You want to eat this cake.

For those of you who are concerned about Parisian rioting and student unrest, fear not. If one wishes to avoid such matters and live in a personal void, one may here in Paris, just as well as one may in any city. There have been student marches down my street, straight past my door. It’s as easy as noticing the police presence and staying inside until the yelling stops to miss it all. Last week, I had dinner at the de Bretteville’s, and they mentioned a huge riot that was going on all afternoon at Invalides. Funny, I thought, I passed under all the mayhem (and we’re talking many injuries and arrests) snug as could be in a metro car that made a stop at Invalides. On Tuesday, there were major strikes, including the metro. Seeing as I walk to school, I was completely unaffected. The next day, people mentioned riots that had happened all over the city. I smiled: the news seemed as far away as if it had all happened in Alaska. Job security is sacred in France, even for the untrained and unqualified. Can you imagine the possibility of being under 26 and being fired from your job in the first two years of employment? Yes, think we Americans, yes we can. What’s wrong with you, France? Show up for work and do your job well and you’ll have nothing to worry about. Save the riots for something that matters.

Anyway, off the high horse for now. Cooked mullet today (the fish, not the hairdo), and watched a very confusing demo on duck.

But onto the REALLY EXCITING stuff (I put that in bold for the skimmers): I had seen that tonight at my favorite English language bookshop they were having a reading from the Paris Review. The Paris Review is a quarterly literary magazine that features new writers and interviews with very celebrated artists. In true French style, the reading was on the second floor, in a completely uncleared space, with about 150 folding chairs squeezed in wherever they could go. It was tight to say the least and so beyond acceptable in a realm of fire safety. But the readings were fantastic, and the readers were even better. This French poet read a beautiful poem called “Sycamore,” and a journalist read a Rick Bass travelogue, and a concert pianist read an amazing Russian piece whose author and title I forget. But the moment of truth was when Olivia de Havilland read an interview with William Faulkner about a film he had worked on in New Orleans and Grand Isle. Olivia de Havilland is an Oscar winning actress from the ‘30s on. She was nominated for best supporting actress for Gone with the Wind. She’s an adorable lady and it was incredible to stumble upon her amazing reading.

Since my class schedule is terrible, I have all sorts of weird days. Today was one of them. I had a demo this morning at 8:30 a.m. and then another at 6:30 p.m. At lot of back and forth.

So in cuisine, we saw another old school dish, a terrine of langoustines and sweetbreads. Where on earth would I serve that in modern day times? No one would eat it. People would laugh. Anyway, we also saw a roasted whole fish (fun, fun, more fish) and a roasted pear dessert. Quite the spread early in the morning.

I filled my gaping hole of an afternoon visiting the Musée Maillol. They have a exposition on Magritte, and it’s really good. It showed a lot of sketches and their subsequent paintings/collages/drawings, and lot of the illustrations and ads that he did. A lot of his work is very funny, so it was a great way to spend a Wednesday. Well, at least a couple of hours on a Wednesday.

So I ended my day with a pastry demo. I am going to get so fat on intermediate pastry! We have been making the BEST stuff! This next one is a three chocolate mousse cake. So fat, I tell you, so fat.

So as we left school, Jeremy and Brian suggested a drink. They were going to a bar on my way home, so why not? We got into a discussion about things the chefs say that tick us off, and I mentioned an instance where a chef alluded to a student having pubic hairs in his dough. I thought this was inappropriate, and Jeremy basically told me that I don’t understand France and that since I’m so uptight, I’m in the wrong business here. This is what I mean about people here having to make other people feel small in order to make themselves feel better. This time I got snippy with him about it for a little while, but stopped short at calling his an ass. I don’t want to make people hate me, but is it worth having people to hang out with if they make you the perpetual doormat?

Iron Chef

I have to express my excitement about the new guest chef they have brought in. He has recently moved back to France from Japan, where, among other more serious accomplishments, he was a contestant on the real Iron Chef. He says they really didn’t know the ingredient ahead of time, and that they only get about five minutes to plan their dishes. Anyway, he’s been the practical chef for our last three practicals, and he is great. He helps us be organized, he helps us gauge our time, but it never gets frantic. He is very calm and patient. Not to say he doesn’t make little jokes at other people’s expense or that he isn’t a harsh critic, but he’s still really great. He’s the Chef Walter of cuisine; a huge sigh of relief when he walks in the room.

Besides the chef, today was an excellent cuisine day: roasted rack of lamb with sautéed endives and potatoes dauphinois. Dauphinois are boiled in cream on the stove top with garlic and salt, pepper and nutmeg, then they are poured in a baking dish, cheese is put on top and they are finished in the oven. They are divine. The lamb had a roasted garlic and herb crust. It was a “must not mess up” meal. I have to say, I executed it well, except my jus. I browned the bones to a deep caramel, until there was plenty of glossy fond on the bottom of the pan. I carefully estimated the correct amount of onion and garlic to sweat into the fond. I deglazed only to halfway up the bones. I let it reduce slowly and just enough. When I strained it, it was a perfect chestnut brown. Success! Until I tasted it- so sweet! It tasted only of onion. I tried to compensate with salt, but that only ruined it further. The French say that when one over-salts, it is because one is in love. I think it is because one has panicked.

After a whirlwind week back in the states, four days in Milwaukee, four in New Orleans, I was thrust back into the confines of my hovel. At least the first three days of class were easy on me. I do feel like I've learned a lot. For example, when faced with the task of making a cake based in puff pastry, I rose to the challenge and the puff was completed in under 45 minutes. Also, when the butter came through a little, I didn't freak out. However, I still feel pretty stressed out before a practical; it's a test everyday.

Today, we saw a demonstration of roasted "cockerel," more commonly known as young rooster. There were plenty of plays on words for the English speaking crowd, and I think the chef was a little confused. The demo was great, though, because he made Oeufs à la Neige, which is my all time favorite dessert. He showed us how you can even make a home version in the microwave. The hovel's kitchen is not very well equipped, but I do have a microwave. If I hit a rough patch where I haven't whipped egg whites by hand in awhile, I'll give the micro a whirl.

Paris is less than glamorous today: rain, laundry, raiburnttt out light bulb, rain....