Choklit Blog #78: I'm Graduating, Part 4

       One of the hardest but most important lessons I’ve learned in the last two years is the inevitability of failure. I’ve always been the straight-A student who pretty much doesn’t even know what the letter “F” looks like. (Just kidding, I do enough writing to have a basic idea of how that letter is supposed to look). But my second semester at CIC, I experienced the most tragic school-related event... ever.

       It started my first semester. One Monday after HOS 101, I happened to walk by the bakeshop. I didn’t even have to ask what class was in there. It was Laminated Doughs. I didn’t even know what laminated dough was, but I knew it sounded awesome, and I knew everything in that class looked awesome and delicious. I decided that even though I was in culinary, I would take that class no matter what. In fact, it was part of the reason I switched to baking and pastry. But that’s a different story.

       It came time to register for spring classes, and of course, I registered for Laminated Doughs. I was beyond excited. I can’t say it turned out to be my favorite class, but I liked it and I learned a lot. The final rolled around and I was so ready for it. Actually, I didn’t feel prepared at all.

       We all made our dough a week in advance and froze it until the day of the final. When I came into class that morning, the first thing I heard was, “Violet, our dough is missing!” from my partner Marilyn. What a wonderful way to start the day.

       We searched the whole freezer, top to bottom, but we couldn’t find our dough, so we had to start over. Luckily for us, we forgot to put salt in our new batch dough, so it proofed in no time and we were ready to go. We never told Chef Jeff because we thought we might lose points for leaving out the salt.

       Once we got that out of the way, we got to work and we pretty much caught up with everyone else. The whole day went pretty smoothly and I was feeling good when I slid my danishes into the oven. Then about five minutes later I was feeling terrible.

       I could tell before they even came out of the oven that something was wrong with my danishes. I glazed them and turned them in anyway (and got a pretty nasty burn in the process... thanks, Ashlee!) because I really had no other option. When it came time for Chef Jeff to tell me how I did, he confirmed that I had somehow destroyed the lamination in my danishes and had basically made very over-proofed brioche.

       As long as I live, I will NEVER forget him looking at me and saying, “I’m gonna give you a 61, okay?”

       I said “Okay...” thinking that was just one part of my grade or something. Then when he told me that it would probably drop my average to a B, I realized that I had just failed the final exam in a class that I had been told was an easy A.

       I was beyond distraught. This was supposed to be the best class ever, and it was supposed to be easy! And besides, I didn’t get F’s, especially not on finals! But, of course, the worst part was that it had dropped my class average to a B. I walked out of the kitchen, sat on a bench and cried my eyes out.

       A few days later, Chef Jeff walked into one of my other classes and told me that I could still get an A in Laminated Doughs if I got a 93 on the written part of the final exam. I knew I could do that pretty easily.

       But of course, I didn’t. I got a 90.

       It was the most disappointing day of my entire life, and it was pretty much my biggest failure ever. But my favorite part of the story is what happened next.

       I woke up the next morning and went through my day like a normal person. I mean, I was in a little bit depressed, but other than that it was normal. The next day I did the same. And the next day, and the next, and I’m still waking up every morning and surviving the entire day. Every day. My life went on, and it was perfectly okay. This was the first time I had really tried at something and really failed at it, and I always thought that if that day ever came, it would be the end of life as I knew it. But it wasn’t; in fact, it taught me that in life, failure is inevitable no matter who you are, but it doesn’t have to destroy you.

Part of my midterm in Laminated Doughs - one of my more successful days.

       I had to remember that the next year when I was in Wedding Cakes. Basically all of my cakes except the final were disasters, and Chef Jeff had to ice probably half of my cakes for me because I couldn’t do it right. But by the end of the class, I had learned a lot of things I shouldn’t do when making a wedding cake.

My one successful cake in Wedding Cakes.

       I have one more story that I have to tell because it was requested by my friend Jamie. I know all my stories so far have been from my culinary classes and I had planned on keeping it that way, but I guess one story from Leadership class won’t kill me.

       In Leadership class, we did everything in groups. We had assignments to turn in about every week and a half, we had in-class exercises, and we had a final project. All of those things were done in groups. I had a terrible group. I ended up doing about 80% of the work, one guy did about 15%, and the rest of the group combined either dropped the class or did a very mediocre job doing the other 5%.

       One of the 5% guys was named Eric. Eric was nice enough, I suppose, but he rarely did his work. On the occasion that he did it, he would wait so long to do it that I assumed he wasn’t going to and did it myself to save my grade and the grades of the other group members.

       Our final project happened in two parts: the first was a research paper. I wrote the whole paper and did quite a bit of the research, even though the rest of the group was supposed to do the research. Then they were supposed to answer questions that would be different segments of the paper, and I was supposed to edit what they gave me and put it all together. They didn’t give me anywhere close to enough stuff. Anyway, back to Eric.

       The other part was a presentation. My group was doing a presentation on Hitler- it was a debate between him and Sam Walton, obviously about his leadership techniques since it was a leadership class.

       Eric volunteered to play Hitler, and we all thought he could be kind of funny and earn us extra creativity points, so we agreed. We told him the questions we would be asking and how long we needed him to talk about each one. He assured us that he could do it.

       On presentation day, we were all supposed to show up 30 minutes early to practice a little bit and make sure we knew what to do and say. Eric didn’t show up early. In fact, he didn’t even show up on time (which wasn’t surprising, because on the occasion that he came to class, he was late.) Both of the other groups did their presentations (about 15-20 minutes each), and then the teacher gave us 5 minutes to wait for Eric. Just when we were about to call him and yell at him, the door opened, and in walked Eric.

       I gave him my meanest glare and said something along the lines of “WHERE have you been?!” He laughed carelessly and said that his car had broken down as if it was funny that he was having car trouble and that he was late for his final presentation. We took a few minutes to discuss our presentation, then we got in our places and started.

       By the way, he didn’t even wear a costume. The guy playing Sam Walton showed up dressed like Sam Walton.

       We started the debate, and all Eric could talk about was “Well, if I was starting Wal-Mart, I would have guns everywhere.” “If I had to do this all over again, I think I would use more guns.” And he only talked for like 30 seconds about each question! The guy playing Sam Walton talked about leadership and had obviously done some research, but the guy playing Hitler, the main character, didn’t even know what he was talking about! The whole point of the project was to talk about Hitler’s leadership style!

       Afterwards, when I asked him why he hadn’t done any research, he said it was because I didn’t give him back the pages he had printed off the internet when he was giving me his research for the paper. That would have been a great excuse, except THAT SAME EXACT INFORMATION IS ALL ON THE INTERNET. IT CAME FROM THE INTERNET TO START WITH. And it's not like he had ever asked me to give that stuff back, anyway.

       I didn’t know what to do or say at that point, so I did nothing and said nothing. There was no way I could fix my grade, and there was nothing I could do to make Eric try a little harder. It was the last day of class anyway, so I just left. Then I found my friends Joy and Stephanie and we went to building 800 and danced.

       That’s it for the stories, but before I go, I want to thank a few people who might read this and then a few people who most likely won’t, because I never would have graduated from college if I had been the only person on earth.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for making me be alive and everything and for letting me skip grades and for feeding me and all that cool stuff.

Mike, thanks for scaring off that weird guy who kept coming out of class to talk to me while I was waiting for precal to start and for driving me to school a lot and singing with me. DUUUUUMB PEOPLE... DRIVING ON THE ROAD.

Brent, thanks for driving me to school way more than Mike did and for giving me that really expensive public speaking book.

Joy and Stephanie, thanks for dancing with me.

Laura, AKA my “school mom”, thanks for figuratively holding my hand and walking me through college. We had at least one class together every semester, and you were always the first person I went to for help.

Marilyn, thanks for being my partner and helping me out so much in Advanced Cakes. I felt like I was in way over my head, but I always felt better knowing I had a friend right beside me.

Darius, thanks for telling me not to drop Wedding Cakes every week when I said I was going to, even though I yelled at you and argued with you a lot.

Michelle, thanks for always making me laugh with your wonderfully refreshing sarcasm. 

Katie, thanks for always being super sweet and funny, and for just being a good friend... and a professional.

Ashlee, thanks for always being really excited to see me, for following me on Twitter, for having an awesome sense of humor, and for giving me countless opportunities to practice my cornet-making skills.

Mr. Wallace and my drawing buddies from the slow table (Jenna, Nikki, and Rebecca), thanks for teaching me how to draw and helping me find out that I’m not too terrible at it.

Chef Fritz, thanks for getting me interested in baking and pastry in the first place, for letting me work for you over the summer when no one would hire me, for teaching me way too many things to possibly list here, for being my other mom, and for the awesome snail bobblehead and plastic deer.

Chef Jeff, thank you for giving me worse grades than anyone else ever has... it just shows that you taught me more and pushed me harder than everyone else. Thanks for making me talk more even though I’m sure you regret it now and for not giving up on me when I was ready to give up. Oh, and thanks for the orange knives.

Chef Gronert, thank you for teaching me the importance of a good comeback by making fun of me and teasing me relentlessly for the last year. And thanks for not underestimating me anymore even though I’m still really short.

God, thank you for creating me and all these other wonderful people and for not letting me just give up every time I was ready to drop out of school. I could never have made it here without You... I wouldn’t exist, so...

Thanks to all my other family, friends, classmates, teachers, and random acquaintances, and congratulations to the Class of 2011.

I couldn't keep the gown on because I didn't want to die of a heatstroke so soon after graduating.

Choklit Blog #77: I'm Graduating, Part 3

       Retail was definitely one of my favorite classes. One reason I loved it so much was because I got to make a lot of bagels in that class. I’ll probably never forget the first time I made bagels there. The first week that my group was making bread, Chef Vagasky asked us if we could make Chef Jeff’s bagel recipe from Artisan Breads. I was the only one in my group who had taken Artisan Breads, but I brought the bagel recipe to class and said we would make them.

       Everything was going great until I suddenly couldn’t remember what we were supposed to do next. I thought Chef Vagasky might know since he had been in Artisan Breads with me, but he couldn’t remember either. He said he could call Chef Jeff and ask him, but I told him it was okay and he didn’t need to do that. He said he would anyway, but then something else came up that he had to do (I don’t remember what it was, but it’s not important to the story). So Amy, Sonia, and I weren’t really sure what to do. 

       We just sort of stood around waiting and thinking for a few minutes, but then we decided that we would never figure it out by ourselves. Amy finally said “Hey Chef, what did Chef Jeff say?” He pulled out his phone to call him, and I all I could think was “Please don’t say my name... please don’t say my name... please don’t say my name...” The last thing I wanted was to look like the slacker who didn’t pay attention in class.

       Luckily for me, he just said he had some students who were making bagels. He told me everything Chef Jeff was telling him, and the whole time I was trying not to slap myself and yell, “How could you not remember that, idiot?! If you had just kept working, you would have remembered!” As I was reprimanding myself, I heard “This is Miss Violet we’re talking about.” Great. Then he laughed and said “Yeah, little miss sunshine.” I think I saw a little bit of sarcasm drip off his phone.

       When I talked to Chef Jeff the next week, he told me he hadn’t been very happy about it, and he had gotten even more mad when Chef Vagasky said it was me.

       These people love me. They really do. 

       Anyway, my group ended up getting so good at making those bagels that one day I told them, “We probably make Chef Jeff’s recipe better than he does. And you can tell him I said that.” Amy did, so he challenged us to a bagel throwdown (yes, we actually called it that) and he just barely beat us. Then he admitted that he hadn’t expected our bagels to be very good. Thanks for having faith in us, Chef.

       My next story is completely unrelated. Just throwing that out there.

       When I try to think of memorable experiences, one thing I try to think of is inside jokes. Inside jokes are always super memorable, and there’s one inside joke I know I’ll never be able to forget even if I want to because it’s written on my jacket. My friend Katie, who I first met in Intro to Cakes, wrote “Violet, you are a PROFESSIONAL” on my jacket when she signed it, and ever since then, it’s made me sad to think about how many people have probably read that, didn’t know it was an inside joke, and thought that Katie was a boring person who would write something totally serious. For the sake of Katie and all those people, I’ll explain the whole “professional” thing.

       One day in Advanced Bakeshop, we were making joconde that was decorated with decor paste. For those of you who don’t know how to use decor paste, you spread it on a silpat, make some sort of design in it, and then pour the cake batter on top. One of the people in my group was having a hard time spreading out the decor paste to the right thickness and making it even everywhere. I offered to help and show them how to do it since I had done it several times during my summer as an intern at Baked. I told them I was a professional decor-paste-spreader since, even though I didn’t get paid for it, I had done it in a “professional environment.” I may as well be a professional. They were both pretty impressed with my mad decor paste skills, and by the end of class that day, they were spreading decor paste like professionals, too. And it just sort of caught on. If Katie came into class late, I would be sure to tell her that that wasn’t very professional. If I made a really ugly cake, Katie would be sure to tell me that it didn’t look very professional. And of course if one of us did something that was super awesome, like selling out at the bake sale in Retail, then we would be sure to congratulate each other on doing whatever it was “like a professional.” By the way, Katie is so professional.

       I have one more unrelated story, and then I’ll leave you all alone until tomorrow. In Intro to Bakeshop (we haven’t talked about that class in a while, I know), I had a partner for a few weeks named Eli. Eli is one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet, but he made me very mad one day. We were making apple pie (or “apply pie,” according to the recipe), and we had a big bowl full of sliced apples that were going into the pies. We were supposed to put lemon juice on the apples so they wouldn’t turn brown and look disgusting, so Eli squeezed a few lemons over the apples, then tossed them a few times until they were all completely coated with the juice.

       It would have worked out great if we were making apple and lemon seed pie. But it was okay after we checked each apple slice individually for lemon seeds and moved them to a clean bowl.

Me, Sonia, and Amy with our last bagel in Retail. We were sad.

Choklit Blog #76: I'm Graduating, Part 2

       It was the first day of HOS 121: Decorating and Finishing Techniques. It was also my first day as a baking and pastry student, and my first dreaded class with Chef Gronert. I had heard bad things about him.

       I walked into class and sat down, wondering how terrible this class could possibly be. After I had spent a minute or two convincing myself that it very well may turn out to be pure torture, Chef Gronert looked down at his class roster, then looked up and said, “Who is... Violet?” I wasn’t sure why he wanted to know, but I raised my hand and said, “That’s me.” He looked at me like he was both confused and annoyed and said, “What are you doing here?”

       That was definitely not the best way this class could have possibly started. I wasn’t even sure how to respond. I had never had a teacher ask me what I was doing in their class, I assumed because most of them were aware that college students generally enrolled in and attended classes. I went through a few possible responses in my head like, “Well, I thought that maybe since I want to get a degree, I should try going to college and taking all the required classes,” or, “Oh, I’m just here for fun. Isn’t that why people go to college?” or maybe even, “What are you doing here?”

       My actual response ended up being more of a blank stare and a shrug. He explained to me that I was supposed to take this class after Intro to Cakes, which I was also taking that semester. That’s why he already knew everyone in the class except me. I also found out that the class used to be called Advanced Cakes, but I suppose the smart thing to do was to change that. Anyway, he told me a few times that I could drop the class until next semester and I was pretty sure he was recommending that, but I kind of wanted the challenge, so I decided not to.

       I almost regretted that decision when I realized that he was going to pick on me three days a week all semester. In fact, just later that day when I was having a hard time cutting blocks of butter into small cubes, he decided to walk up behind me and squeeze my arm until I thought it could snap in half at any moment. Then he kindly informed me that I had no muscle in my arm. Thanks for that.

       I liked Intro to Cakes way more than I liked Advanced Cakes because it was easier and the people in Intro were more fun. One time in class, we didn’t really have anything to do for a few hours. Laura and Michelle, who sat at the table in front of me and are pretty awesome, decided to see if they could make tiny cornets (piping bags). Michelle made one about the size of her finger tip, and when she set it on the tip of her finger, it looked like a hat. Since we were all obviously mature adults, we decided to make finger puppets, so she got out a pen and drew a face on her finger. Then Laura decided to make him a wife. Chef Gronert was talking to people about their ideas for their practical finals, and we were making finger puppets while laughing hysterically and taking pictures. That was definitely one of my favorite days in any of my classes.

       Another one of my favorite school days happened in Purchasing class. I hated that class with a passion because it was way too advanced for a first-semester student, and I took it my first semester. We would have about an hour-long lecture, and then we would split into groups and go work on our assignments in a kitchen or the storeroom or wherever we needed to go.

       On this particular day, my group was working in the bakeshop. We basically had to write down how many of each necessary item we had on the shelf. We had one person find everything and one person type while everyone else just sort of sat around waiting. We talked about taking a carrot cake out of the cooler and splitting it between the six of us, but we weren’t sure if we would be able to finish it. Then one of the guys in the group said he thought he was the youngest because he was eighteen. Everyone looked at me and asked me how old I was, so I told them, but they didn’t believe me until I showed them my driver’s permit. Then we hung out and looked at pictures of cakes until it was time for class to end.

       Another time, when everyone went to do their lab work, a classmate and I stayed in the classroom and looked at stuff on FAIL Blog. After an hour or so, we decided to go look for the rest of our group, but we couldn’t find them, so we just went home. Then there was the time that Chef Morgan was taking roll, and when he got to my name he said, “Miss Beasley, are you here?” I thought it was a dumb question since, if I answered, I was obviously there. So I decided to say no. I’m pretty sure he actually marked me absent that day. As much as I despised that class, it was fun sometimes and I got an A.

These are the awesome finger puppets that Laura and Michelle made.

Choklit Blog #75: I'm Graduating, Part 1

     In my two years as a culinary student at Trident Tech, I’ve made plenty of good memories and plenty of bad memories. I’ve met some awesome people, some stupid people, some creepy people, and even a few average people. Over the next three days until graduation, I want to recap a few of my favorite and least favorite moments for the three people who loyally follow my blog. It’s hard to decide which stories are worth telling and which ones would bore you all to tears, but there’s one that I know without a doubt I have to share. I’m sure some of you will know what I’m talking about if I just say the word “spatula.” For those of you that don’t, here’s what happened...

     It was one of my last days in Intro to Bakeshop. We were decorating a strawberry whipped cream cake, which we had to score into sixteen slices. I pulled out a knife I had never used before that resembled the one Chef Fritz had used in her demo. It basically looked like one of those straight pallet knives (which is a spatula, not an actual knife, for those of you who don’t speak that language), except it was really long and sharp. I was told it was a meat slicer, but I wouldn’t know. Anyway, I pulled it out and started scoring my cake.

     Just a few minutes earlier, when I had iced the cake, I was using a pallet knife. I guess I forgot that I had switched tools or else I was just really stupid, but I somehow got it in my head that I was scoring my cake with a pallet knife. Because I thought it was a pallet knife, I also thought it would be safe to wipe the whipped cream off the edge of the “pallet knife” with my fingers each time I marked the cake. I did this a few times before I felt a sharp pain shoot through my finger as I slid it over the cold metal. I looked at my hand, confused, and said aloud “Did I just cut myself with a spatula?”

     At this point, of course, I remembered that I was using a very sharp knife. Unfortunately, my partner heard my spatula comment, and I made myself look like even more of an idiot than I had already done by cutting myself twice in Intro to Bakeshop. We hardly even use knives in that class!

     Chef Fritz offered to call public safety, but I managed to choke out, “No, it’s just a tiny cut,” without crying. I slapped a band-aid and a rubber glove on it and went back to work, this time keeping my fingers off the blade- or so I thought. I somehow ended up slicing through both the glove and the band-aid within about 5 minutes. I felt super smart that day.

     Since I’m already talking about injuries, I might as well go ahead and tell my favorite injury story from CIC. The reason it’s my favorite is because it’s pretty much the only one that wasn’t my fault.

     It was practical final day in HOS 101 my first semester at CIC. We made cream of broccoli soup and hollandaise and did some vegetable cuts. I didn’t get hurt at all during the exam, but then it was time to clean up, which can be very dangerous in a kitchen full of first-semester culinary students. I decided to pile all of my dirty dishes onto a cutting board and carry them to the dish room where I would set them next to the sprayer and then wash everything. It seemed like an easy enough plan.

     When I walked into the dish room with my hands completely full, there was a pot sitting next to the sprayer right where I had planned to set all my dishes. Well that wasn’t too bad because, since I’m not a midget, I could just reach over the pot and set all my stuff behind it. That’s exactly what I did. About two seconds later, I was plunging my right forearm into the depths of the not-quite-icy-but-cold-enough sanitizing sink.

     Apparently some idiot and/or jerk had taken a pot straight off the open flame and tossed it in the dish room without thinking enough to at least put it in water! (Just kidding, I know who did it. I don’t think he’s an idiot or a jerk.) When I had reached behind the pot, my arm had pressed against its top edge, and it left a nice little red line on my skin. I assumed it wasn’t a very bad burn since it didn’t immediately blister and turn black, but I spent the rest of the class with a cold, wet towel pressed against my wound and had to bandage it up as soon as I got home. That was the end of my first semester- November 2009. It’s now May 2011 and I still have a mark from that burn. I’ve forgiven the guy, though, because he wrote a nice apology on one of my jackets.

     I wish I had the time to tell detailed stories of all my wonderful injuries since the first thing I want to do is relive all those painful moments, but I don’t have the time or a reason to do so. I’ll always cherish the memories of getting boiling glaze brushed onto my finger and not putting it under cold water, cutting myself on a loaf of bread, shredding my hands with aluminum foil while sculpting a bear, burning myself on a speed rack that tried to attack me, and accidentally running my hand into the blade of a knife that was lying on a table, but all those stories are just too boring to tell.

This is the day I cut myself with that "spatula." Chef Fritz was laughing because she knew what was about to happen.