One down, one to go. It is amazing to me that the cuisine exam is over. There was all this build-up, all this stress and panic, and then those four hours passed so quickly and effortlessly that I felt almost cheated. Like there should have been a marching band when I was through plating. Or at least some confetti.

On Sunday, I woke felling…fine. I kept checking in with myself all day: how am I feeling? Any freak-outs coming on? No? Good. Then I made the obligatory Sunday call to the folks. Suddenly, it all became real. I immediately needed a Snickers bar. And anything else edible. I needed to review my planning. Were my knives sharp enough? What if we ran out of bowls? How can I be sure my meat’s cooked? I looked to my friends for solace, but I found that they had been panicking for much longer than I had, and that we were just bad company. I lay awake in bed weighing the merits of butter versus olive oil to coat my flan topping. I dreamed cooking through the exam probably four times before finally waking up at 5:30.

Even though my exam time wasn’t until 8:40, I was at school by 7:45. I was comforted to know I wasn’t the only one completely revved up on adrenaline. Jeremy was already at school when I got there, and his time was 10:10. But after drinking a cup of coffee and honing my knives (again), I went upstairs. The mood in the room was calm. The chef and out assistant had seen to it that there was plenty of everything we needed. I launched into my menu and never looked up. Sadly, I rushed a little. Everything was cooked and ready at 12, and I didn’t have to plate for another twenty minutes. It was tricky to keep everything warm. When I sliced my meat, I realized that I didn’t roll it well, and instead of a swirl of pesto throughout the slice, there was kind of a chunk in the middle (damn, it was perfect in the practice). The one area I overlooked in my planning was plating. I had no strategy for how I was going to get everything on the plates, and I ended up very harried and my plating suffered because of it. My adrenaline high also didn’t help: as I was saucing, I could hardly hold the spoon my hands were shaking so much.

And then it was over. The plates were gone before I could take a photo. My knives were washed, my basket put away, and I was in my street clothes before I could breathe. I stood outside of the school with a few of my classmates, all of us in a fog. It all came down to this. And here it is: finished.