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[This is part II of a 3-part series. Read part I, intro to chefdom, or part III, the big night]

My stock was excellent. Excuse me while I finish filling out my application to the CIA.

Tonight we continued preparing for tomorrow’s big dinner event. My project tonight was to make soup for 70. I think I’ve only made soup once in my life. (And it gave me gas for three days, which explains why I haven’t made it since.)

Of course, we’re working from recipes. But there are still plenty of opportunities to ruin something. Tonight I smoked my saute oil, and had to rinse out the pot and start over. Then I under-carmelized two pots of vegetables because I kept stirring them, afraid they’d burn otherwise. But then I got distracted, and nearly did burn one pot. Working with unfamiliar tools, e.g. a commercial gas stove from about 30 years ago, and pots the size of bathtubs, just about overloaded my attention.

Another student was melting a big pot of chocolate and it seized up into a softball-sized lump with a big metal whisk sticking out one side. That took an hour’s work with the food processor to recover.

I guess most kitchen accidents can be fixed. But I definitely grew more paranoid as the amount of time I’d invested in a dish increased. For example, you can’t really make a mistake while chopping vegetables, so long as you don’t draw blood. But if, two hours later, you accidentally dump 2x the right amount of salt into the soup pot, you’re screwed. When it came to seasonings I was ultimately overcautious, measuring and calculating 4-5 times for every addition.

The chefs were laughing, because they never measure anything any more. I’m a baker, though, and as they’d concede, accuracy in measurment is one of the keys to successful baking. Add to that the fear that I was about to spoil 14 quarts of soup, and you’ll get an image of me with pad and pencil and calculator: 3 tsp to the Tbsp; 16 Tbsp to the cup… I even asked for a scale. I was gently scoffed at.

Dinner was again outstanding: baked winter vegetables and tofu with “Brazilian sauce.” I’ve been promised the recipe and have taken an organic rutabega hostage in case they don’t comply.

[Read part III, the big night]