Lunch break. I generally go home in the middle of my break to put my heavier equipment away and grab my books for my last two classes, sanitation and math. I have the highest scores of anyone in those classes and I'm pretty damn good at intro to culinary. Fuck you, Klein High School.
I am tired. Getting enough sleep/strong coffee is truly essential for the beautiful drudgery of the kitchen. It's only three hours and anything but intense, but it still takes a lot out of you (especially compared to the blowoff courses like "Strategies for Success"). The ranges spew heat and boiling fat into the air, as do the warming ovens, fryers, broilers, salamanders, steamers, etc. I can feel the callous forming on my right index finger, the one that Bourdain talks about in his books; the rough leather developed to protect against dicing 25 speed racks of shallots or making bags after bags of parsley into powder with a French knife. I realize now what he means when he says a handshake between two cooks carries a lot of meaning.
Back to class!
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