Learning to cook produces a lot of waste. Questions of sustainability pushed forward in my thoughts last week as I gutted, prepped and cooked fish that I would ultimately throw out. The fact that so much food goes in the garbage while learning to cook runs counter to the frugal realities of professional kitchens. Your average restaurant cannot afford to throw out the pieces of meat, vegetables and other ingredients that are excess or that were not cut correctly. Perhaps this is why we pay so much for culinary education–the material costs are high. Yes, in learning we need to make inedible mistakes but we also need to understand that waste is not on the menu in the real world.
How could culinary schools promote sustainability? Shouldn’t frugality be programmed into the culinary student’s DNA? Using every little bit of each ingredient seems like an invaluable skill that should be part of any good culinary curriculum. When I asked about composting, the chef nearly began to laugh. What about planting a didactic vegetable garden in the sunny spot behind the school? These ideas met with looks of amazement. Well, I have always been an idealist.
If we aren’t going to learn to practice sustainability through minimizing waste, perhaps we could at least talk about it on a larger scale. Last week’s program was dedicated to seafood. Shockingly, we not once discussed issues of declining fish stocks, the fragilities of marine environments or the plus and minuses of aquaculture. Slyly, I tried to bring up these topics each time a new fish or mollusk was introduced.
It has always been my dream to incorporate hands-on culinary activities more fully into food studies classes. I think they both need each other. Chefs, especially aspiring chefs, need to be made aware of the larger political, economic and social issues surrounding food. Food activists, policy makers and intellectuals in training need to understand the labor and skill involved in farming and preparing food. True understanding comes from the development of personal relationships between actors in a food system and through honest engagement in each other’s work. In my mind, this marriage will some day lead to greater sustainability.
Moving from the graduate seminar room to the culinary school kitchen, one of the biggest adjustments for me has been learning my place in the kitchen hierarchy–at the bottom. The professional kitchen is not a democratic place. When the chef de cuisine ask you something, you respond: “Oui, Chef!” There is little room for discussion, and most of what a cook does is follow orders. Creativity and innovation are not for the chef de partie, and most certainly not for a culinary student like me. Part of my apprenticeship is learning to follow orders and execute them quickly with precision. There was not much of this mentality in the participatory graduate seminars that I ran at Boston University. Sure, I was in charge but my job was to encourage everyone to share their thoughts and insights. These last two weeks, I have encountered another form of teaching and learning that is very different from my norm.
Not only is the professional kitchen reshaping my way of thinking, it is changing my way of doing. I am learning that it is sometimes best not to think too much. Trusting that my body knows how to julienne carrots rather than pausing to consider the historical origins of this culinary term was a stepping stone in reprogramming my mind and body this past week. Being thrown to the bottom of the pile and moving outside of my usual ways of doing have been a little disorienting but this experience is also teaching me new ways of understanding and communicating. The view is different from here and I have to learn on the line.
My first week of culinary school at Ducasse Education has left my mind spinning and my feet throbbing. Adjusting to a new type of work and different rhythm of life were just two of the challenges.
On the first day of class, I felt as if I was learning to walk again–try to imagine a big baby with a giant chef’s knife in her hand. It was a bit terrifying. When I looked up from my chopping board, I saw nine other students with eyes wide open trying to find their legs in the kitchen. I was not alone in my experience.
I am with my brigade. We are learning to work together, communicate and give each other a hand as we carry out the many complex tasks that each day throws us. From stirring the pot to mopping the floor, culinary school and working in a kitchen is not an individual experience.
As the chef instructor tells us to cook with all our senses and not follow the recipe too closely, all the members of the brigade are all working together to reshape our way of seeing, smelling, tasting, touching and hearing. We are relearning ourselves through food.
It is time for the next chapter! Today I leave Boston for Paris. I will be taking a 2-month intensive culinary course at Alain Ducasse’s culinary school. This is something I have dreamed of doing for the past 15 years. In spite of my recent neglect of this blog, I plan on turning over a new leaf–I will chronicling my experience of culinary school here.
In September, I am moving back to Lyon, where I will be a fellow at the Collegium de Lyon. This is the opportunity I needed to continue my historic and ethnographic research on the cuisine des mères lyonnaises and women who cook professionally in France. I will be putting my new culinary skills to work in the field.