To whom do I owe the biggest apology? No one’s been crueler than I’ve been to me. – Alanis Morrisette

Today was the first day I missed my old work life. Bad news came from the field over the weekend. I found it hard to concentrate in class, still mulling over the events detailed in the news. I was in deep dialogue with my community members. In my old roles, my organizations may have issued a statement, or at least had several conversations about the issues. I loved cooking, and usually loved being in class. It was unsettling to feel disconnected. Just a few months ago, I would have been immersed in this news, deconstructing meaning and doing supplemental research to dig deeper. My mind wandered in the morning lecture. I knew that I was in danger of losing my mise en place mindset, focusing too much outside the kitchen. But, it was the first time that I wanted out of the classroom and back on my computer. 

Routines and transitions are difficult for me. Much of the struggle is my autism, but a lot of it is age and habit, too. I like things the way I like them. I’ve carved my morning order of operations into my dining room table. My partner knows my coffee preference and the dogs know when to start angling for breakfast. Adjusting to no job and being in school has been difficult. The first week was exhausting in a way that made me wonder if I should quit. Things got better as I started making accommodations for myself, and getting into the rhythm of school. I was annoyed with myself to feel called away so soon, after so much work to get to a more comfortable place. 

Luckily, kitchen assignments that day were a hodge-podge of techniques and skillsets. I felt relieved that the workload was a little lighter, and in areas I was more comfortable. We were to practice more delicate knife work via supremes (a fancy way to say citrus segments), zesting, and chiffonade, plus upgrading butter via methods of clarification and compounding.

On paper, the supremes seemed overly fussy and pointless to me. I was surprised how much I enjoyed gently carving the lemon peel away from the flesh of the fruit, and delicately sectioning out each perfect slice with no pith or membrane. Knife cuts of vegetables had been humbling. Maybe I was a fruit carver at heart?

Zesting with a knife (and chiffonade, which came later) were really more about how to handle a delicate food object without absolutely destroying it. We were meant to create consistently thin strips of basil, plus tiny usable zest using our paring knife. These were tedious tasks but the results were lovely. And sensually gratifying. My fingers quickly smelled of fresh lemon oil. I remembered taking literature classes in my undergraduate career where we studied the Song of Solomon, and how the lovers drenched their hands with sweet smelling oil so every touch would be loaded with scent. 

Compound butter was simple and fun – an ingredient I will start using in my home kitchen. Softened butter mixed with finely chopped parsley, lemon juice and zest, salt, and pepper, turned into a log and chilled. In the next class, we cut slices of the delicious butter to elevate carrots.

Roasted garlic was another delight. I was happy to get started on that early and get her to a really beautiful deep golden color. A few of my classmates had never made it before and were convinced it was more complicated than just balling the olive-oil-drenched garlic up and tossing it in the oven. It was comforting to know what I was doing for once, and to also have the capacity to pull it off. Even if it was the easiest thing we will make all semester.

My moment of triumph was clarified butter.  I followed Chef’s instructions closely and knew in my mind what I was going for, but had never made it before. This practice was another example of me learning to trust myself and not paying attention to everyone else. Clarified butter is butter cooked until the milk solids solidify and can be removed. The result is a refined butter with a higher smoking point, which is for more versatile cooking. Clarified butter allowed to continue cooking until a deeper, nuttier flavor develops is ghee. I saw other students’ saucepans bubbling differently than mine. They were scooping faster and faster. My pot looked…lackluster and wrong. At one point, I asked Chef to look at it. He said it was on the right track, and even pointed to other students’ pots and said, “Yours needs to look like hers.” I was stumped. It was a “trust the process” moment. I moved to other work while I repeatedly checked on my pot, never letting it come to a full boil. 

Chef shouted “Five minutes!” and I began to sweat. I had to get those milk solids out and the clarified butter into a container. I had waited until the last possible moment, but I was committed to making an excellent product. If Chef said I was on the right track, why would I pull over? My 4 ounce ladle felt huge in my hand as I scooped tiny tablespoonfuls of clear butter into a deli pint. I could feel myself starting to panic and I just focused on the butter. Time moves differently in your mind. If you ever stop to actually count out 60 seconds, one minute feels like an hour. I kept telling myself, “You have time, you have time. Keep scooping.” When I finally got every last drop I could, the result was an almost clear, stunning amount of butter. Chef declared it “Excellent,” as the last minutes of class cooking time slipped away. It was just butter, but it felt like an astronomical win.

Of course, hubris is a danger to us all. As I floated back to my station, Chef yelled, “Mary, where’s your chiffonade?!” Oh fuck. Then he yelled, “One minute!! If you aren’t in line, it didn’t happen!” Fuck, fuck, fuck. I plucked my basil leaves, rolled them snugly and focused on not getting sweat on the plant. Gone were my beautiful thoughts of scent-drenched fingers. Now, I was just trying to get something on a plate. I slammed my knife down at “Fifteen seconds!” and joined a few others who frantically made it to the line. Chef dismissed my chiffonade as “Fine” which I would absolutely take. I was more than happy to dive into dishes and trash clean up after getting so much good work done.