Who needs a boyfriend when you've got a tray of fine gentlemen right there?!"
Thursday, April 19, 2012
I Feel Black Today
MeeMaw today decided that she was not, in fact, black.
Apparently assembling pecan pies occasionally prompts the sudden outburst of "I feel puerto rican today." MeeMaw and Beyonce then began an argument about MeeMaw's blackness. Between the flying pecans and splattering cake batter, I was somehow brought into the conversation.
"I wanna be as black as Minnie!" (They've all started calling me Minnie, as in Minnesota. This started about a week ago. I found out about it yesterday. Apparently you don't need to be informed about your own name change in Louisiana.)
"I wanna be as black as Minnie!" And that's when Beyonce and MeeMaw finally agreed. I'm black as night. And I obviously agreed. I decided to break my cover, and inform everyone that I am truly a black voodoo queen that lives in a boat in a tree in the bayou.
Anyone looking for a clairvoyant reading from the world's blackest psychic, please call 1-800-MINNIE1
Apparently assembling pecan pies occasionally prompts the sudden outburst of "I feel puerto rican today." MeeMaw and Beyonce then began an argument about MeeMaw's blackness. Between the flying pecans and splattering cake batter, I was somehow brought into the conversation.
"I wanna be as black as Minnie!" (They've all started calling me Minnie, as in Minnesota. This started about a week ago. I found out about it yesterday. Apparently you don't need to be informed about your own name change in Louisiana.)
"I wanna be as black as Minnie!" And that's when Beyonce and MeeMaw finally agreed. I'm black as night. And I obviously agreed. I decided to break my cover, and inform everyone that I am truly a black voodoo queen that lives in a boat in a tree in the bayou.
Anyone looking for a clairvoyant reading from the world's blackest psychic, please call 1-800-MINNIE1
Monday, April 16, 2012
Chef Randy
There is a new L'Auberge Casino opening in Baton Rouge in late August, and the Executive Pastry Chef, Chef Randy, has been in our bakeshop obsessing over every little culinary detail every day for the past week. He finally plated the final draft of his $20 per-plate desserts today. I could only get pictures of 3 of his 7 desserts, but they're gorgeous. Needless to say, I asked for an application to work for him 3 years from now...
Creme Brulee
Peach Melba Cheesecake
Chocolate 18 Ways
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Mama Wayne
Project Runway has hit the bakeshop.
Im not sure what started it, but I looked up from filling eclairs today to find a walk-off happening across the kitchen. As per usual, it was Beyonce vs MeeMaw. Beyonce started with a sashay, twist, and pose. Pretty normal Heidi Klum stuff. Then it got interesting... MeeMaw adjusted her apron, slicked back her hair (despite it being covered by a hat), licked her gold tooth, and STRUTTED. The woman walked like John Wayne's ghetto alter-ego. When MeeMaw reached me at the end of the runway, she took in my gawking at her, and very seriously said,
"That's Jive Baby."
Im not sure what started it, but I looked up from filling eclairs today to find a walk-off happening across the kitchen. As per usual, it was Beyonce vs MeeMaw. Beyonce started with a sashay, twist, and pose. Pretty normal Heidi Klum stuff. Then it got interesting... MeeMaw adjusted her apron, slicked back her hair (despite it being covered by a hat), licked her gold tooth, and STRUTTED. The woman walked like John Wayne's ghetto alter-ego. When MeeMaw reached me at the end of the runway, she took in my gawking at her, and very seriously said,
"That's Jive Baby."
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Crack is Wack
"Good morning, Preston brought ho's. Want one?"
It's always mildly concerning when you walk into work and the very first thing you hear is an offer to deal in illegal affairs. I didn't realize today was show and tell and I was supposed to bring something to present to everyone. Though, had I known, I think I probably would have picked something more appropriate for the work environment, like perhaps a potato peeler. I was kind of wishing that thought had occurred to Preston as well.
"Excuse me?"
"Preston brought ho's! They're over in that box."
Wait, what? They're contortionists now too?? I was starting to become mildly impressed with Preston's talent scouting abilities, until I noticed the box of donut holes sitting on the counter. I have GOT to start understanding this accent...
After explaining my puzzled and mildly horrified expression to the bakeshop, a conversation was started about various forms of entertainment, both legal and not. This promoted an extremely enthusiastic announcement from Beyonce...
CRACK IS WACK!!!
She then went into a very articulate monologue about what exactly crack has done to the music industry, and especially to the rap genre in general. She declared that she thinks she should become a rapper, just so she can try to save rappers' tarnished reputations. She then started rapping(?) some song she just made up about peanut butter parfaits, which didn't actually fit into any Grammy acknowledged genre. I've decided to call it "Bayou Ghetto".
And the award goes to...
It's always mildly concerning when you walk into work and the very first thing you hear is an offer to deal in illegal affairs. I didn't realize today was show and tell and I was supposed to bring something to present to everyone. Though, had I known, I think I probably would have picked something more appropriate for the work environment, like perhaps a potato peeler. I was kind of wishing that thought had occurred to Preston as well.
"Excuse me?"
"Preston brought ho's! They're over in that box."
Wait, what? They're contortionists now too?? I was starting to become mildly impressed with Preston's talent scouting abilities, until I noticed the box of donut holes sitting on the counter. I have GOT to start understanding this accent...
After explaining my puzzled and mildly horrified expression to the bakeshop, a conversation was started about various forms of entertainment, both legal and not. This promoted an extremely enthusiastic announcement from Beyonce...
CRACK IS WACK!!!
She then went into a very articulate monologue about what exactly crack has done to the music industry, and especially to the rap genre in general. She declared that she thinks she should become a rapper, just so she can try to save rappers' tarnished reputations. She then started rapping(?) some song she just made up about peanut butter parfaits, which didn't actually fit into any Grammy acknowledged genre. I've decided to call it "Bayou Ghetto".
And the award goes to...
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Stalker and a Murderer
So when I was refused a library card yesterday because my ID says I'm from Minnesota, I was fairly annoyed. Surprisingly enough, I did not come all the way down to Louisiana just to steal the Calcasieu Parish Public Library's entire book collection. Clearly, I do actually live here. I didn't really think I was much of a threat to the people of Louisiana or their books. That is, until today....
I have become both a stalker and a murderer, and my key target is apparently MeeMaw.
Multiple people have asked me for a picture of MeeMaw, and I have gladly obliged. I feel like a pretty good stalker, I don't think anybody noticed my super sneaky picture taking skills.... Except for maybe MeeMaw, who was looking straight at the camera. But what does that matter? That's where the murder part comes in.
The Target: Mama Odie
I didn't mean to almost kill her. It's just nobody told me MeeMaw is diabetic and that she would probably ask for sugary things that could potentially kill her... You have to warn me when I'm babysitting! Of course I gave her some white chocolate mousse torte, because I am a GIVING PERSON! And a murderer, but that's besides the point. Clearly I'm not a very accomplished murderer however, because absolutely nothing happened to MeeMaw other than a tastebud blast. I don't think I'm cut out for the stalker/murderer business. I should probably just stick to stealing library books.
I have become both a stalker and a murderer, and my key target is apparently MeeMaw.
Multiple people have asked me for a picture of MeeMaw, and I have gladly obliged. I feel like a pretty good stalker, I don't think anybody noticed my super sneaky picture taking skills.... Except for maybe MeeMaw, who was looking straight at the camera. But what does that matter? That's where the murder part comes in.
The Target: Mama Odie
I didn't mean to almost kill her. It's just nobody told me MeeMaw is diabetic and that she would probably ask for sugary things that could potentially kill her... You have to warn me when I'm babysitting! Of course I gave her some white chocolate mousse torte, because I am a GIVING PERSON! And a murderer, but that's besides the point. Clearly I'm not a very accomplished murderer however, because absolutely nothing happened to MeeMaw other than a tastebud blast. I don't think I'm cut out for the stalker/murderer business. I should probably just stick to stealing library books.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Brain Freeze
Now, I was told many times before I moved down to Louisiana that the people here are slow. I never realized how many ways this covered... They are not a quick people. I've never before been to a place where people needed to be told how to open a door... Don't worry. You are NOT locked in! Just turn the doorknob dear... Granted, I took the following picture in the freezer. Louisiana is a very warm climate, maybe the drastic and uncharacteristic change in temperature effects their cognitive abilities? The world will never know.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Pocking
People in Louisiana are weird. They're just strange creatures. They've decided that every Easter they must Pock?? I learned at work today that Pocking is a big tradition in Louisiana, and has absolutely no purpose. It's a contest to see who has the strongest eggs? After dying their hard boiled eggs, Louisianian Weirdos each pick one egg that apparently looks the strongest to them. Each person holds their egg with the bottom, air bubble side out. They then find someone with an equally competitive nature and these two people hit their eggs together to see whose breaks. The broken egg'd loser for who Easter is now ruined then sulks in a corner while the winners all play again within themselves until there is only one unbroken egg left. This person is the winner. I've been told the winner traditionally doesn't actually win anything except the pride of winning. Soooo basically they're all just really excited to see who bought the thickest eggs at the store. Congratulations. Maybe for Christmas we can hit our presents together to see who bought the best box.
Happy Pocking Easter!
Happy Pocking Easter!
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Beyonce vs. Whitney
Today Miss Sylvia decided she was going to be Beyonce. Plugged into her ipod, she started doing the "Single Ladies" dance holding a spatula in her hand. Apparently we don't need to put a ring on it, just stir the batter.
It turns out MeeMaw doesn't appreciate Beyonce, and decided to retaliate against "Single Ladies" by belting Whitney Houston. "And iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeiiiiiiiiiiiiii will always love youuuuuuuuuu!" So Miss Sylvia is Beyonce-bopping around MeeMaw, who is singing into a ladle as loud as possible in order to drown out the dog barking and howling coming from Preston in the corner. By the end of this little performance, we had attracted quite the audience, all crowding around the bakeshop door searching for the cause of all the noise. Interestingly enough, none of them looked surprised. Just another day in the L'Auberge bakeshop.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Bayou Baker
I am from Minnesota, going to culinary school in New York, and externing in Louisiana. To say I have a very confused accent is an understatement. I am living with my roommate Andre, my fishy Kyle, and my car Beauregard (Bo). I have apparently started a blog in order to #1, placate my mama, and #2, share the culture shock experiences of a yankee baker in the bayou. After finishing my second day of work, I have already come to the conclusion that I work with some very... interesting characters, my current favorite being MeeMaw. She's an old, large black lady, with a deep accent, eccentric tendencies, and bright purple eyeshadow. She is the real-life Mama Odie from The Princess and the Frog.
MeeMaw is grouchy and has the biggest "heeee-hawww" laugh you've ever heard. In addition, she has promptly taken me under her somewhat oversized wing. I don't think I've ever been called "babygirl" so frequently in such a short amount of time. "Oh you gunn do jus fine don hur babygur, ohhhhh yes." Thanks MeeMaw...
Living in New York, I've realized just how much people feel the need to shorten words, because apparently their lives are just too busy for two syllables. A common phrase at school was "Girl, that shit cray." Because apparently saying "crazy" just takes too much time. I was really surprised when my born-and-raised-in-Louisiana Chef, for who MeeMaw's glacial pace is lightening fast, threw out a "That's cray" today. That is, until I decoded his accent and realized he was actually responding to a question about some unknown shellfish in the freezer, saying "That's CRAW." Evidentially the only things southerners are speedy about is their crustaceans.
I've just started bringing my MinneYorkan ways to the south, but am looking forward to spending my 18-week externship down here. It should be a great time, complete with some bizarre people, good food, and lotsa crazy memories, because honestly down here, That Shit Craw.
Living in New York, I've realized just how much people feel the need to shorten words, because apparently their lives are just too busy for two syllables. A common phrase at school was "Girl, that shit cray." Because apparently saying "crazy" just takes too much time. I was really surprised when my born-and-raised-in-Louisiana Chef, for who MeeMaw's glacial pace is lightening fast, threw out a "That's cray" today. That is, until I decoded his accent and realized he was actually responding to a question about some unknown shellfish in the freezer, saying "That's CRAW." Evidentially the only things southerners are speedy about is their crustaceans.
I've just started bringing my MinneYorkan ways to the south, but am looking forward to spending my 18-week externship down here. It should be a great time, complete with some bizarre people, good food, and lotsa crazy memories, because honestly down here, That Shit Craw.
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