MY HATE/LOVE for the C.I.A.

I drive up the Taconic State Parkway with my two friends Julia and TBone. Tbone is playing the role of my dad and Julia (due to her name not her look) is playing my mom. They're helping move to my new home for the next 21 months in Hyde Park, NY. I'm going to attend the Culinary Institute of America and at the age of 27 I'm going to live in a dorm.
I pull up in my 1983 Grand Wagoneer (her name is Agnes Shagn Wagn). I look dirty, my jeans have holes in them, my hair is wind blown and my lips are chapped. I don't look like someone who has the $60,000 you need to attend this school. My friends also look odd. They look gay. We park the car and look around. Everyone looks the same. The students are either dressed alike or walk alike or look alike. Have I just entered Stepford?
I open the door and find an R.A. He says...

R.A.-it's really late to be moving in and you missed all of the team building?!

Me- Sorry.

R.A.- Follow me, I have to find your R.A. so he can let you into your room.

I follow him into a room of about 20 people all way too happy.

R.A.- everyone this is Holly! She'll be joining us in Rosenthal Hall!!!!(He's really happy suddenly and starts clapping really enthusiastically!!!)

Everyone- HI HOLLY!!!!!!

Me- uh...hi.

My R.A. gives me my key and tells me where to go. I walk down purple and gold halls that eventually lead me to room 240. On the door there is a star made out of construction paper that says "welcome, Holly". I walk in and the smell hits me like an ex-boyfriend in the trailer park. It’s the smell of sex, rotten apples, and a banana peel. Inside is a girl who seems nice and gives me a smile. Then I see another girl cuddling with her boyfriend. Then I see all of the beds are lived in except the top bunk. I have been assigned to live with two girls...one of whom is 19 (her boyfriend too) and sleep on the top bunk. My mouth drops. I turn around and tell my friends I want to go home. I can't do this.

The first week is the loneliest week of my entire life. I see only the bad.

1. You must always be dressed in proper attire. You are not allowed into any academic building with casual dress on. You must wear either your chef's uniform or business attire.
Example: I had been done with class for about four hours and decided to go get a cup of coffee. I was wearing jeans and a button up shirt. I was told to leave and change my pants... just for a cup of coffee.

2. Everyone looks the same. It's weird. I really feel I'm in Stepford.

3. I think I might be the only fag.

4. If you miss one class (even if a parent dies and you attend their funeral) you will drop an entire letter grade. If you miss two you automatically fail the course.

5.I've basically joined the military for culinary.

Week Two: Adjusting. And trying to get your Monies worth.

I meet a young man by the name of Rooker. He looks like my kind.

Define My Kind: just nice and not someone who might have been mean in high school.

We share a lot about ourselves in the first 24 hours of meeting each other. We tell each other over and over how much we mean to each other.


“ I don’t know what I would of done had we not met Rooker. You’re keeping me sane here man.”

“ Yeah.” (Rooker is quiet).

I also buy him beer. He prefers Red Stripe but can only afford PBR. My only friend in Culinary School is 20 years old.

Money:

Breakfast:

I wake up in the morning and go to breakfast. Hmm…what should I get? Eggs Benedict? An Omelet with anything I want? I go for the French toast with fresh fruit and maple syrup made for me by one of the students. The breakfast class (I will take that class in four months) starts at 2am. They make breakfast for the entire school.

Lunch:

I’m not sure what kitchen to choose at lunch?

Cuisines of Asia? (I hear this is the most exciting class to be in because the teacher can de-bone an entire chicken in 15 seconds) Sushi? Tuna Sashimi? Shrimp Tempura? Thai infused seafood salad? Crispy Duck? Just a few of the options in the Asian kitchen to choose from.

How about Cuisines of the America’s or Cuisines’ of the Mediterranean or the pasta station, or salad station, or deli station, or diner station?

I could have a Greek Salad, whole grilled striped bass served over couscous, penne with anything (and I mean anything) my heart desires, a roast beef sandwich on chiabatta with Havarti, lettuce, tomato and onion or just a really good cheeseburger made to my preferred temperature.

I ended up with a shrimp ceviche appetizer, braised curried goat served over grilled vegetables entree, a slice of pizza (because it looked good) and dessert. That day I chose a molten chocolate cake. It was difficult to choose. It’s always difficult. The desert table is 30ft long and has everything from tiramisu, mousse, homemade ice cream, truffles, cupcakes, fudge, candies, cookies, pie, to brownies. You name it, it’s there.

Dinner:

I go to service for dinner. Service is where you as a student sit down and are served a five-course meal by fellow students. I had sparkling water, foie gras with a mango glaze, escarole soup, three types of bread, and filet mignon in some sort of mushroom sauce (I’m disappointed because I’ve had a lot of meat today…. boohoo…poor me) served over garlic mashed potatoes and steamed baby carrots. All meals included in tuition.

Week 3
The Gym and The Love.

I run out of clothes and drive to the mall with Rooker. I’m in desperate need of “proper attire”. I try on four pairs of pants all size 6. None of them fit. I calm down and grab size 8. None fit. I start having heart palpitations. What has happened. One year ago I was 103lb. Since quitting smoking I have gained 24lbs. Walking into this school I weighed 127 and now three weeks later I can’t wear size fucking 8! I call my mother and ask her how she dealt with weight gain. Tears streaming down my face as I walk through the mall jealous of the mannequins in stores like “Hot Topic” and “5.7.9.” I don’t know which is more pathetic, the envy I have of the mannequins or me crying in a mall. I think I was near the food court. My mom tells me last time I was home I looked really good. As she is talking I hear my sister pick up the other line and start telling me it’s about time I’m fatter than her.

I get back from the mall and decide to workout. I have never worked out in my entire life. I go to the gym and see they’re about to start a spin class. I feel myself getting in better spirits as I climb onto my bike. The teacher comes in and starts telling us what this is all about and not to over exert yourself and always check your pulse.

“Go!! OK BRING IT UP TO 5!!!!”

I turn my bike on. I’m already out of breath. I turn it to 5.

“SQUAT!!! RIDE!!!! SQUAT!!!! RIDE!!!!! OK NOW TURN IT UP TO 7!!! COME ON!!!”

Oh my God…I can’t breath…Oh God my pulse, my pulse! I turn it to 2.

“OK TURN IT UP AGAIN!!!! COME ON!!!! LETS RIDE UP HILL WHILE SQUATING AND CRANK UP TO 10!!!!!”

I’m going to die…I think I have a heart condition, oh God…I don’t think I’ve ever broken a sweat…how are all these people doing this…I know!!! I’ll turn my bike to 1 and then act like I’m turning it up. That way everyone will think I’m keeping up. I turn it to one and then turn my fingers clockwise to make it look like I’m moving it.

“FASTER!! HARDER!!! LET’S TURN IT UP AGAIN!!!!”

I turn it to 1.5. Everyone else is on 10. I’m drenched in sweat. My face is red, my heart feels hollow, I can’t breath, and there is pain in my throat. 9 minutes into the 45 minute class I get off my bike and leave.

I decide to integrate exercise into my daily routine but at my own pace. I also still wear a size 6. It was a false alarm and dumb store.

By the third week something has happened. I’ve started accepting the rules, maybe even secretly liking them. I like that I can’t even think of skipping class because if I could I would. I like that I have to dress up. Secretly. I like all the attention paid to respect and detail. The way you approach a chef with respect, or the way you have to wear proper attire in an academic building, it shows respect for education and for yourself.

I also have been given a huge workload. I was shocked at the amount of homework and papers I am assigned. And the identification classes are even more intense. I have a test tomorrow where I have to verbally describe the flavor profiles, quality factors when choosing, and the name of over 150 vegetables, fruits, and mushrooms. I love it! I never thought that I would be someone who could actually say I LOVE SCHOOL! But I do. I like spending the entire day learning about food. I learn about all aspects of it.

My classes:

Gastronomy: A class completely devoted to food and the way we think about it. It teaches me how to use my pallet and to take time to understand the party that is happening in my mouth when I eat. Or why orange juice and toothpaste suck together. It teaches me about why most of the world loves insects and we don’t. This class is making me look at food differently. It’s teaching me to respect it.

Product Knowledge: Introduces me to every kind of fruit, vegetable, mushroom, cheese, out there. It’s by far the hardest class but I think it will be the most helpful. I love learning and tasting all of the foods out there that I’ve never been exposed to, let alone even seen. Honestly, it’s shocking the plethora of items that exist.

Food Safety: Makes you want to eat nothing because apparently everything can kill you or cause weird infections with names like Campylobacteriosis.

Culinary Math: I don’t mind it because my teacher is funny.

This semester is six weeks. Then I go into Meat and Seafood Identification. I will learn about every edible fish and every part of a cow. I will butcher an entire goat.

Three weeks into the C.I.A. I actually believe I am paying for what I get. The amount of knowledge and opportunities at this school is astounding. I hope I remember that in ten years when the only reminder I'll have is a monthly letter from my good friend Sallie Mae.

This blog (if I discipline myself) will be a blog about my classes, experiences, what I’ve learned, and just life. Hopefully, you’ll like it and not be totally bored.