Today I Made Risotto

Today I threw out a nutmeg

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 05:10:00 +0000

I asked for a nutmeg, because nutmegs are sacred in The Kitchens and the thought alone that there would be a container for pre-ground nutmeg is absurd. You have to ask for one, because the chefs keep them in their private office. Chef K told me to go to Elizabeth, who she made The Keeper of the Nutmegs, and Elizabeth gave me a small wad of plastic wrap.

I unwrapped it, grated it, wrapped it up, and gave it to her.

Done. Or so I had hoped.

Bill came up behind me. "I have a nutmeg for you."

"Oh no, that's okay," I replied. "Elizabeth gave me one. I don't need it anymore. But thank you."

"No, you can use this one," said Bill.

"It's too late--I already grated the other."

"Well, you can have this anyway."

"I don't need it."

Bill started to get angry. Really angry. Some people have "crazy killer eyes." Bill could put them to shame. Whenever he gets that stare, especially when he's cutting meat, it piques my flight-or-flight reaction.

"No, I'm giving it to you! You can have it, d*** it. It's like a gift! Take it!"

"Okay," I said, trying to have the proper tone to say That's enough. "Alright. Thank you."

"See? Here's the bag," said Bill. "I got half a dozen of them for $1.25 at the health store. They're cheap. That's why I wanted you to have one."

And then he stormed off, leaving me with another wad of plastic wrap. His insistence caught my attention and made me curious, suspicious, as to why he wanted me to have this so badly. I knew his intentions weren't out of kindness, either. Bill is in his 50's, married, and has asked out several women at school, beginning in the first semester. Aside from the fact that he told me and my best friend that after he received his Financial Aid check he would take us out to lunch (he didn't), he's stalked at least one woman. His phone calls to her were as last as 11:30 at night.

A gift is something very psychological, as well. When someone gives you a gift, "it increases the bond between us and the person to whom we have given." (Psychology Today) The last thing I want is for Bill to feel as though he created a "bond" between us. This probably never would have occurred to me if he hadn't said "gift" in the first place.

Last night as I was falling asleep (and I fall asleep pretty quick these days), I imagined that I was driving home from school and had gotten pulled over. The officer asked if I had any weapons in the car, and I said yes, I have my chef knives. He asked to see them, and I gave him the case. He opened the case and took out the little plastic wrapped package. He took a closer look at it, then decided to arrested me for possession. Bill didn't give me a nutmeg. For some reason, he tried to frame me.

Obviously that's not the case. But that didn't stop me from tossing the nutmeg in the garbage the next morning.

Baking

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 00:07:00 +0000

Baking classes are awesome.

I've never been one to get up at 5:55 a.m., but I'm doing it, and have not yet fallen asleep on my way to school.

Which is good.

The class itself is 5 hours long, so I get out at lunch time and have the rest of the day to myself. Since it's 3 days a week for 6 weeks, and today was the 5th class, today was technically week 5 if I was in a regular 18 week semester.

That is something I am so grateful for! A week really is a long time to be able to forget everything you just learned. This way, you learn a bunch of new things every day, are tested on it the next day, and are allowed to build on that knowledge immediately.

But, as always, what is school without the crazies?

The following conversation took place earlier today:

Max: How many ounces are in 2 pounds?

Chef K: Well, there are 16 ounces in 1 pound...

Max: Yeah, but how many are in 2 pounds?

Chef K: Think about it. If 1 pound is 16 ounces, you need another 16 ounces to make 2 pounds. Right?

Max: So I need 16 plus 16. What is 16 plus 16?

Chef K: You tell me.

Max: I don't know. What is it?

Chef K: Work it out on paper if you can't figure it out in your head.

Max looks at the rest of the class in the kitchen: What is 16 plus 16?

No one answers. Max repeats himself, and I get frustrated.

Me: It's 32.

Max: No, what's 16 plus 16?

Me: It's 32!

Chef K: Mary, let him figure it out.

Max: Urgh! What is 16 plus 16?

Somehow, he figured it out. Everything was fine until he tried to weight out 32 ounces on a 28 ounce scale...

There was another situation later on, too. Chef K yelled across the kitchen: "Whose cookies are smoking black?" to which the same student yelled back, "No. No! No! NO! NOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! D*** IT! NO! GOSH. NO!"

It was impossible not to burst out laughing. Seriously, you would have thought this guy had just arrived at the scene of car accident where a loved one had just died. (Which is not funny, by the way.)

I understand that it's entirely possible that there is something "wrong" with this man, especially since he expresses a series of anger outbursts in each class. However, after the chef told him to discard of his cookies, he pointed to a sheet pan of chocolate cookies and said, "Do you want me to throw out these burnt cookies, too?"

They were mine, and they were not burnt.

...

Ahem.

Anyway, the first day of baking class was the first day of cooking classes for several students. There's a lady who is very nice and has a kid my age, so she's old enough to be my mother. Day 1, she looked so scared, and I remembered that feeling very vividly, so I decided to take her under my wing, show her around, and feel good that I was high enough on the food chain (finally!).

I regret this.

This woman is very comfortable with me, and everything is now, "Ugh, I have a meeting after school. I am so not looking forward to it." or "I don't want to make this." or "I haven't memorized the 3 muffin methods. I am so going to fail this quiz. HOW can I forget it?"

I've decided that the best way to handle this is to limit her to 3-5 "Aww"'s a day. I'm confident that she'll use these up before class even starts. Small talk in the locker rooms are always interesting and that's where she usually complains the most. That's 7:15 in the morning. I seriously CANNOT understand HOW a person can wake up and complain like that every day. If it's raining, thank God for the cleansing waters and the meditative weather. If it's sunny, thank God for the sunshine, which reflects His glory.

Who cares if the rain messes up your hair? Who cares if the sun is making everything muggy? Is there anywhere where God says, "It's okay. I failed today. You don't have to thank Me for what I've done."

With this lady, it's stepped up a bit more this week. She's not only complaining, she's thrown in a few undeniably, unwarranted snide remarks to me. The kind where she lifts up and eyebrow and pinches her lips together.

Okay, you can find your own darn corn starch from now on.

I don't think I have too much to worry about. While she's under her rain cloud, I'm busy going over to Mr. Williams saying, "Watchu talkin' 'bout, ~~Willis~~ Williams?" and commenting on how a freaky-shaped buttermilk biscuit looks like the Millennium Falcon.

I like to make myself laugh.

ANYWAY, yesterday I made 7-1/2 pounds of whole wheat bread dough. I "baked that off" today and it feels ohsogood. You know in the movies, the over-dramatized knocking on the bread and the main characters goes, "Ahhhhhhhh." I knocked on my bread like 3 times today, and said, "Ahhhhhhhh." Fresh. Wholesome. Ahhhhhhhh.

Today I also made cookies called Chocolate Jumble Cookies, with chocolate chips, cocoa powder, and instant vanilla coffee. (These are the ones that Max thought were burnt and ready for the garbage) They tasted pretty darn good, but each cookie looked like a piece of regular chocolate cookie dough that had plunged itself from a very tall building. I guess they got depressed from listening to my partner.

And, at this very moment, all my mise en place is ready in the school fridge for blueberry muffins. The class across the hall makes entrees all morning, so I get to sample fresh pasta, salmon, duck, seared and roasted chicken, and ginger-infused mashed potatoes.

I have gained 5 pounds, but that doesn't mean anything. My digestive system is confusing. If I eat too much, I get sick and lose weight. If I don't eat much, my body hoards the food to supply me with the necessary energy. I can exercise all week long and eat healthy food, and gain 3 pounds. I can overeat and eat every gram of fat that I can get my hands on, and lose 3 pounds. If I go by how my clothes fit, I can fit into a pair of shorts that my mom bought me 3-4 summers ago that I couldn't fit into last summer.

As much as I eat, I exercise, too. Remember the 5K I was training for? That was this past weekend. I ran with my friend, and we finished in 0:36:38. I'm planning on signing up for another in August and I also plan on shaving another 6 minutes off my record 3.1 mile time and finishing in 30 minutes or less.

That's all. If you read ALL OF THE ABOVE, you deserve a medal because. You. Are. Awesome.

And are obviously not A.D.D.

Or if you are, then this post totally made sense to you.

Off to watch Perry Mason!

Summer Break, part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 00:31:00 +0000

My summer break started out rather slow and boring because I'm used to driving fast, talking fast, and swiping my debit card fast (as my bank record shows). A lot of people from school have been continually updating their Facebook statuses to complain that they're bored, but I've been keeping quite busy.

I don't want to give you the wrong impression. I do keep quite busy with Sims 3. (I didn't just say that. You didn't just read that. It is ~~not~~ true.)

Imagine a serious-minded, go-get-em young woman who has all her ducks in a row. Now imagine her friend, who stays up until 2 and sleeps in until noon, and watches documentaries on the Titanic while drinking iced lattes. I'm the friend.

However, I have been keeping myself busy by training for a 5k race. This is very exciting for me, because I see myself as an athletic person, but certainly not a sporty person. I love competing and playing sports, but am usually left in the dust when the two coincide. Running is perfect for me, because it allows me to get out all my excess energies and capitalize on my athletic abilities. Plus, my only immediate competitor is myself, yet I can still compare my pace and mileage with others on this great site a friend introduced me to called Dailymile.

I can run 3.1 miles in 40 minutes. My average pace for a mile is around 11 minutes and 30 seconds. If you're a runner, you know that's not spectacular, but it's not terrible either. The Lord has provided me with stable health and strength so that I can continue to get better. And I know it is the Lord, because there is no way I could improve (health-wise and in running) on my own.

Other than that, I have applied for a job, and my dad and I went to an airshow (which was awesome) and I have a newfound love for Perry Mason and have been trying to write more. I haven't been doing much cooking, mostly because I haven't stumbled across a really good recipe. Yesterday, I made chocolate mint patties and they taste good, but the patties won't stay together.

Guess who didn't follow the recipe?

Yeah. I may have to try another recipe, and if that one works out, I will be sure to share it with you :)

Iron Chef 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Mon, 24 May 2010 18:58:00 +0000

Today, I am not feeling well, but that is totally okay by my standards as there is nothing more comforting for me than to sit at my computer, with the whir of the air conditioning, and watch the gloriously bright sun reflect through the myriad of trees and branches just outside my window.

So, I decided that I'm going to work on my blog! I also thought that I would catch up on some of the many, many pictures that I need to post:

Shortly before the semester ended, the school's culinary department hosted their annual Iron Chef competition. Even though the competitors weren't bombarded with cameramen, provided with exotic ingredients, and then judged by famous people, the core purpose of the competition remained: a team relying on their knowledge and ability of cooking to turn out their best dish in a short amount of time.

Instead of 1 hour, we had a little over 2. There were 4 teams, each with 4 students. We had to make an appetizer and a main course (e.g. starch, veggie, meat), creating 6 plates out of each and making each dish out of mystery items. The mystery ingredients included whole chickens, strip steak, shrimp, lobster tails, wall-eye, artichokes, arborio rice, and several peppers.

In my group, Team A, we had a difficult time coming up with what we wanted to make. It was clear that there were 2 distinct categories of food: meat and poultry, and seafood. One girl insisted on making Italian ceviche, but didn't know what to make for an entree. Someone else wanted to do sushi for an appetizer, and then someone else wanted to do minestrone soup for an appetizer.

Even though I was the youngest and least experienced in my group, of one thing I was certain: seafood should be the appetizer. Meat, beef, beef broth, and chicken are just so heavy. It should be reserved for the main course. Seafood is lighter--lighter in color, texture, and weight--and the appetizer should be lighter than the entree.

I'm not sure if the others took my suggestion into consideration (I had a hard time getting a word in, and was fascinated by what the other 3 were coming up with), but they decided on...

Italian ceviche for the appetizer. A ceviche (seh-vee-chay) is a variety of fish and seafood (in our case: wall eye, lobster tails, and shrimp) cooked in citric acid, and served with cilantro and diced tomato. Though originally Spanish, a classic ceviche is cooked in fresh lime juice (no heat), but we ended up cooking in lime and lemon juice. We were worried that 2 hours wouldn't be enough time for it to cook, but we ended up putting in enough citric acid that it was a little overcooked.

Stuffed strip steak with rissoto and fresh veggies with a vinaigrette for the entree. The strip steak was stuffed with chicken and spinach, tied, seared, and then baked. It tasted like nothing I've ever tasted before. It was phenominal. One of my partners insisted the risotto was cooked, even borderline over cooked, but I could tell that it was not. I consider myself the queen of risotto, in case you can't tell. I ran it past one of my other partners, and he agreed it wasn't quite done. I added more chicken stock (from the pot that the chicken was cooked in) and heated it up, so it was quite warm by the time it was served. When our dish was critiqued, the chefs commented that it was (and I quote) "nicely cooked." That was compliment enough for me, especially since a majority of my duties included dicing vegetabes, wiping counters, and washing dishes. In the next year, I plan on gaining much more knowledge and expertise, so that I can be the bossy one in the next Iron Chef.

So...drumroll....

We got 2nd place!!

We each got a collapsable mandolin slicer and a waiter's corkscrew. Each person in first place won a copy of a fancy French cookbook on vegetable garnishes. Though I love love love cookbooks, I prefer my mandolin slicer over the cookbook: it's green. And collapsable!

We also lost points on sanitation...that was because the one girl refused to wear gloves when plating the ceviche.

First place got first place because their sauce was apparently kick butt. Their team member didn't use a recipe, just went by instinct and taste, and the chefs were immensely impressed. Yes, I am taking a mental note of next year!

All in all, it was a lot of fun, and I feel as though I learned a lot. (I'm not sure I would feel this way if I had gotten 3rd or 4th place -- ha!)

I started writing this blog post in my head...

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Tue, 18 May 2010 02:17:00 +0000

...while I was baking chocolate-cherry cookies, and I got so deep in thought that I ended up burning the cookies in the oven. No, they are not burnt. I caramelized them. (I have used that excuse in school, and it works.)

The next scene I'm rewriting in my novel is a milestone marker for the storyline. The main character sticks her finger into the middle of the villain's pie without knowing it: she goes on a date with one of the villain's henchmen, David--a super hot, super rich 20-something year old. David is supposed to become very close to the main character, so his boss has an advantage later on in the story. (The main character's father is the detective in charge of investigating the villain)

While mentally rewriting this scene in my head, I realized that it would be difficult to rewrite this scene and not feel as though I hadn't written it before. I can play a song on my violin terribly but passionately the first time. By the second time, I've learned most of the notes and can play it well, but lose the passion. This is my goal for the next chapter: play it well, and revitalize the pathos.

Yes, it sounds dramatic, but if you've read my blog past an entry or two, you know that I'm melodramatic, so this shouldn't come as a surprise.

I decided to look into David's character by figuring out who inspired me to write about him.

Usually, my inspiration is an ad I tore out of Teen Vogue. I tape the ads to my wall and give the models a history, and they eventually work their way into my writing. However, I knew that David was a little more than a Patek Philipe ad.

Who WAS my main inspiration for him?

There are 2 people, actually.

The first was a guy named Cody. I worked with him at Vacation Bible School. I was 15. He was 18. I was there to have fun and help out. He was there for court-ordered community service. I thought he acted like a pig but looked like a movie star. I don't know what he thought of me, but I know that my age didn't matter to him. (A major plot point in my storyline)

It didn't turn into anything, of course, except that he gave me a nickel. It's date is 1974. I know this because it's still in my jewelry box.

During the week that I worked with Cody, I had my first observational experience of police work and I decided that I wanted to be a police officer more than anything. This is ironic, seeing as I was "falling" for a guy who was serving community service hours.

After that week, I saw Cody a few times after that: once at the 4th of July parade, and once when my brother took me to play volleyball with his friends. At the parade, I also saw Cody's girlfriend, who I learned was more of a pig than he was. I also learned the true meaning of jealousy. Why would he go out with a girl with no class, when he could go out with ME? I really didn't need to be thinking those thoughts at that time, since I had other issues. I was so thin that my ribcage was all bones. (Most of that was involuntary, since I was very sick, but when I was able to eat something, I'd feel guilty about it. That was a nasty feeling.) As for the second time I saw Cody, it was 2 months later, and suddenly he didn't seem so charming anymore.

The second guy was named Alex. I knew him a year and a half ago. He would come in at the coffee shop where I worked and would hang around, especially when there was no one else around. I didn't suspect him of anything. He was sweet, but still quite a few years older than me. He loved to talk about music and movies, and had dropped out of a bachelor's degree in creative writing. We had a lot to talk about. He told me that he lived with his parents in the house next to the police chief, which was on the wealthiest street in town. The old houses on that street are huge, old, and beautiful. The bay is practically their front yard.

One day Alex stopped coming in. I forget if I knew why, or if there even was an answer. One of the times he was in the coffee shop, he had mentioned that his cousin was in a band, and he knew it was his cousin by the unique last name. Somehow, I ended up doing research and found that last name on familywatchdog.us (a site that shows a map of predators in your vicinity). A young man who had the same last name as Alex, and the same face (though slightly younger and with pink hair) was on the list. As if need be said, his home wasn't listed as being on the wealthy street in town.

I don't know all these facts to be true, but I do know that the face on familywatchdog is a very similar but younger version of Alex's face. And in a town of less than 10,000 people, it seems very likely that my suspicions are correct.

So, these 2 dudes inspired my villain's henchman, David, and in more ways than I think I even consciously know. Hopefully, since I just refreshed on these people, I will be able to rework the scene with all the gusto that I hope it will read.

And even if I don't, I still have my caramelized cookies for company :)

I am...

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Sat, 15 May 2010 00:40:00 +0000

DONE WITH MY FIRST SEMESTER AT CULINARY SCHOOL!

Yet, even though it's a 2-year culinary program, I'm not exactly half done. I have completed 2 of 5 semesters. The next semester starts in 2 weeks, and I'll start Baking for Chefs in 3 weeks. That gives me a nice little break to keep finishing the final draft of my novel, as well as hunt for a job.

So...

I AM NO LONGER A LOWLY FIRST YEAR!

I don't mean to shout, and I don't mean to seem so happy about it. There really isn't anything wrong with being a first year, except for the parts where you feel stupid because you can't remember how to braise or where the spatulas are. "First year" does sound a lot better than "tweener" (being "in between" first and second year), but "second year" has a certain golden ring to it.

On a side note, I have many many many pictures to upload and I will save that for another post. I don't realize it, but I still cook a lot at home, despite how much cooking I've done at school. Even the small things count for me, like cooking green beans. Tonight I'm also going to make a strawberry jell-o and cool whip salad. Tomorrow, however, I will be making homemade ratatouille with fresh egg plant, zucchini, and tomatoes. Skip the powdered garlic, too, I bought bulbs, baby ;) I'm going to be serving that on whole wheat pasta. I also bought broccoli for cream of broccoli soup (made with a roux, a thickening agent made with equal parts flour and butter, heated over a stove).

So, for the next 3 weeks, (and whether or not I get a job) I am going to be studying cooking on my own. Why? Don't I need a break? Well, first, I learn better on my own without anyone distracting me or without the one chef spontaneously bellowing "You're doing WHAT. SERIOUSLY...No, really, that's...that's not a bad idea. No, I mean it. You're doing it the right way."

Second, I get to make what I want and don't have to worry about my many allergies and intolerances (like lactose, tryptophan, raspberries, wasabi, cabbage, lobster -- to name a few).

Third, I just really miss learning things at home. Every day I come home from school, I give my mom a reason why homeschooling is more efficient than public school. If I make a mistake, who cares? :) No pressure. Who can learn if they can't have a little fun?

the little chef who could

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Mon, 10 May 2010 04:06:00 +0000

It's been a dream of mine to keep up a blog daily, posting often and getting 100's of comments. Sometimes life is to slow for there to be anything to report, and the polar-opp is that I'm too busy to post anything.

This week is definitely the latter. This week is finals week.

The end of my second semester is coming to a close.

On Tuesday, I get to spend the afternoon making a cream soup, a basic vinaigrette which I will turn into a nicer vinaigrette, hollandaise, and mayonnaise, and write a written report on my procedures. I get off Wednesday, which is awesome, because it's my 19th birthday. My early morning Thursday class was cancelled, so I'll be able to conserve some brain cells. (So far as I'm concerned, spending 10-20 minutes telling fishing stories is not teaching) On Friday, I have a final for Nutrition (I already have the small amount of material memorized and posted on my wall, so no worries there).

Then, I get a 3 week break, in which I am going to be looking for a job.

After those 3 short weeks, I will be returning to school for summer baking classes. Now that my best friend is not going back to school, school has lost most of its shine. Don't get me wrong...I absolutely love cooking. Like writing, like painting, like dancing, like music, it is an art. All arts relate to each other, but this is art under pressure and I love it.

You concentrate so hard, and your mind is comprehending instructions faster than it can turn it into actual, audible thoughts, but the mental track explodes when the person next to yousighs, puts away their cell phone and moans, "Ugh, what am I supposed to do? What did the chef say?"

And when you actually have the patience to explain it to this person, they reply with, "Yeah, well, I'm going to do it a different way."

So, I have low patience and a fast temper, I'm completely self-absorbed and tend to think too highly of myself and too lowly of those around me, but anymore I'm trying to break from this stupidity and I feel as though I have excelled above all these lazy students whose cell phone screens are steaming up because they hold their phones over their pots of soup.

And after I get through classes that sometimes feel like a continuous replay of stupidity, my week ends with my favorite class which I spend with my best friend. She gets everything I tell her--we're on the same line of thoughts sometimes it's surreal--and I hate to think that from here on it'll just be me.

Yes, there are other people that I get along with just fine. But I am a homeschool graduate who was raised at home, am not willing to move out of home because I love and get along great with my family, do not partake and discuss in obscene drinking habits, have never even seen drugs up close (much less have ever used them), do not have a boyfriend and prefer to wait on God to find one for me than find one for myself at a bar, do not talk about having a low stock of condoms or an overstock of lingerie, do not brag about breaking the law, do not brag about starving myself because real men like girls with no fat, do not brag about over-eating because real guys love "fat chicks", and because I am going to school to learn something useful.

Because of these things, some people see me as different species. They ask me questions and then purposely laugh, as if it's exceedingly ridiculous and entertaining to listen to a person who has fun without partaking in self-destructive activities.

And the one person who shares the same values as me, who is my partner in bursting out into song, and who is the only one of my classmates that I can really talk to will no longer be at school. And I am afraid I'll be stuck with these idiotic morons who explain to the chef that using the keychain end of a whisk is better because it allows them to stir "a little" when they feel they don't need to use a entire whisk. True story. The woman is in her 50's. Don't do drugs, people.

I am fully intending on seeing my best friend a lot outside of school, and I already miss her, but school just won't be the same anymore. You cannot have an intellectual conversation with a person who stops you when you say a 3-syllable word, and says to you, "Ohhh....! That's a big word."

(Actually, for some reason, it popped into my head and I think the word was "deliberately" that this 30-something year old woman was so intimidated by. No, it's not 3 syllables, but that's not my point.)

I wish school could just be school. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't come home after these classes and wish I was homeschooled again. I can see that God allowing my parents to homeschool me was no mistake. How fortunate I am that I haven't had to deal with these (insert insulting adjective) people stepping in on my education until now.

I actually wish that these people won't pass their finals and will have to repeat these classes. Then, there will be more of us more serious-minded students who can move ahead and learn something without that baggage. Is that bad of me to say?

There is one thing that I like about those people at school. Let me just say this first: my brother has always seemed several feet taller than me. When I was 10, he probably really was several feet taller than me. We used to wrestle all the time, and he'd teach me defense tactics and I learned to bounce back from him tossing me on the couch or pushing me to the ground with his one foot. We still fight sometimes. He's 6'4 and a not a small guy. (I'm now 5'8.)

So knowing that, consider the 6', 125 pound culinary student who stands a few yards away from me and loudly tells his friends that he prefers to beat up women because they are more "responsive". Then he says, "Like those first years. I could totally beat her up." And he and his 2 friends turn and stare at me.

Knowing he can't do anything (not only because a chef is nearby, but I know the minor legal grounds for what can be considered assault and battery and am not afraid to run upstairs to the police department branch), I say without a second thought, "Go ahead. I have a spatula. I could take you on."

The look on his face was worth a hundred bucks.

I didn't even have to think about what to say. I shut the door on him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So, I thank God for making me tough enough to withstand the more threatening people. I only pray that I will have patience to cope with the others. On my bed is The Idiot's Guide to Dealing With Difficult People. I'm stepping closer. My goal is to be able to shut the door on stupidity and learn. Maybe this is God's plan for me, instead of me bottling up everything and then releasing all the stress when my best friend and I get together.

He has blessed me so much by sending me my best friend, but maybe we've clicked too much. Maybe I'm supposed to become more reliant on Him.

You would, too.

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 03:30:00 +0000

That, folks, is unedited farting. Classy.

But (and no puns intended), I think I know why he did that, and if I'm right, then...well...you would, too.

Yesterday, everyone made French Onion Soup. *cue heavenly chorus* Man, oh, man, was that stuff good.

The cutting the onions part wasn't so fun. Chef J.L. showed me how to cut an onion. I ALMOST cut a quarter of an onion in the time it took him to chop a whole one. I think I need to be a bit more angered before I can go at an onion like that. (But as all my readers know, it's really not to hard to anger me to that point)

So there's like...4 and 1/2 onions in a 3 gallon pot with 2 oz of butter.

3 days later is looked something like the above. Then, after it was caramelized, I deglazed the pan with brandy and boxed red wine, added a half cup of beef stock and let it simmer until it reduced.

After it was sufficiently reduced, I added the rest of the beef stock, some thyme, salt, and pepper. After that, I poured it into a ceramic bowl, added some parmesan cheese, and put it in the oven at 500*F for around 10 minutes. I topped it off with 3 small slices of toast (aka bread baked in olive oil--like light croutons)...and voila!

That's a darn lot of onions.

THAT'S why Rahm Emmanuel farted.

Melonhead

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 23:15:00 +0000

Yes, that is a swan made out of honeydew melon. No, I did not make it. I wish it did! I learned how to do it, and looks like a lot of fun! I did, however, make a 1970's grass plant vase (green onion and a peeled yellow squash).

(So classy!)

What I had the most fun making was a seahorse dewberry melon. One of the chefs printed out a picture of a seahorse, which I traced into a more basic image, and then eye-balled that image by pen onto the melon.

I used a paring knife to cut out the pen marks. So, you make one cut with the blade straight, and then another cut with the blade at an angle. That way, you end up exposing more of the dark interior. Luckily, I've seen 4.5 seasons of Bones, so I didn't need a lot of help with that part. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's probably better that way)

I used a curved tool (you can sort of see it on the lower right) to make the ridges.

The chef suggested that I make waves, so I did.

I shaved off the area around the seahorse and above the waves...(I love its little wings! They turned out so cute.)

There you can see the waves better...

I took out the background, so now it's bowled out and ready for fruit to be put in it. Wouldn't it look great with watermelon balls inside? Mmmm. After today, I am SO hungry for watermelon!

(A behind shot of the seahorse.)

So now I want to research what other people have done in the art of fruit carving! If you know of any sites, or have any pictures to share, please post a link in the comments!

The sea monkeys have my money!

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 23:33:00 +0000

My bedtime (since last summer) has been anywhere from 1 am to 3am. (My parents ask me, "Don't you go to school anymore?" since I only have 1 morning class) So lately I've been trying to be healthier, and that includes getting into a better sleeping pattern. Though I can't get to bed before midnight, I am working on what I eat for breakfast. 225 cal? I can't complain with that. (Though my par cal count for breakfast is usually 0)

I also partially ran a mile today, but I'm planning on making something with blueberries, chocolate chips, and phyllo dough later. Let's see if I can keep up and keep improving this routine.

Right, so you are just dying to know about me. So I'll give you want you want and just show you the food:

These are what I made in class on Tuesday. These are chicken salad (made with Tabasco, raisins, celery, heavy mayo, and dijon) in puff pastry.

These are berry sauce in puff pastry. I made these last minute, so I threw some diced apple, blueberries, brown sugar, lemon juice, and a cinnamon stick in a sauce pan and let it bubble for a while. The puff pastry was already pitted, so voila! Classy.

These are what I'm hoping to recreate tonight. They are homemade cream puffs, with blueberries, vanilla extract (vanilla bean sticks and vodka -- woohoo!) and chocolate chips. I melted them over a bain marie (double boiler) so the chocolate wouldn't burn.

Gotta be careful with chocolate...that stuff's precious ;)

Today, Wednesday, everyone was assigned to make clam chowder. I won't go into saying how incredible it was that everyone's looked/tasted different and how unique and precious every individual is for making such a unique soup.

I'll just say that I only tasted mine, and it was delicious, and the texture was dreamy. And yes, dreamy. There were quite a few not-so-appetizing soups on the tasting table.

And, yes, I won't exactly call you precious and unique if you lock me out of the store room one more pancake flippin' time. Gosh.

Prettyyy!!

And, in case you haven't been able to tell by now, I got a new camera phone. Virgin Mobile, I love you. I also have a $5/month package that lets me send 200 text messages a month, and I find great joy in this, which is why I have been...you know...taking picture of my breakfast.

If you'd like to see more pictures of my breakfast immediately after I take them, be sure to follow me on Twitter. Or, if you don't have Twitter, just go to my TwitPic page.

XO Mary

What's up, buttercup?

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 02:32:00 +0000

In the past, like, 2 months that I haven't blogged, I swear I haven't changed. How do I convince you of that?

Psych is still my favorite TV show.
Salsa con queso still remains my favorite entree.
Rummaging the fridge is still my favorite hobby.

Anyway, lately I have been cooking...

...and baking...

...a lot.

At home, I've made:

2 loaves of Banana/Zucchini/Chocolate-chip bread
24 vegan banana/walnut muffins
20 of Martha Stewart's Chick Cakes
Martha Stewart's drop cookies
an 11"x16" yellow butter cake (also Martha Stewart--think I'm getting use out of that cookbook I bought?) with chocolate buttercream frosting
baked & breaded tarragon chicken (4 supreme cuts)
a large bowl of mashed potatoes to go with it
several bowls of carrots, sliced julienne (or something like julienne)
deviled eggs with dijon

At school: I've made:

ceviche, which I wigged out and didn't eat
Italian Beef soup
2 pitchers of fresh lemonade
deviled eggs with broccoli and paprika
stuffed mushrooms
sliced carrots with baked gingersnap stuffing

I've decided Italian cooking is the most fun, tastiest, and most likely to give me a heartburn. Asian cooking is a new area for me, and I've had so much fun discovering new ingredients (rice wine vinegar, fish sauce, ginger and garlic combo) and how "Asian" something can look with diagonal cuts.

I've also learned that I'm quite allergic to wasabi. (That's totally okay with me, though, as I don't intend on tasting that again. However, after I tried a seemingly small but outrageously HOT bit of wasabi, my left arm sprouted tiny red dots...that was not cool.)

I've also missed a LOT of classes because my digestive system decided it didn't like me anymore. It's okay, we broke up. It started at the end of February, and my mom took me to a doctor, who ordered a CT scan for me. Then...they had me drink some HIDEOUS 18oz drink.

Dad forced me to drink it. It was like I was Dumbledore and he was Harry Potter. No joke. I cried.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nVQPwH2m4s

And the scan went great. They gave me an XL cup of red Koolaid with "medicine" mixed in and I had nooo problem drinking that, especially after having not eaten or ~~drinken~~ ~~drinked~~ drank for 4 hours before that. (How did I get through THAT? Duh. I took a 2.5 hour nap, got dressed, and left for the hospital)

I will say that having a IV flushing cold liquid through my veins in the strangest sensation I've ever experienced.

So THEN, the doctor put me on a low-dose medication which made me go CRAZY for the next, oh, 5 weeks. I couldn't write a word of fiction, and couldn't think straight. I feared the people in white coats would finally come and take me away.

Actually, the tides have changed. I am now the mean person in the kitchen. Either that, or people in the kitchens are becoming more dumb.

Yesterday, I was sort of training a newbie culinary student. I had to walk him through making a parfait. I told him to cut up the banana. I don't think he even finished peeling it before asking, "Do you want me to save the peel?"

Then, I told him to whisk an egg yolk until it looked like lemon meringue. He began to stir it...very....slowly. "Whisk it. Fast," I said. He began a steady stir. "Faster." Medium stir. Then I shouted something like, "Beat the LIVING DAYLIGHTS out of it, Dan!" Except I didn't say living daylights. I said crap.

He was confused. I think he thought I was hazing him by giving him carpal tunnel syndrome. After that, I forgot that the chef said to "fold in" the yogurt and I had him whisk it in, which totally broke the emulsion. I told him to skip the topping, to wash the blueberries, mix in the banana slices, put the fruit in the martini glass, and sprinkle granola on top.

The chef is yelling at everyone to bring their stuff over and come over for tasting and final lecture. Dan asks me what he should do with the martini glass. I told him to put it on the tasting table. I don't think he quite believed me.

When the chef held up the martini glass, she asked what the liquid was in the bottom of the glass. "Water," I said. "Water?" she asked. "What's water doing in the glass?" I shrugged. "I don't know."

I guess it was leftover from when Dan washed the fruit. But he had to do something. My partner was working on soy pasta with veggie sauce and tofurkey. I had 20 minutes to squeeze a dozen+ lemons with a small, non-mechanical juicer to make (what turned out to be) 2 pitchers of fresh lemonade. I honestly think Dan didn't believe me when I told him he was going to have to make the parfait.

When I put the 2 pitchers of lemonade on the tasting table, I was embarrassed because I thought it was too much. Ironically, by the end of class, only 2 inches was left in one of the pitchers. That's with 14 people and only 1 oz cups. Needless to say, I was very pleased!

Also, one of the second years came in and I asked him if he wouldn't mind tasting the lemonade to tell me if it needed more sugar or not. He very gladly took it, and in return gave me and my partner each a 1 oz cup of chocolate ganache.

Not all of the second-years are that pleasant. When I had to share the same aisle (a row with 4 sets of stoves) with one of them, he got annoyed that I was invading his space. He told his friends he should come over and beat me up. I said something along the lines of, "Go ahead. I have a spatula. I could take you on." (Needless to say, he was not expecting me to say that.)

Having 2 brothers does have it's advantages.

God it very good to me,

Mary

A Different Perspective of Good Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 04:40:00 +0000

I can in no way convey the thoughts of Christ while He was dying on the cross, but I'm posting this as a way to help myself and others gain perspective of what it might have been like for Christ. My theology and understanding of the Bible and the Gospel are far from extraordinary, so I hope you'll forgive (and correct) any errors that I may have, or segments that I may have left out.

Above is the sky, gray. Below is a crowd of people. The pain blurs your eyes, and it’s not just a single pain—it’s a pain unevenly distributed throughout your entire body, peaking especially in your hands and feet. Your back aches from lashes. Your scalp stings. The pain doesn’t go away, the wounds don’t even begin to heal because there isn’t any time for the wounds to begin to heal. You can’t lie down, or crawl into a corner and die. No. You’re upright and the whole public is watching you.

Your head rolls side to side, your cheek brushing against the splintered wood—the wood that you carried. Every time you move your head, the thorns dig deeper into your scalp, creating angry piercings into your head that bleed down your face. You can’t even wipe away the blood; your hands are stapled to the wood.

The crowd jeers, yells. They are watching you die. The pain grows stronger with every minute, and you look at the people. Perhaps worse than the crowd taking pleasure in this event are seeing the people who are not. Perhaps your loved ones try to defend you, and the soldiers mercilessly throw them back. You can’t bear to your loved ones cry, to fight for you, to be pulled back. Oh, God, don’t let them be in pain, too.

And that’s just it. God. Your entire life’s mission, all of your duties and hardships—and for what? For a being that seemed to disappear. A being—your God, your Father—has desolated you. The pain in your chest, in your soul, stings worse than the physical pain you are experiencing.

For 3 hours—180 minutes—you endure this torture.

Finally, in a loud voice, you cry out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

And what do they do? They give you a drink. They give you vinegar.

The pain, the despair—you are the only being in your world. No one else can or will experience this magnitude of humiliation or pain or despair. Yet this is not the end. No, you’re far from the end.
You yell once more, and everything suddenly goes black.

Updates & whatnot

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 05:20:00 +0000

It is...Monday evening. 11:20, to be exact.

I am finally feeling better. Sometimes with emotions running high, and my stomach pulsing like a train on wobbly tracks, I get a little panicked. Panicked, as in, seriously--there is no way this situation can land on two feet.

Which is understandable after being ill for a week and a half, knowing that in a few weeks you won't feel too hot again and you'll feel sick again sooner if you step over that fine of food tolerances. However, I understand that I frightened a person or two and I apologize.

For now, I am concentrated less on my stomach, and more on other things. Such as...

Violin. I just started playing Vivaldi's Summer, of The Four Seasons. Beautiful piece!

Writing. It would be so awesome to hold a final copy of my book by summer. And it's looking like I might!

So, yes, I am living the life of a self-absorbed college student. Whereas I hope I'm not being inconsiderate of others in my thoughts and behaviors, I am enjoying owning my schedule, for the most part.

Tomorrow I am back in the kitchens. This would be great, but I really am hoping for a snow day. I would love an extra day to work on my book!!! :)

The House Panini

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 09:25:00 +0000

Summer 2009:

2 slices of Italian Premium (No HFCS) bread
1 layer of thick whip mayo
1 layer of guacamole
1 layer of spinach pesto sauce
2 slices of tomato
3 slices of deli ham
A handful of tomato
1-2 slices of deli provolone cheese

The only guideline is that the thick whip mayo and tomato are next to each other, so that the mayo melts into the tomato and creates this amazing sensation. Oil both outer sides of bread with olive oil. Grill for 4-6 minutes on a panini grill.

Winter 2010:

2 slices of Italian Premium (no HCFS) bread
1 thin layer of guacamole (by the way, NOT ala Austin Powers -- chop it up and make guacamooole out of it)
A good dash of grated parmesan cheese
3 slices of mushroom
3 slices of cucumber
A handful of spinach
Roast beef (if available, sometimes I do go vegetarian for my lunch)
1 tsp of dried basil (which go EXCELLENT on the roast beef, but I'll put it on no matter what)

Lightly oil both outer sides of bread with olive oil on a pastry brush. Grill for 3 minutes.

Please note that I bought that gorgeous plate at Tuesday Morning for (I believe) $1.99.

Vegetable chips make a great side (only about 1/4 cup), as well as a few cold cut sticks of carrots and celery.

I believe the guacamole is organic, but I'm not entirely positive on that one. All other things are HFCS free. Voila.

EDIT: You can do this at home, even if you don't have a grill! Simply grill it old-style on a saute pan. This sandwich costs approximately $2.25 in ingredients, not including coupons or sales. I've sold sandwiches around this quality for about $6.00. So...that saves you around $4.00. Frugal, anyone?

Dried Cherry & Apple Walnut Yogurt Parfait

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

This is a quick recipe that you can tweak all you like. I'll call it one of my whatever is in the house recipes.

From bottom to top...

1/3 cup vanilla yogurt
1/3 cup organic wheat squares
1 Granny Smith apple, sliced
2 TBS chopped walnuts
2 TB dried cherries

Voila.

It's on, sistah

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 17:00:00 +0000

My sister, Sarah, and I go way back when...you know, 'cause we're, like, sisters.

We don't always have a lot in common (Sarah's thrifty, witty, and vegan, and I like to spend a sometimes obscene amount of money, tend to just--you know--talk back rather than come up with a good, witty comment, and love me some meat). But we do have a lot in common: we both love art, cooking, good clearance finds, 1970's fashion and styles, criminal justice, crushing people's heads (ala Kids in the Hall), yelling at people on the road while we're driving too fast, Conan O'Brien, Reno911!, Bright Eyes, and Good Charlotte.

For the past few years, Sarah has been very interested in healthy eating, and has recently started a blog based on healthy eating on a budget. Whereas Today I Made Risotto tends to lean more towards unhealthy eating, I actually have been trying to change my diet since having watched Food, Inc and King Corn (both of which my mom just blogged about).

So, in the spirit of innocent sibling rivalry, I'm going to start posting about healthy entrees and breakfast items. Sarah's will usually beat mine (as tofu tends to be healthier than meat injected with chemicals), but I think I can still put up a good fight...as always ;)

Well, Sarah...it's on!

Sweet Whimsy's Carrot Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 19:38:00 +0000

(Curse ye', Kodak!)

Carrot cake has never been a favorite of mine. In fact, I won't eat it unless it's the only dessert item left at a potluck (my mom never makes it), and I most certainly won't eat if there is chocolate available.

But, of course, my mom saved me an article about a pastry chef in Illinois who has this kick-butt carrot cake that he sells in his bakery, called Sweet Whimsy.

Sweet Whimsy's Carrot Cake

1-1/2 cups vegetable oil (I used 1 cup)
2 cups sugar
3 eggs
2 cups grated carrots
1 can (13 oz) crushed pineapple with juice (we didn't have any pineapple, so I used a splash of orange juice and lemon juice for the acid and the citric flavor)
1-1/2 cups shredded coconut
1 cup chopped pecans
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups flour
2 TB cinnamon
2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt

Vanilla Cream Cheese Frosting
8 ounces cream cheese, softened (I used 6 oz)
8 TB unsalted butter (I used 4 TB)
1 tsp vanilla extract
4-1/2 powdered sugar (I used 3 cups)

Heat oven to 350*F.
Brush melted butter on the inside of an 11"x15" pan (I used cooking spray on a lasagna pan)

In a large bowl, beat the oil, eggs, and sugar until pale
yellow.

In a separate bowl, mix the carrots, pineapple, coconut, pecans,
and vanilla.

Into a third bowl, sift the flour with the cinnamon, baking
soda, and salt.

Alternately add the carrot mix and the flour mix to the
eggs and sugar; stir/mix thoroughly.

Bake 50 minutes (around 40 in a
larger pan) or until knife inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean.

For the frosting: Cream the butter, cream cheese, and
vanilla. Add the powdered sugar a little at a time and mix until well blended.
Spread on a cooled cake. Serves 20.

I set the cake on a cooling rack, and put the frosting in a ZipLoc 1 gallon freezer bag. Once the cake had cooled, I cut it into approximately 24 pieces. I snipped the corner off the freezer bag (thus creating a make-shift pastry bag) and twisted a little puddle of frosting on 12 of the little cakes. I then put the 12 empty cakes on top of each of the frosted, and then swirled more frosting on the top (so it looked a little like a soft-serve ice cream cone) and sprinkled cinnamon on top.

I may never eat carrot cake from a buffet, potluck, or grocery store again, but this was the greatest, non-chocolate item I have ever sampled. (And resampled, and fed to my family)

(Credit: The local newspaper, from Chef Josh Baudin, Sweet Whimsy, Long Grove, IL)

"Sincerely, Irene" Excerpt

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 01:56:00 +0000

“It’s not breaking and entering,” said Emma, “if you don’t break anything and you have a key. Now shut up.”

Bridget sighed and faced the street. “Try the one with the pink duct tape again.”

Emma dug the key further into the lock, twisted, and the lock gave a satisfying click. She twisted the key back, removed it, and dropped it in her purse. The door opened with a lengthy whine, but there was no one to scare—not even the cat.

It was stuffy and dim. Vertical blinds blocked the waning sunlight and cast it in sharp fiery lines across the ceiling. A heaving hum came from the refrigerator, and cool air washed through the floor vents. Everything was quiet.

“Brianna’s room is probably this way,” Bridget whispered. “Let’s go. I want to get out of here.”

Emma tightened her purse strap around her shoulder and followed Bridget down the dark hall. Heart pulsating anxiously inside her ribcage, she opened a door with a Good Charlotte poster and found a neon pink room. Several bookshelves towered to the ceiling, more posters lined the walls, and clothes lay haphazardly amongst the desk, bed, and floor. How, she wondered, was she ever going to find her cell phone in this mess?

Bridget wandered further down the hall, taking a peek into the bathroom for unwanted killers and staring curiously at the family photos on the wall. When she went into Brianna’s room, she found Emma slipping a CD into her purse.

“Klepto,” she hissed. “Put it back.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but obeyed.

“It’s not like she doesn’t have everything already,” she said.

“Stealing is stealing” Bridget replied. “Zero tolerance, remember?”

“Whatever,” Emma snapped.

She continued to dig around the bookshelves, scanning titles and fingering trinkets. Failing to notice that Emma had found her cell phone, Bridget lifted the blinds with two fingers and stared out the window.

“Crap,” she squeaked. “We’ve got a visitor.”

Let's Moonwalk to OkGo!

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 04:14:00 +0000

Did you get what you want?

Did you get what you need?

Behind the lines, behind the walls,

Tell me what's the bet you made?

Was it that bad after all?

("White Knuckles" - OkGo)

-goes back to MS Word-

SAY HELLO TO MY (new) LIL FRIEND

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 04:56:00 +0000

It all began like any disaster would. I was sitting at my desk, quiet and serene, swinging slightly to the methodical creak of my chair, when suddenly the swing became greater and I realized the terrible risk I was faced with sitting on the poor thing.

So I duct-taped it.

It still wiggled. So I duct-taped the seat to the legs.

But, of course, duct tape just looked so ghetto, so I went into my closet and found a frilly $5 shirt that I set aside for crafting. Having only worn the shirt twice, I had no problems cutting off the collar and frills. I used the middle and streeeetched it around the legs.

And, to my very luck, I found an almost identical shirt in my Goodwill pile. I cut a straight line across the underarms.

I turned it inside out and loosely stitched along the cut, turned it back out, and pulled it over the back of the chair.
The next part was tricky: I took a fabric napkin, made out of very heavy material, and stitched it directly to the middle of a 13"x 13" pillow. Then, I stitched a pearly white vintage button to the middle, added blue lace, and nail/duct-taped the cushion to the seat of the chair. For the last step, I tacked lace around the middle of the chair and around the back for color contrast. The "skirt" of the chair is just pulled down, not taped or nailed, to make for easy fixing later on (which is quite possible, as the chair didn't respond well to the nailing procedure)

This took me all of 2-1/2 hours. I listened to Lady Gaga, OkGo, Basshunter, and then finally settled on the History Channel's "The Revolution."

Upon hearing the nailing, Mom thought I just decided to demolish my chair. Instead, I ended up with this:

I am quite pleased, however, I am still in need of a desk chair: this is a little girl sized chair.

Perhaps a visit to IKEA is in my near future? ;)

(Inspiration and the ideas for renovation go to http://LivingWithLindsey.com and http://RaechelMyers.blogspot.com)

A Day in the Life of a Zombie

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 03:44:00 +0000

(image not mine)

6:45: Deep-a-deep-a-deep, Deep-a-deep-a-deep goes the alarm clock. I am rudely interuppted from my serene dreams to realize that I have to leave in 45 gracious minutes.

7:00: DUDE WHERE'S MY COFFEE?

7:15: Drop a sandwich onto the panini grill...

7:30: Leave and floor it out of the subdivision

7:45: Make it to school, parked in a fairly decent spot

8:00: Reconnect with friends from last semester! Yey!

8:05: Teacher arrives...finally. We go into the class and the teacher starts off with a bio.

8:30 (in the year 2013): The teacher ends his bio. We actually start on curriculum.

10:00: Get out 50 minutes early, and talk to some good friends from last semester.

10:30: Leave for the library.

11:00: Found a freakin' sweet Martha Stewart cooking school book. A good refresher on stocks and sauces.

11:30: Arrive home, talk to Mom, eat breakfast, immediately followed by lunch. (I didn't finish my 7 am panini)

12:30: Back out the door, floor it through the subdivision. Stare at a homeless man and a stray white poodle, thus missing an opening in the traffic. So I wait. Then I floor it and get into the flow of traffic.

12:55: Jog-walk to class.

1:00: Make it to class and sit by a new friend. Teacher has us interview another person and then make a statement (a point) about that person, complete with supporting facts, and then restate our statement.

1:15: Teacher says our speeches don't have to be like Obama or Frasier. I laugh (and am the only one to do so) because I think he means Frasier Crane. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn't. But this teacher is also my Psychology teacher and he teaches about Freud. I only hope to goodness he is a fan of the show.

3:15: Make it out of class. Get in the car and listen to The Roe and Cisco Show on WLS.

3:17: COFFEE. ISN'T. WORKING. Must keep eyes...open...Don't want to wake up in a cornfield....

3:20: Turn Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" up to about 120 decibels.

3:25: Yayy! Roe and Cisco are back on.

3:30: HOME. Zombie walk to the front stairs...

(The next 2 hours I do not recall....Like. Absolutely cannot recall, but I know at 6 o'clock I stopped playing Sims 3)

6:15: Eat dinner.

6:25: Go onto computer for an online class conference.

6:30: Teacher is M.I.A.

6:45: I swear I'm going to drop the class and swallow down some tears. My stomach hurts, I'm tired, and I feel post-mortem.

6:55: Get an email back from the teacher....get connected to a phone conference.

8:00: End phone conference, and bring up Sims 3 again

8:30: Hear tiny feet pattering around inside the walls and flooring....

9:00: Mom makes cake and Dad brings me some. WINNN.

9:30: My Sim FINALLY has a baby girl. I named her Ivie. She's going to be a virtuoso. She has like. 2 million cousins. My Sims hate me. But I like big families.

10:08: Current moment. Off to watch Frasier, take a shower, and collapse into a vegetative state until my 12 o'clock class tomorrow morning.

OH.

I am also trying my hardest to complete remove corn, high fructose corn syrup, dextrose, maltrodextrose and all those crazy corn-related items out of my diet. It's HARD. EVERYTHING has corn in it. From PopTarts to Gatorade, to apple sauce and Progresso soup. EVERYTHING. But I'm sticking to my $3.50 for a 6-pack of all-natural, organic oatmeal bars. I worked over the summer. I have money. And three months ago, I had DOUBLE the money I have now.

Three months ago I could almost afford this: (with a loan)

And now, I can almost afford this: (with a loan)

Who am I kidding? The 2007 Honda belongs to Detective Booth, who ~~is the fictional character in my book, who also resides in my imagination, and~~ tells me to please NOT smart off to THIS guy....

The end.

Back to School, Week 1

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 02:50:00 +0000

"Our CPR class can't save this vinaigrette now!"

"How is the pasta coming along?"
"It's breaking apart, and is about as straight as Clay Aiken."

"Are we supposed to use a recipe for this chicken soup?"
"Nah, just wing it."

The first week back from school has been full of everything from Freud to vinaigrette, psychoanalysis to pureed carrot and ginger soup. I have an instructor that is very hyper and dedicated, and another that is very lethargic and magically disappears for 10-15 minutes at a time. Today, I learned what's it's like to have a instructor scream in my face, and another instructor work with me one-on-one. And, honestly, I was more surprised about the latter.

Maybe it's because I'm 18 and this is supposed to be the part of my life where I'm my greatest hero and everything I say is perfectly right, but...

...but...

There is practically no way to spice up the plate presentation on a bowl of clear chicken noodle soup that already has parsley in it.

And whipped cream does not belong in a pureed soup.

Teach me otherwise, serve it in your restaurant, but I stick by my beliefs.

The one chef was yelling at everyone to hurry and bring their plates over, so I quickly tossed some soup in a bowl (and on my hands...ow) and rushed over. I only had one piece of chicken in my bowl, but it was just for tasting and the rest of the soup would be served in the cafeteria tomorrow. The chef laughed at the bowl of soup representing my group, and asked how on earth he would pay $6 for a bowl of soup that only had one piece of chicken in the bowl. I (somewhat jokingly) replied that that's why he'd pay first.

When he inquired WHY I only had one piece of chicken in my bowl, I responded that it was because he was yellinh at everyone to hurry. He told me to "Hurry back and make it worth a $6 bowl of soup." I did, and when I came back he screamed in my face. I don't remember what he said, but I laughed at him.

But it made me sort of...happy. Why? Because he's a teacher. The two student teachers are both chefs at restaurants, and they're perfectly amiable. This means that my having to deal with such stupidity is limited to my time at college (5 semesters, including summer). When I go to work somewhere, I won't have to deal with it. And if I do (as I've had to twice before in jobs) then I quit with no strings attached.

However, I agree with the idea that all stereotypes have truth in the them and that chefs are generally irritable people. (Including chefs in training) One of my culinary classmates refuses to respond to her other classmates. When asked a question by a teacher, she usually rolls her eyes or sighs before responding. Today, I heard her say something without being at knifepoint: "Ugh. I went to three vending machines and all of them were out of water. I'm dying. I'm parched."

There's another girl who is constantly leaving class and lab to text. Yesterday, she was in the hall, carrying several cutting boards with utensils piled on top. When I asked her if she wanted me to get the kitchen door for her, she replied in a snotty tone, "Yeah, if you can." Then, she actually thanked me, too. I was dumbstruck.

I don't think it's that I'm sensitive or offended by what these people say or do. It just amazes me that people can live their daily lives like that, never cracking a smile or showing the least bit of enjoyment or enthusiasm.

Which totally sets the path to a novel about an optimistic chef in a kitchen full of irritable people. Coming Summer 2011: The Chef Who Killed the Calf by Staring at It; and it's sequel in Summer 2012: I Can't Believe It's Not Clarified Butter.

Adventures in...soy candles!!

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Sun, 10 Jan 2010 03:39:00 +0000

When I get an idea, I get an idea. When I see a cool shirt, I buy that cool shirt. This isn't exactly a good trait, but at least this impulsive incident was very constructive, character building, educational, and all that jazz.

The other day I found oodles of adorable cups and mugs at Goodwill and decided that soy wax candles would my next investment and adventure. Thus, that afternoon I exported a lot of cash on a 10 pound bag of soy candle wax, and all the accessories needed.

The wax arrived earlier this week, and the accessories arrived this afternoon (above). The adventures started immediately.

I set everything up at the kitchen island, and Mom researched how to do everything in the microwave instead of creating a makeshift double boiler. The first two candles went perfectly...

As you can see, I thought the wax was going to be very awesome and dark, but instead it lightened up like crazy. That part is hard to get used to, but thankfully the colors all still matched their mugs.

My three favorites are the two pine cone tea cups and the blueberry vine coffee cup. The purple are scented with Lavendar Sachet and the blueberry is scented with Country Garden.

Towards the end of the afternoon, I was still having a ball. However, Mom informed me that I was getting tired after she heard a chorus of, "Crap! LISTEN TO ME, you stupid wick. STAY in place. Dangit. YES! I got--Crap! You are STUPID, candle. STUPID, YA HEAR?" But everything worked out in the end, even if my phone didn't send my Twitpic and the microwave began to overheat.

Just before dinner, I finished the 12th candle. Mom has convinced me that I should keep the cool green glass candle to experiment with. Experimenting with fire? More candles, please ;)

(Check back compulsively! I will be posting many of these in my Etsy shop soon...I know you have you have your eye on that purple pine cone one. Don't think I'm not psychic...)

A calling from God or a dream?

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 19:23:00 +0000

My older brother and I are alike in that, when my parents said no, we obeyed. (Note the past tense, and I didn't say neither of wouldn't whine) As my brother reached his late teen years, there were things he really wanted to do, like go on mission trips with the church and apply to certain colleges. My parents weren't exactly thrilled about some of these ideas, but my brother felt so strongly that that was what he wanted to do that he would say, "It's what God's calling me to do."

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that he used God as an excuse to get his way. But, I was 12 at the time and my big brother was my hero. I thought of just how cool it would be to have a calling from God! One year later, he's off to another school. God's calling him to be a pre-seminary student at the same school where his girlfriend is attending.

Let's skip ahead a few years.

I fall in love with police work. Everything from crime scenes and police scanners, to police ride alongs and traffic laws. On my free time, I find myself reading books on police work and law enforcement (fiction and non-fiction). In 5 months, I have to call the police 3 times, and was surprised at how well I handled myself each time. (Or, rather, how God allowed me to handle myself) I write a research paper on women in law enforcement, titled "Pink Bullets", and even deliver a 5-10 minute speech on it.

So, if I feel so strongly about this, it must be God's plan for me...right?

There's only one problem. God did not grant me the strongest of digestive systems. My list of allergies and food intolerances is as long as the 7th Harry Potter book: lactose, raspberries, thyme, fresh corn, popcorn, the list goes on.... I can only eat raw foods (oranges, carrots, apples, etc) and nuts in the afternoon. If I step out of line, I know I'll be sick sooner or later.

I've spent the last week, curled up in front of my computer, and most of yesterday in bed. My stomach does not like me.

Now you see that the dilemma is not so much me in law enforcement, but my digestive system in law enforcement.

So what? Teddy Roosevelt was a bad asthmatic, and spent many days in bed, but he still fought in a war, surviving dusty battles.

To be quite realistic, there are battles that go on every day in every town in the United States. Since the downfall of the economy, many people have become desperate, thus resulting in more battles and a gruesome amount of fallen officers. If an officer calls for backup, the last thing he or she wants to hear is, "I'll be there in 10 minutes. I have to go to McDonalds and take a 10-200."

So. Yeah. Is this what God's calling me to do? Maybe yes, maybe no. One thing is very apparent to me, and that's not now. But God isn't some Magic 8 ball. "Yeah, sure kid. Do whatever you want. Yes, no, maybe--I don't know."

The only thing I can do right now is drink as much 7UP to my stomach's content, and trust that God has something planned for me. It's not a secret--but I don't have to be filled in on every detail, as preacher Matt Chandler once said.

But for now, I am about to start my second semester in culinary school, even though I really, really, like, really don't want to go back. I had more than a few stupid classes last semester, with only one teacher that I liked. Sitting in a smelly, plastic chair for 3 hours at a time is not my strong point. The food is great, though.

Oh--remember my goal for this winter break? My original goal was to finish it before January 1st and I did. That's right. I finished the first draft of my novel on December 31, 2009, at 8:04 pm. It's 131,150 words long, 244 pages (unformated, Times New Roman, font size 12), and will weigh approximately 40 pounds after it's printed. (Well...maybe it'll weigh a little less)

So my job for when I'm supposed to be doing homework is now to revise my novel. I have a pretty good idea of what needs to be changed, and what needs to be edited the most. I also have a ton of supplies coming in the mail to make soy candles. Goodwill had a million adorable little trinkets that would make adorable little candle holders, so frequently visit my Etsy shop for the new arrivals.

This afternoon, I hope to put more things in my shop, clean my room, possibly take a look at my novel, and build my own army on Sims 3.

...While sipping 7UP, SmartWater, and maybe some chamomile tea.

Recipes will commence soon. I gotta pasta machine from Santa and can't wait to try it out. I've already decided that we're having pink pasta for Valentine's Day. Can you believe that's only a little over a month away?

Today is my first...

noreply@blogger.com (Mary) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 03:20:00 +0000

...snow day!! A snowday where my parents do not decide whether or not I should do school, but a bunch of scary board members (suspiciously dubbed "they"),who apparently never close the close, decided to close the school.

Don't get me wrong. I love school. However, I was never this excited for a snow day when I was homeschooled.

Anyway, it is 16 degrees out right now, and there is a lovely 12+ inches of snow outside.

But there is another thing that I've been excited about. Is it that I've already started wrapping gifts? Is it that I have 4 packages in the mail with more gifts to wrap? Is it that I only have 5 more days of school left?

Yes...but no.

It's the moment I've been waiting for since mid-August. The moment of what happens next in my novel. On winter break, I am going to complete the first draft of my novel. I now know what happens next.

Isn't that a strange thing to pray for? "Please, God, tell me what happens in the next scene of my novel."

I might have to do a little reworking, but I have plans to buy a massive whiteboard. And do my plotting there. With a squeaky marker. At 2 am in the morning. When it's snowing outside. And there's Christmas cookie crumbs on my keyboard, hot air washing through the vents, and snow-covered, icy brances scratching against the window pane.

Until then: food math final, food science final, math final, and writing final. I am done with: sanitation final, and diversity final.

That is 19 credits total. Next semester I am taking 18 credits.

If a dream comes true, by next fall I hope to be taking a few Criminal Justice classes. I know this sounds weird, and I don't want to start gossip (especially since I know a few classmates visit my blog), but sometimes--in the middle of a culinary class--I'll think to myself, "Why the heck do I care?"

My chefs constantly remind me, "When you're a chef...When you have your own restaurant..."

I didn't go to culinary school to learn how to be a chef or to own my own version of French Laundry. I came there to learn how to cook. I also came there to help me to grow up a little.

I mean, a year ago, if someone came up to my dish and said, "This is crap. I don't want to see this again." I would have been depressed for a week. Now, I say, "Yes it does, which is why you see it every week. If I can't get it perfect, I'm going to challenge myself and try again...Which is what I'm told I should do. Challenge myself. Correct?"

However. However, I still copy and analyze the notes from criminal justice classes leftover on the whiteboard.

I was also reading an article on how to select a college degree/program. One of the questions was, "What do you do on your free time?" Hmm...well...I watch Castle, Psych and COPS (still unsure about Bones). I work on my novel, which sometimes includes researching police stuff. I still (almost religiously) follow Lee Lofland's blog. Oh, and I also did a research paper on women in law enforcement. (I called it Pink Bullets)

It just gets me thinking...However, between Christmas, finals, and a novel, I have plenty of other things to think about ;)