The Next Big Thing

Well, I made it through week one without quitting or being fired, so I guess it's safe to consider myself employed. After a whirlwind set of interviews, I've ended up at the Oxbow Public Market, a new facility in Napa, in a position which seems to offer exactly what I am looking for in a job: the opportunity to work in a food-and-wine environment while using my business and management experience. I'm the Marketplace Manager, and I'm responsible for everything from ensuring that the garbage is picked up to scheduling musicians to play on the River Deck on Sundays. Coincidentally, today's San Jose Mercury News ran a story about the Market, and most of what they say is true.

The Market is a bright and lively facility, still in progress, with great potential. I'm excited about having the chance to be involved from "early days."

You know how the first days of anything are, beginning with college orientation: where your face hurts after the first day, because you've been smiling all day; wondering who among all these new faces will be your friends; trying not to lock yourself out of your room; struggling to retain and remember names. I've been doing all that, and memorizing pass-door codes, and learning how to operate the trash compactor. I've also been shopping -- for lunch, dinner, ingredients, and gifts -- from many of the merchants in the Market, with an eye towards becoming a regular customer, as well as a regular presence in the market. "Tasting" is an important part of my job, if only so that I can speak fluently with tenants and customers.

The job has one notable drawback, which is a 45 mile commute. I enjoy driving, but I need to invest in a new Bluetooth phone and an earpiece, so I can maximize my phone usage. It's hard to talk and shift at the same time, and hands-free talking will be a law in July, anyway. The other big challenge is to my whole food preparation routine. I've been spoiled for a long time. In fact, it's been about 8 years since I've worked in a job which required my presence away from home 40 hours a week. My job before culinary school enabled me to telecommute three days a week, so I had the ability to shop mid-day and prepare meals that could be started a couple hours ahead of dinner time. I've got to be much more organized about shopping and meal-planning. I'm also going to have to get used to a Sunday/Monday weekend, but yesterday, sitting on the River Deck with a half pint of Stone IPA, talking with my boss and a major magazine representative talking about possible co-marketing opportunities, work didn't seem like a half-bad place to be on a Saturday afternoon.

Photos

Derrick, Silvia, Cooklady, Andrea, and AndyA Sea of ToquesCooklady, with Le Cordon Bleu (The Blue Ribbon)

The Big Day

I realized, when I was polishing my old black Clark's clogs in preparation for yesterday's graduation ceremony ("black chef shoes, black socks, black dress pants") that I could probably have worn them during school, in place of my big ugly tie-ups. Oh well. Physical humiliation of all kinds was part of the process. David drove me into the City and I checked in at the student registration desk on the ballroom floor of the downtown Hilton. The next several hours were chaotic and disorganized, as I greeted former classmates, stood in numerous lines and filled out contact information forms ("Employment Status?" "Hoping to receive a job offer shortly.")

I ran into Sam, who moved from Whole Foods in the City to Fresh & Easy in So Cal, where she's from. I've been reading a lot about this British chain now making inroads in the US. "It's very sterile," she said. "It's almost Japanese-like," describing the interior design. "And I can barely understand what my boss is saying to me." Sam's an East LA girl without much exposure to a British accent. Nico was there, too, enthusiastic as ever. "You gotta come to the brunch!" he said -- he's at the restaurant at the Ritz Carlton in Half Moon Bay. "I make blinis." But he's not that enthusiastic about life in HMB. "I'm nineteen," he reminded us. "It's a little slow."

Fitz was there, too, in new short braids and a stylish black suit. He's a glad-hander, as warm and engaging as ever. Andrea noted that he's turned into our version of "da Mayor," which was right on target. I told him that I had high hopes following my interviews. "Send it up to Jesus, Julia," he said. "Send it up, and it rains down on you."

I was pleased to have my own little cheering section at graduation. David came, of course, and so did Mom and Jenny and Ed. By 11:00, the audience was seated in the ballroom and we had all donned our embroidered coats and paper toques. Honors students received gold cords to denote academic achievement. Derrick fingered mine and said, "Gee. I wish I hadn't missed so many days." Our ramshackle rehearsal paid off, and we marched into the hall and into our assigned seats, followed by the faculty, in their blue-trimmed "teacher/chef" coats. I found myself alternating between tears and a smile almost bigger than my face can hold. The ceremony was relatively brief, with short speeches by the school's President (who quoted from the Dr. Seuss book Oh The Places You'll Go) and from the school deans. Chef Weller, beaming as always, reminded us that "it's just sharp rocks and fire."

After the ceremony, we drove across Market Street to the South Campus on Rhode Island. The reception was set up as a series of food stations, beginning at the Bistro, where we were served champagne and fried calamari. We walked up the stairs to the fourth floor, where various classrooms held brimming buffet tables. All of the food was being prepared by chef/teachers, with assistance from current students, and it was a great opportunity to shake hands, give updates, and say thanks. Chef Al was slicing and plating smoked New York strip steak in the cold buffet room. Chef Glenn was hawking crostini toppings, including duck rillettes and mashed white Tuscan beans. Chef Patricio skewered marinated raw tuna. Chef Duffy's now teaching Cuisine of the Americas. I ran into Chef Stazi in the hall, and he said he's teaching a new class to beginning students, on basic reading and writing skills. "We want to show them how to study, how to succeed," he said. We definitely had a couple of people in our original 16 who would have benefited from such training. Or, perhaps it would have weeded them out earlier.

I saw Chef Stephanie and Chef Judy from afar, and never made it through the crowds of people to say hello to them personally. I didn't see Chef Vinita at all. She may have been in the dim sum room, which we never entered, as the line went way down the hall, and by the time we tasted the meatballs (four varieties), we were too full for anything but dessert.

The last stop on our culinary tour was the student lounge on the second floor, with a bountiful display of cakes, cookies, and candies, and with Chef Alex manning an "action station," flambeing bananas in rum sauce with his typical over-the-top flair. As usual, the assembled guests were mesmerized. Mom piled a few petit fours and mini eclairs onto a little plate to take home with her. I took some beautiful fruit candy jellies. We had them for dessert after our minimalist dinner: grilled cheese sandwiches, mixed olives, and Tanquerey and tonics. The Warriors won, too, so all in all, it was a perfect day.

Graduation Day Eve

Before graduation, we had dinner together -- the five of us who have completed the program, out of the original sixteen. I got home after a morning interview (preceded by a sweat-inducing Bay Bridge backup that threatened, but did not succeed, in making me late) and a quick grocery store stop (for fresh rolls, french and sprouted wheat; fresh basil, which I forgot during Thursday's Big Shopping; a six-pack of Schweppes tonic water, just in case; and two bunches of barely-opened irises.) The mail waiting in my box included a confetti-filled Congratulations card -- thank you, Evelyn and David, and yes, we should definitely go out and celebrate! When??

After I changed into "home" clothes, with a school chef coat instead of an apron, I turned up the stereo and began knocking out the evening's dishes, one at a time. I made the chicken salad, shredding the chicken thighs I'd poached in the morning, sauteing sliced shiitake mushrooms, green onions, and garlic, and mixing it all together in a soy/sesame oil/chili sauce. I made the cole slaw, which includes diced kalamatas and celery seed, and a vinegar and oil dressing. I shredded the pork roast that I'd cooked on Thursday afternoon, and combined the drippings with ketchup ("robust," from the Farmer's Market a couple of months back) and Worchestershire sauce, then added the pork and popped the whole thing into a low oven. I made German potato salad, but overcooked the Yukon Gold potatoes while I was talking to Madeline on the phone, so it ended up being more of a highly seasoned mashed potato mixture, which I warmed up before dinner, then garnished with hard-boiled egg quarters.

After I cleaned the arugula and added mint and basil, for the third salad (later to be garnished with provolone cheese and sliced pears, with a champagne vinaigrette), I began my final task: making the icing for the cassata (ricotta-filled genoise, flavored with orange and chocolate). The icing recipe is somewhat unique, in my experience: you melt chocolate and strong coffee, remove from the heat, and add softened butter and creme de cacao. When the mixture has cooled, you whip it at high speed until the icing expands and thickens. I was examining the results when Andy and his mother arrived, somewhat unexpectedly. I hadn't even cleaned out the first load of dishes from the dishwasher, nor set the table, and I wasn't very happy with the consistency of the icing, either. It was grainier than I'd expected, not with crunchy sugar, but as though the emulsion had broken. Though I'd learned how to fix a broken hollandaise, I was unsure with how to proceed with the icing, but Andy tasted it, pronounced it delicious, and so I spread it on the unmolded cake.

Andy and Gail, his mom, were followed shortly by David, so we had the basis of a party and reason enough to open the first bottle of sparkling wine. Andy reported on his progress at Figlio, the restaurant in Minneapolis where he did his internship. He's now Sous Chef (which means he has several peers, and only two executive chefs above him), but he's getting the typical "newbie" treatment, rotating stations and working like a dog. Just the way he likes it.

Andrea and her husband Rowan arrived after a suitable interval, which we filled with kitchen stories and cheese and olive tastings. Andrea is setting up a catering business in Reno ("Feast and Merriment") and working on the development of a line of women-oriented chef's coats. The need for such specialization was clear at graduation on Saturday, when she donned her size S coat (suitably embroidered with her name), which reached her mid-thigh and enveloped her hands.

We were surprised by Derrick's arrival, as he'd RSVP'd "maybe" (and we all know that "maybe pretty much always means no"), but there he was. He brought stories of life on Maui ("they don't even have a Best Buy!"), and said that the best thing he did during his internship was decorate the huge "gingerbread" houses (made out of plywood) which were placed in the hotel lobby. "Eight hours a day for a week," he said. "It was crazy."

While David picked up Silvia and her boyfriend Chris from the BART station, we set the table, somewhat more haphazardly than I like: it's something I enjoy doing before the guests arrived, plus we were seating nine at a table that's tight for even six, what with leg placement and all.

David was meeting my school friends for the first time, and afterwards he remarked at Silvia's seriousness. You know how your initial impressions of somebody always form the foundation of your feelings towards them? When I think of Silvia, I think of her naiveté and sweet nature, remembering the girl who asked in Basic Skills, "What animal does lamb come from?" And yet, she showed us all up in Chef Glenn's class, where her plated three course meal received almost perfect marks. Now, she's working at The Addison at the Grand Del Mar in Southern California, where the menu includes "foie gras de canard with le puy lentils, port wine, and smoked bacon mousse," and where the Valentine's Day menu was $150 per person ("$225 with wine"). She's working at a far more sophisticated level than the rest of us, with a self-trained Executive Chef who told her on the first day, "This is the start of your real education!" "Have you ever seen 'Hell's Kitchen?'" she asked us. "He's ten times worse." Both of her forearms are covered with burn scars, and when she talks about working there, her face glows. She loves it.

We finished off a couple more bottles of sparkling wine with dinner, and some reds and whites as well, and after coffee and dessert, everybody headed out. We needed to arrive at the Hilton at 9am on Saturday morning for "rehearsal." After everybody loaded into two cars, I set about cleaning up. With the stereo volume turned up a bit, it's all part of the fun. An hour later, I was in bed.

Fitting it all in

I had big plans to prepare long-roasted pork shoulder and other time-consuming treats for tomorrow night's little pre-graduation party, but wouldn't you know it? Job-hunting has interfered. I have three interviews in three days, so the menu has been revised. Yesterday's interview was fortuitously close to a wonderful cheese shop, so I picked up three varieties with the assistance of a charming French man who wanted to know if I had a budget (a budget for cheese?) and if I wanted "plain" or "fancy." I told him I didn't want "fancy" but I didn't want "regular," either. So I ended up with a small Minuet from Andante Dairy, a triple cream goat's milk cheese; a wedge of a hard sheep's milk cheese from Abbaye de Belloc, and a piece of a wonderous cow's milk blue, Fourme au Sauterne. The cheeseman challenged me to stay away from the blue before tomorrow's party, and he's right. I can hear it calling to me through the refrigerator door.

This morning I'm going to make two sponge cakes, one to be filled with lemon curd and whipped cream and rolled up. The other will become a Sicilian Cassata, much like I made into a Christmas Buche de Noel, but this time I'm going with a recipe from Joyce Goldstein's The Mediterranean Kitchen, where the cake is cut to fit a large loaf pan, layered with filling, then turned out onto a platter and frosted with chocolate icing. I'm really intrigued by the filling of this cake, which is made of ricotta cheese thinned out with cream, spiked with creme de cacao, and enhanced by bits of candied orange peel and chocolate.

In lieu of a whole pork shoulder, I'm going to make pulled pork, from a recipe that appeared in the Chronicle in August 2006. One of the best things about this recipe is the Kalamata Cole Slaw that you put on top of the pork, inside a good bun. I'll also make a chicken salad (poached thighs, shiitake mushrooms, cilantro) that works equally well on a bun with cole slaw. I'll be heading out soon to do the grocery shopping, then there will be cake-baking, followed by today's interview which is conveniently located near the BevMo store where I can pick up whites (chardonnay), reds (syrah), sparklers (prosecco), and some beers. And a bottle of Tanquerey.

Tomorrow, after a morning interview in the City, I can pick up the rolls and then finish up the party prep. Sometime between now and Saturday morning, I have to find one of my neckerchiefs. Can't graduate without it! I think I have to stand on a chair and look behind the basket of snow clothes in the upper cabinet, where I throw the clothes that are bound for Goodwill.

In Neutral

Three weeks since the externship ended; two weeks until graduation. In more ways than one, this is a turning point in my life, a walk around a corner with no hope of going back. It feels vast, and empty, and a little bit lonely.

At the moment, I don't really see the light at the end of the tunnel, though I know it's out there somewhere. I want to have something to brag about when I meet my former classmates and chef-teachers on March 8. More than that, I want to be a wage-earner once again. More than that, I want to be working. Seriously. I do.

I'm planning a little pre-graduation party for my CCA friends and their assorted hangers-on (David will be mine, and the host); Andrea has already RSVP'd and Andy's bringing his girlfriend AND his mother! I'm trying to get in touch with Silvia, and hopefully Derrick will be back from Hawaii, and I can hardly wait to hear about everyone's adventures. I'm thinking of roasting a whole pork butt (from "buttress," remember your butchery!) a la Momofuku in NYC. They serve it as a wrap with butter lettuce, kimchi, and white rice. I'm thinking a vinegary cucumber and radish salad in lieu of the kimchi.

Cooklady Went To School.

I'm finished.

Now what?

Actually, it was a lovely last day, topped off by a celebratory lunch with Sarah, my internship supervisor. We shared cheese and charcuterie at the Ferry Building Wine Merchant, where we also each enjoyed a flight of Italian reds. And we talked about food, of course, and places that we visit or want to visit, and books that we've read or want to read. And we agreed that, even though the view of the future is pretty hazy, we're glad that we've chosen this particular path. Because, you know, food people are the nicest people.