Monday, January 30, 2012

Bocuse and Bizarre assignments;

This weekend at school was a culinary competition called the Bocuse d'Or, it was brilliant. The contestants are competing to represent the United States in an international competition in Lyon, France. Thomas Keller, Jerome Bocuse, Daniel Boulud, and Grant Achats were just a few of the giants who came to our campus for the event. There were book signings, too. I was lucky enough to make it to the Grant Achats', who I simply adore.


I had a fairly peculiar writing assignment to do this weekend, we were excused from class for 15 minutes, and told to do what ever felt right. Then we needed to write a page about the experience. Sounds straight forward enough- right? It certainly was not for me! When I sat down to work on it, I drew a complete blank. I had no idea what to say! I went down to Farq hall, I had a mug full of tea, then I went back to class. So I decided to do what I often do with writing assignments, and bend it a little. Rather than writing about what I did, I decided to write about what I saw other people do. Oh, also I made most of it up. Don't tell! 
Thought it might be a suiting thing to post here, as it is slightly (OK, not really) about culinary school:

Fifteen minutes. Disowned chairs scraped worn tile and voices chattered wildly at the prospect of momentary pardon from the 7AM course with whispers of cigarette breaks and visits to the restrooms. A girl with molten brown hair and an unassuming curl of softness at the corners of her mouth touched the arm of an unequally fulsome and haltingly tall individual, before lifting soft eyelashes to his face and inviting him for a turn about the building. A gaggle of loud and quixotic girls rushed past the rest. While the warm disjointed room, which brings to mind images of exacerbated mothers calling back caffeinated children at bowling-alley birthdays, began to drain itself of bodies- it all but sighed with relief. Non-slips pattered excitedly against the strip of tired carpeting that stretches the length of the long hallway through the fourth floor of the dim and expansive structure. The heavy and thick morning light seeped through the cracks and seams of ornate stained glass like motor oil through a seive, making the whole of the hall feel dark and brooding. Glass cases housing awards and publications drooped as the students pounded past without so much as vague curiosity, their silhouettes dully reflected by the worn ornamentation. The battered staircase scoffed at the thundering on its back while students mourned over the prospect of climbing it once more, once the minutes pass and their return to class is anticipated. As if in brigades, they passed the window, out which the Hudson River beams at them in the quiet of the morning. Should they stop, and waste their unexpected reprieve, they may be surprised by the view’s effect, and what the mellifluous river has to share. So instead, past a window, down a flight. Past a window, down a flight. Upon reaching the main floor, as if well-rehearsed players in a theatre, all in eerie unison turned to move straight back to the welcoming walls of Farqhusien hall. Some took to the coffee bar, others opted for bagels or remnants of fruit salad, but they split nearly in half. And took seats as far from the others as could be reached. The cloud of movement within the hall was slow. An exchange of thoughts was given, as the two groups mulled over the past portion of class.
Phones were checked as time had taken flight, and so too did the groups, past those busy working away in K16 and past the room of wines. The edge of the staircase was met with complaints and protests from the unhappy climbers. And lumbering footsteps took them back; past a window, up a flight.


What was the most bizarre assignment you've been assigned?
An abundance of love,

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