Call the wahmbulance

Tonight I received my first injury of culinary school.  The culprit: my vegetable peeler.  The scene: all hopped up on Monster I furiously peeled parsnips for a parsnip gratin.  Four parsnips down and on the last one it happened...  the top of my thumb nail and the top skin of my thumb fell victim to my peeler.  It trickled blood for about three minutes.  The rest of the class I had to wear a rubber glove which matched my plastic apron (I forgot my cloth one at home) wonderfully.


Without further ado.

2 big new things in a very short post.

1. I registered for my first big race... the Broad Street Run.  10 miles  eeek!   I'll be sure to update how training is coming along combined with school and work.
2. Tomorrow I will become a notary public.

Buenos noches.

Snowmageddon pictures

Sophie coming in from the snow.  We tried to take them to the park by the house not aware that the snow would be up to our knees.  I carried poor Soph almost the whole way home.

Macy and Sophie playing in the snow.  There weren't any cars on the road so we let them run in the street.  

I've never seen a dog love the snow as much as Macy.  Here is best friend/roommate throwing her snowballs to catch in the air.

The dogs playing in the snowy streets.

Snowmageddon... yes, they're calling it that.

Snowmageddon is really wreaking havoc on my school schedule.  Friday class was cancelled, tonight was cut short and tomorrow is cancelled.  Friday, for some reason, is being celebrated as President's day instead of Monday so I will not see a classroom for almost a week.  It is possible that my brain will explode in disbelief (and maybe even boredom.  I'm getting used to this go go go stuff.)

So, what's up with me?  Besides blizzard after blizzard, I did manage to make it to class last night.  A quiz was announced last week so naturally everyone had their notes open trying to cram every last potato/grain/rice/etc factoid in come Monday's class.  Chef walks in and starts the lecture.  An air of confusion fills the room and everyone remains silent.  Lecture continues.  Once prep and production started, so did the whispering.  "What happened to the quiz?"  "Do you think he forgot?" "Don't say anything!!!" (Directed at me.  Not sure if I'm flattered or offended.)   We all had an unspoken pact to not bring it up.  I felt pretty ready for it, however, I am a horrible test taker so definitely could have benefited from more studying.

Class came and went.  We made pasta dough using the well method which I have had a disastrous experience with in the past. There's photographic evidence... that kind of disaster.   To go along, we made pumpkin ravioli filling and pasta sauce; or as Chef calls it, "gravy."  Ugh gravy.  The simple word sends a chill down my spine.  Now, no offense to any "gravy" lovers out there but certain Italian-American-isms have always been a pet peeve of mine.  Not sure if it is from going to high school in "the tomato capital of the world," not an overabundance of tomato plants in sight mind you, or the arguments I would have with people that would try and convince me that "fungu" was the way to say a certain phrase similar to the one I will say to the snow I am going to have to shovel tomorrow (shaking fist towards sky... snowmageddon!!!) or the fact that my entire paternal side of the family lives in Rome (ciao ciao, se stai leggendo questo.) I spent most of my childhood back and forth between here and Italy so I take a certain pride in saying I am Italian.  When I hear "ay pisano" or see the "Italian princess" sticker on one's car even though they probably don't even have a passport, I just end up shaking my head.  I guess I should probably get off my high horse now.

Anyways, back to my point.  So the quiz.  Class came and went and still no quiz.  We're about to leave and we hear "ok, so tomorrow... quiz."  Fine, another night to study.  Fast forward to today.  We receive our quizzes and begin.  I scan over it answering the ones I know right off the bat and as I continue through the quiz, panic sets in.  The quiz was on all of the pasta information we had learned the night prior.  Yes, we should be prepared and know about it but when someone tells you to study for X,Y, & Z   you probably wouldn't study C.  So I answered the questions the best I could and sulked for about 15 minutes before bringing it up to Chef.  He was pretty understanding about it and told the class not to stress over it and we'll see how everyone did and take it from there.  I felt a bit better and the pasta we got to eat for dinner in class rid me of any remaining bad mood.  Class let out early due to the snow and the closure of Philadelphia more or less so it's back home to my best friend/roommate, my dog Sophie and the coziness of my couch which I have been missing.

Time to sit back and enjoy SNOWMAGEDDON!  Sorry... it just cracks me up.

A new leaf.

If someone would have told me a while back that the stresses of my day would all go away as soon as I stepped into my classroom I would have thought they were absolutely insane.  I've never been one to look forward to class, to study hard for tests, to speak up, etc etc.  Now I am sitting in my room, about to study while my roommates are laughing at one of my favorite shows.  I've always been an average student; straight Cs.  The other night some of my classmates were joking around about how they wouldn't mind if they got their quiz grades next year as opposed to me who wanted it five minutes after I handed it in.  (85 and 81, by the way.  Not the greatest, but a good stepping stone.  Go positive attitude!)  They said I seem like the girl who strives to be in the top of the class, who would kill someone to get to be the best (I wouldn't say I'd go that far.)  My roommate asked me if I was like Hermoine when the teacher asks a question - Harry Potter reference, always the first one with her hand up.

It's weird being the smart kid.  And I like it.

A fellow student waiting for class to start.  

I snuck this photo in case you were interested in seeing 

what the classroom looks like.  Behind the metal tables are

a row of stoves.  Behind the whiteboards are all the sinks.

To the left and right are the refrigerators. 

"I hear ya. What else did your mother get you for Christmas?"

I need to start updating this more.  I'm starting to forget a lot of the things I want to write about since my days feel blended together.  

Anxiously awaiting my quiz results.  I am really hoping I did well; not even so much for my grades but just to get off on the right foot.  Also anxiously awaiting the scholarship results from the Food Network's contest.  $20K would really start my year off nicely.

So Friday we made chicken stock (aka white stock.)  Not too much exciting about that besides it's used in a lot of my favorite dishes.  Chef prepped us for our quiz and I tried to make a joke in class which totally backfired; I wanted to say "if you were an extra credit question..." and ended up saying "if you were an extra cwedit..." and burst out into laughter.  Then chef called me Elmer Fudd and continued on with the quiz review. Probably much funnier if you were there or know how socially awkward I am.

During clean-up my partner and I had to take the trash down to the dumpster and decided we would try and drive the freight elevator by ourselves for the first time.  Both of us had been in it before and always with someone else who was knowledgeable in its operation.  So we get in with our bag of chicken parts and other random trash, shut the doors, pull down the gate and head down.  All goes well until we reach the basement, pull up the gate and try to open the doors.  Yes, try.  The doors aren't budging and are only opening about an inch and a half.  So we look at each other, nervously giggle and try pulling them apart as hard as we can.  No luck.  We try to take it up to other floors to see if maybe it was just the basement.  No luck.  I figure eventually our class will notice we're not there and come and find us.  Wrong.  Then I thought, "well chef can be silly sometimes; maybe this is a joke."  So we drive it up to the floor of our class and open it up that inch and a half and start yelling for help.  No one is around.  I'm not sure if it was in my head or if it was my imagination since I am petrified of being trapped in an elevator but I would've bet money that thing was making noise and shaking.  My partner is playing it cool and I am taking my pulse because I was definitely in the midst of a panic attack.  I told him if there were a tarantula and Freddy Krugar in there with us it would officially be my worst nightmare. Finally someone walks by and gets chef.  Seconds later a bunch of our classmates are around the elevator saying "oohh someone's stuck?  Yeah, it's Raelynn.  Raelynn you're stuck in the elevator?"  to which I reply "I'm not alone" not for fear that they wouldn't know my partner was with me but for fear I my classmates would think I'm the idiot who got stuck in the elevator on my own.  I ask chef to tell my mother I love her and if we get hungry at least we have the chicken parts to survive on.  He tells us the maintenance man is on his way.  He shows up a few seconds later and instructs us to take the metal bar on the door of the elevator and push it up.  The door opens.  I thought "that's it?? You have to be freaking kidding me."  He rides with us down to the basement and says "this is your first quarter, isn't it?"  

I wonder how he knew.