Ready, Set, Cook

The final began with a mad scramble to grab the necessary pots, strainers, cooling racks, roasting racks, bowls and ingredients to make your two assigned dishes. After the initial noise of clanging metal, unzipping of knife bags and the shuffle of feet, a quiet fell over the kitchen. I think everyone took a collective deep breath. Then slowly a steady chop, chop, chop began to beat out its sound, followed shortly by the sizzling sound of ingredients as they hit a hot pan. I love the sound of a professional kitchen, I liken it to a symphony. First its quiet, you tune up as you get your ingredients ready and prepped. Then, as you start to cook, it gets louder and louder and then when the orders start rushing in (as you hope they do) its show time! It's a fury of pots banging, oven doors slamming, metal spoons stirring frantically, its the clash of cymbals! It stays at this wild pitch for awhile and then it begins its refrain, to slow down, and then its quiet. All the players in a kitchen have to work together to create the perfect score. The kitchen is a delicious symphony.

For me, on that final night, lets just say I had the right tempo but no rhythm. I wasn't a symphony, I was a one woman band. I felt myself falling behind as the clock ticked away and precious minutes were lost forever. I had vowed not to be late in presenting my two dishes, so I really pushed myself. Plus I had the added benefit of Chef Jason yelling in my ear to speed it up! Get going, watch your sauce!!!

I strained the consomme, unmolded the mushroom flan and carefully and delicately, chopped chervil. First dish was on time but barely. Then it was on to my second dish, the stuffed pheasant. I worked as fast as I could to finish it, constantly watching the clock. I was just about to present the dish when I realized there was something missing. I had forgotten about the warm fig with butter and thyme. SHIT!! DAMN! I scrambled to quickly put it together and moments later the fig was on the plate, completely undercooked and lopsided, leaning unsteadily against the pheasant, like it was inebriated. That hiccup in my careful plan had cost me, I was now a few minutes late. I was terribly disappointed. Damn that fig!! I had placed them on a shelf below the countertop out of the way in an attempt to be uber orgznized. But you know what they say - out of sight, out of mind. Which is exactly what happened, fig - what fig? I was out of my mind stupid alright. As my dishes were sent off to the judges, I could not stop thinking about that cold sad looking fig. And I love figs! Nothing against them. I certainly had eaten my fair share of them the past few months, practicing my recipe. Luckily the feeling of relief, of just being done and completing the final, slowly took over, and that fig became a distant memory. I enjoyed the accomplishment of the evening with my classmates, while we sipped champagne (maybe that helped with the distant memory part). We were then critiqued by four judges who had volunteered their taste buds and stomachs for the night. My dishes did quite well, thank goodness and best of all, they didn't seem too concerned about my fig fiasco. I let out my breath and finally truly relaxed. Fini!

Even though its been almost two months since the final, whenever I see a fig staring back at me in the grocery store, its a different story. It's a love hate thing now. I guess it's going to take some time.

The Final Exam

In February, right when I was falling into the black hole of writing denial and temporarily abandoning my blog (lets just be blunt about it) I was soothing my Irish catholic guilt with the fact that I was too busy to blog. Please, I was preparing to graduate from the French Culinary Institute. After ten months and 600 hours of work, the home stretch needed all my attention! After long, busy days at the office, in the evening I would practice my sauces on the stove while something baked in the oven. I read my recipes over and over again and studied my plan of attack for the final exam, I was militant in my focus. Pastry dough first, start stock second, oven on and chop fast! I would keep one eye on the clock, and the proctors would be keeping an eye on me. Just slightly daunting for someone like me who disdains competition and pressure as much as a trip to the dentist. As the end of the month started to close in on me, I tried not to panic. I didnt want all my hard work to end on a bad note...I firmly told myself that there were worse things than if I didnt properly peel an onion or have the serving plate hot enough! I was going to bed every night envisioning myself presenting two perfectly plated, properly seasoned, on time delicacies. My biggest goal, I told myself, was to finish on time. Not to be one minute late presenting either plate, a serious deduction of points. Then I focused on the eight recipes that I could possibly get. I made my husband join me in pray every day as I stated my mantra, "please don't have me draw the slip of paper with consomme and pheasant", my two most dreaded dishes. The night of the final came and while I headed down to school on the subway, I closed my eyes and saw my dishes arriving on time, looking like they belonged on the cover of a French magazine. More importantly, I envisioned a consomme and pheasant free night. The world is my universe, I have all I want and need. It's all going to work outI was the master of my destiny, success and a toque were in my sights. Positive thinking all around. So, as I sat perched on an uncomfortable stool that snowy blustery Thursday night in school, as it came my turn, I calmly reached into the basket and grabbed my fate, slowly unfoldeding the little piece of white paper. Consomme and pheasant. What?? I literally gasped when I saw the typewritten words...how is it possible? This is ridiculous. Excuse me but did the universe forget about me and my NO pheasant or consomme guideline? I haven't read The Secret, but I get the basic prinicple. Hadn't I done my work, put my request faithly out there to avoid this? Where was my happy ending. I wasn't asking for money, perfect health or a miracle. Just no pheasant of consomme, excuse me for being so specific. I trudged into the kitchen for the final practical exam, cursing mind over matter, metaphysics, The Secret, and feeling just a little bit screwed.

Happy Easter!

Easter is here and its my favorite holiday. More so than Christmas (too much running around!)Thanksgiving (hard to believe given my propensity for highly caloric side dishes!) and even a long summer three day weekend (too hot!).

This Sunday is a time of rebirth, new beginnings. Which I feel is so appropriate for how I feel this gorgeous sunny morning. A chance to start fresh, a clean slate. Who doesn't like that? Or want that?

I wish everyone a happy Easter or Passover. However you celebrate, I hope its special and with dear family and friends.

Cheers - to new beginnings!

April 1st, and yes, I have been a fool.

But this is no joke. I didn't even want to look, not even take a peek...like when you get on a scale and hope to God that its not going to be as bad as you think. Or when you are in school and getting an exam grade back and you know the night before you were out when you should have been studying and cracking the books. You pray that the professor bought your tangled lines of confusion, at least a little bit. You hope for the best.

But finally, I had to look. And there it was, in front of me. The date, crystal clear and the countdown clock still diligently working, turning over the numbers...tick, tick, tick. The last time I posted on my blog was in February. I felt guilty and even embarassed in a funny way. Not because I feel like people are logging on to read my thoughts first thing in the morning, but because I had made a promise to myself and this plastic keyboard. I was going to write about this year, this transformational year. This blog was going to be my AA meeting, keeping me honest and on track. Hello my name is Bridget, and yes, I am a blogger. I fell off the wagon. Actually, it feels like I jumped off. So my to do list has only one item right now. (The know it all sister was right - always only have three!) Get back to blogging and figure out why I strayed. It's April for crying out loud. A quarter of the year has passed me by...this needs some serious reflection. And perhaps back up support. I'll let you know the plan when I know the plan. Luckily, the past few months have been very good ones, I have plenty of material. Which also begs the question ala Jay Leno to Hugh Grant - what was I thinking? How could I have walked away when the best was about to unfold.
Well, stick with me as I figure it out. Trust me, I have some wonderful stuff to share. All of a sudden, I am feeling very chatty...

Walking in a winter wonderland...

Yesterday, the East coast braced for yet another snowstorm. For us in New York City though, yesterday was the blizzard that wasn’t. Old man winter didn’t come to the party like I had secretly hoped for. The snow came, but not so much of it and it was cold wet snow wrapped in a ferocious wind. The kind that feels like little pin pricks on your face. Mean snow, not the fluffy floating snowflakes that land lightly on your hair and face and can be easily brushed off your coat. I must be a California girl at heart, because I really don’t care for the cold weather that comes every winter. Dan teases me that when the seasons change and the thermostat plunges, I always act surprised, as if it’s my first winter here in New York City. I just always wish the fall could last a little longer. He likes the cold. It’s refreshing, he says. No, refreshing is an icy cold drink on a hot sticky summer day. Not 23 degrees. 23 degrees is just cold. He did manage to drag me out for a walk last night, after the snow was winding down. I ventured out in the cold, long enough so I could get some fresh air and take a picture or two. It’s hard to see, I realize my camera skills are lacking, but the picture posted is the front door of our building. I was tying not to shake from the cold as I took it.

Tonight, it’s back into the cold, headed to school. Yesterday, the lucky Wednesday students had a snow day. Not often you get one of those as a grown adult! Tonight is my last night at the canapé station. On the first night, I had to come up with what to serve. We presented a goat cheese, roasted red pepper and radicchio salad mix on a homemade potato chip with a basil reduction sauce. The sauce was a beautiful green swirl on the plate. It was a simple colorful dish, but quite tasty. On Tuesday night, Jim made a gorgeous and sophisticated Thomas Keller creation. A hollowed out egg, filled with savory custard topped with a veal reduction sauce. Into the custard went a homemade potato chip with a chive center. The egg sat perfectly perched in an egg cup. It was a canapé to be proud of, it was decadent and rich. Tonight is Joe’s night. He has yet to share his recipe, so it remains a mystery. I’ll make sure to take a picture of it and to share tomorrow. I’ll also get back to my usual blogging too…it was a crazy week of school, studying, tests and work. Those are my truthful, if lame excuses. Like I have said before, I am a work in progress!

It's a bird, it's a plane...

No, it’s the beautiful plump blueberry. Some call it the perfect food. I am inclined to agree. When time permits, I like to pick up a pint at the fruit stand on the corner as I head to work in the morning. They are delicious right out the container, with no embellishments. I nibble on them all day. The blueberry does keep good company with other super hero foods such as oatmeal, honey, bran, mangoes, and yogurt. Often at the top of a nutritionist’s list, they beat out numerous other fruits and vegetables in their antioxidant super powers, able to neutralize free radicals that can damage your cells in ways that lead to cancer, heart disease and the effects of aging. Anything that aids in anti aging is my personal hero. High in fiber and low in calories make them guilt free. And who needs more guilt in this world. In my effort to become healthier this birthday count down year, the blueberry has become a good friend. Right up there with my old stand by broccoli, long known to be a super veggie. I have always said that broccoli is going to save me from all my evil ways, since I have been eating it like its going out of style since college.

Blueberries are delicious with a little honey drizzled on top. On Sunday mornings when I have extra time (a screaming blender isn’t so jarring at 10am) I love to put them in the blender with vanilla yogurt, honey and milk. Toss in some ice and blend away. The ingredients swirl and combine together to make a pale violet colored smoothie that tastes decadent.

Tonight I think I’ll see if I can find a nice healthy recipe for a muffin or scone to go with my coffee in the morning. Perhaps not the ideal healthy breakfast, but those perfect blueberries will certainly help balance the scales.

Bread 101

One of the best things about school is the bread kitchen. In fact it might be the best thing. If I have time, I can’t resist sneaking upstairs and grabbing a baguette or two. Some nights there’s a variety of breads, all equally delicious. Pullman loaves, croissants, rye bread, sometimes even a little chocolate works its way into a recipe. I love to place the crusty bread right under my long nose and inhale deeply, the warm comfortable smell of baked bread filling my nostrils with such an aroma, it almost feels therapeutic.

After my brief therapy, I wrap the bread up and take it home. Slicing it for sandwiches, I never get tired of it. The bread makes the best sandwiches, especially the ones that go on the panini press. The mozzarella, tomato and arugula sandwiches I find mouth-watering are now hugged by two slices of homemade love. Warm and gooey on the insides, it’s surrounded with the perfect crunch on the outside.

Lately though there hasn’t been time to run upstairs and grab a loaf or two, so I am left with the bread we pick up at the grocery store. It just doesn’t compare. It doesn’t have the crunch, the tanginess, the texture. I hate to say it, but I am utterly and completely spoiled. Apparently man cannot live by bread alone, but if he had bread from the French Culinary Institute, he might have a fighting chance.

With that thought and the realization that getting to the third floor is difficult in Level 6, I attempted yesterday to make my own bread. The process isn’t difficult, its just time consuming.
I was delighted when I first saw the bread as I pulled it out of the hot steamy oven. I had resisted peeking and instead paced around the apartment, hoping the bread would rise and develop a crust. Well, it did both. I tapped on it for that familiar hollow sound but it sounded more like knocking on a door. A solid door unfortunately. An ominous start…After the bread cooled, I sliced into it still hoping for the best. The taste was there but the texture wasn’t. The bread was all good looks, but no substance. Certainly not like the baguettes from school. I’ll have to work on the recipe, perhaps I overworked the dough. Or used too much flour, who knows? Of course, Dan said it was fine for consumption, kind and loyal tester that he is. I didn’t tell him, but that bread is headed right into the food processor. The loaves may not make for a great sandwich but they will be delicious bread crumbs!

Sometimes you feel like a nut...

As promised here is the granola. It's easy to make, you'll love it. Just be careful and don't let it bake too long, or you'll have a big burned mess on your hands. (One day I'll tell you about the 2 lbs of pecans I turned into little pieces of ash!)

Nutty Granola courtesy of dew-faced Ellie Krieger, from the book The Food You Crave. Unfortunately, I crave most foods, not just the healthy ones.

Cooking spray
3 cups old fashioned rollled oats
1/2 cup of each - chopped walnuts, almonds, pecans
1/2 cup of pure maple syrup (not the fake kind. fake = unhealthy!)
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 cup raisins (optional, I added dried cranberries - delicious)

Preheat oven to 300. Coat a large baking sheet with cooking spray.
In a medium bowl, mix together all ingredients, making sure to coat everything well with the maple syrup. Spread on the baking sheet and bake until golden brown, stirring occasionally for 30 minutes.
Transfer the sheet to a wire rack and let cool. You can store it in the refrigerator in an airtight container for three weeks.

I have it with milk, over greek yogurt with honey or I simply snack on it dry, right out of that airtight container. In any case, it certainly doesn't last in my apartment for three weeks.

I hope you'll try it. Then can see how long it last in your fridge. Delcious!

State of the Kitchen Address...

I came home tonight to give my cupboards a speech...even if no kitchen consituents were listening. I took inventory, threw out two year old items and vowed to take back the ingredients. I made a promise to use them all this fiscal year, before another dinner plan goes bad.

I had every intention of blogging today...but work was very busy and then I had to run errands after work...which always leaves me grouchy. I was hoping I'd get home on the early side, so I could take the time to cook a delicious savory dinner but it was late. Plus my creative culinary juices were definately not flowing. When I get home late from work, my evening meals are far from interesting. They easily border on boring. Perhaps I am compensating for the ridiculous rich dinners we serve at school that I can't stay away from.

I did however manage to make a batch homemade granola. The granola is still in the oven, but whiffs of it are sneaking out and filling the apartment. The smell is toasty and warm, actually cozy. I promise tomorrow, I'll share a picture and the recipe. It's delicious and easy to make, thank you Ellie Krieger, that healthy food Goddess with the gorgeous skin. What is her secret? I want it, whatever it is. It couldn't just be all that healthy eating could it? No, it must be good genes.

Tonight, I was severly tempted to just laze on the couch and get super comfy. Forget dinner and the fragrant granola. My delicious step didnt take me far tonight, just to the cupboard for a little ransacking but I was so glad I did. A quick, simple pork chop, veggie dinner and then granola for future breakfasts. Sometimes that little bit of effort is so worth it. There is nothing like homemade. As President Obama said, at the end of his State of the Union Address, I didn't give up and I didn't quit!
(overly dramatic, I know)

B - B - B - Billy and the Jets...

Good news, bad news.

It’s always tough to decide which news to give first but I have made a decision. The good news has to come first because the bad news...well, it’s just not that bad. Just don't tell my husband I said that.

First, Billy Elliot. Today I went to see the Broadway show of the same name with my friend Joanne and it was absolutely wonderful. The musical centers on a young English lad, Billy Elliot. His mother has recently died and Billy is struggling with the loss while being raised by his father, elderly grandmother and older brother. It's the tale of their personal struggles, past and present. It’s also the story of a small Northern English community living through the strife caused by the coal miner’s strike that started in 1984, while Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister. Times are very tough but Billy finds a second home and new purpose in a local dance studio. The dancing is brilliant. The best part was seeing the sheer joy on the face of the young actor playing Billy Elliot as he danced beautifully through the show. He dances with such a huge smile on his face, that it brought tears to my eyes. At intermission, Joanne had asked me how a young kid like that knows he wants to dance on Broadway. In the second half of the show, when I saw the face of that young man, dancing his heart out, I thought, he doesn't have to know or second guess...it’s simply in his heart. It was wonderful and inspiring. And it made me want to dance as well. Not in the literal sense. I just want to have a smile on my face like that kid on the stage. That smile comes from the sheer joy of doing what you love. I think in life, everyone wants to smile like that.

The flip side of good news, unfortunately is bad news. Ah, the New York Jets. They lost their championship game tonight, which is indeed a shame, certainly no joy or large smiles in this household. I tell my husband they have a rookie quarterback and a new coach, but it’s no consolation. My poor darling is devastated. A long suffering Jets fan, he was truly hoping for a trip to the Super Bowl. It's not to be.

So tonight I deal with my own suffering Billy Elliot. A sad soul dear Dan is, wishing that things had been different. A touchdown pass caught, a first down made. Jet fans did fare much better than the coal miners in Billy Elliot. They lost their strike and were defeated. It was a devastating loss, they never recovered. Certainly no Super Bowl for them. With the Jets, at least we have next year, another chance. And with baseball around the corner, my Billy will soon have another reason to smile.

Blame it on Rio

I have it blame it on something for heavens sake. It has been a month since I started my countdown blog. Actually, that’s not exactly true, it’s been longer than a month. But not by much… really just a couple of days…okay more than a couple…six to be exact. There, full disclosure! So far I have been terrible at orchestrating my own personal before and after makeover. Ugh. Who knew that blogging and self improvement could be so difficult? I give that blogger chick Julie a ton of credit. The energizer bunny has nothing on her. I wanted to blog everyday but that hasn’t happened. I am close to everyday but don’t they say close only counts in horseshoes? I will be more diligent and delicious with my posts. Other goals go as follows…

Weight…embarrassingly enough I have gained two pounds! Ouch, that one hurts. Even after stripping down to my birthday suit and standing on the cold glass scale ten times in ten different positions while holding my breath in, the ugly truth stares back at me. In big black lit up digital numbers too. No fudging with an old fashioned needle teetering back and forth like a metronome while you shift your weight around. Those numbers seem so BIG first thing in the morning. Perhaps it has something to do with the crispy bacon lardons at school or with the next item…

Exercise…nil. I really need to work on this! Spring will be here before you know it. It's not like I want to run around the beach in a teeny bikini like Valerie Bertinelli, God bless her, but perhaps it would be nice if my biceps could see a little sunlight this summer. I bought a workout DVD for home. It came with pretty hot pink girly dumbbells. I better get that going. These biceps need a lot of help pre springtime unveiling.

As for my other goals, I did buy a French word of the day calendar. The words have been easy– like la banane and le sac, duh? However, I feel very frenchy French already and certainly almost bilingual. I am working up to something difficult, like a sentence. La banana est dans le sac. See what I have learned? Beautiful that French language is.

This coming month I am going to think positive, work hard and not sweat the small stuff too much. Remember what our dear French friend Doris Day said – que sera sera!

Cake Love

There is something so nice about cake. Cake conjours up so many happy memories...Birthday cakes as a little kid in grade school when you only ate the icing with a glass of chilled milk, sheet cakes filled with rich thick frosting at a church or school event, because there was simply too many people to feed for a beautiful 9” round cake, little individual cakes, the ever popular cupcake, that was yours to eat any way you wanted to. There are also momentous cakes – wedding cakes, anniversary cakes, graduation cakes to always mark an occasion. Perhaps I'll have a big beautiful delicious cake when I graduate next month. We will photograph it and remember it and its special significant place at the party.

Tonight though, after a busy weekend and a little too much indulgence, (I blame the Jets win for that!) I decided to rely on an old favorite, my lemon olive oil cake. It doesn't get to hide behind chocolate batter or fancy whimsical frosting and design. Instead it stands on its on, slightly rich from the eggs, slightly sweet from the sugar and deeply flavorful from the olive oil. It's easy to make and easier to eat.

And tomorrow, when I have to return to work, it will make that first cup of coffee from the office kitchen, just that much easier to take.

Lemon Olive Oil Cake from Gourmet Magazine

Ingredients:
¾ cup olive oil
1 large lemon
1 cup cake flour (not self rising)
5 large eggs, separated, reserve 1 of the egg whites for another use
½ teaspoon salt
¾ cup plus 1 ½ tablespoons sugar

One 9-inch springform pan

Preparation:

• Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350F.
• Grease springform pan with oil
• Finely grate enough lemon zest to measure 1 ½ teaspoons and whisk together with flour. (I usually just use all the zest – why not?)
• Halve the lemon, squeeze and reserve 1 ½ tablespoons of juice
• Beat together egg yolks with ½ cup sugar in large bowl with electric mixer on high speed until thick and a beautiful pale yellow – about 3 minutes
• Reduce speed to medium and add olive oil and reserved lemon juice, beating until just combined. The mixture might look like its going south on you, but it will be fine.
• Using a wooden spoon, add flour mixture until just combined
• Beat 4 egg whites with ½ teaspoon salt in another large bowl, until foamy, then add ¼ cup sugar a little at a time, beating until whites hold soft peaks, about 3 minutes.
• Gently fold ½ of egg whites into yolk mixture to lighten, then fold in remaining egg whites gently but thoroughly
• Transfer batter to springform pan, gently tap against work surface once or twice to release air bubbles.
• Sprinkle top with remaining sugar.
• Bake until puffed and golden, and a skewer inserted into center of cake comes out clean, about 40 minutes.
• Cool cake in pan on a rack until able to remove cake from pan without burning your finger tips!
• Let cool to room temperature, be patient, resort to self control.
• Transfer to a serving platter (if you wish) then eat and enjoy!

Voila - delicious!

Level six has officially begun and the station I am working at is called Saucier. Don't you love that name - it sounds so sexy and fun! Believe me its not. It's hot and dangerous! Damn...that sounds kind of naughty too. What I mean to say is this is a busy, nerve racking station where we grill the hangar steak and sauté the pheasants. The pans are smoking hot with sputtering oil and the oven is set cranked up to 500 scorching degrees, dangerous for someone who is less than graceful, which is me. Last Tuesday night I managed to escape with only a few burnt fingertips. I love the plates though so I thought I'd share them with you - please see pictures taken from my trusty mobile phone.

The hangar steak comes with a delicious decadent bordelaise sauce accompanied by a brussel sprout slaw and pommes dauphines. The pommes (potato) dish taste like fancy pants tater tots, for those of you who grew up with them. They are the same shape and have a crisp salty crust with a creamy, fluffy center. I could eat 100 of them, especially right out of the deep fry. I make eight per dish. As you can see from the picture five make it on the plate. Trust me, the other three didn’t just roll off the counter...

The other dish is sautéed pheasant with a delicious mousseline under the skin, and a parsnip puree. If you like to sneak a bite of skin off the turkey on Thanksgiving day while people tell you that's disgusting and unhealthy for you, the pheasant will be right up your alley. That skin is divine.

These will be two of the dishes that we might have to prepare for our final exam next month. But the thought of that final gives me a stomach ache…so for now, I’ll just not think about it. Instead, I’ll just enjoy the dishes for what they are, mouth-watering and delicious.

Patience is a virtue...

Last night I got home from work at the uncivilized hour of 8pm. Way too late for a Monday night, or any other night if you ask me. Dan and I had an easy, no frills dinner. After our quick nosh, Dan turned on the television to catch up on the latest New York Jets talk, prep for the big football game this weekend. Then Mark McGuire’s steroid confession came on. And on and on and on! These teary eyed confessions really are too much. After watching his mea culpa several times in the span of a few minutes, I had heard enough. Watching grown men cry over stupid decisions they have made, just doesn’t do it for me.

I decided to get off the couch and do something more constructive than grumble about pro athletes. How about taking the time to try and learn how to use my nifty little camera? Every time I try and take a picture inside the apartment of something up close – its way too bright. The object of my focus looks like a shiny illuminated UFO hurling through space. Not anything like the pretty pictures I see on other blogs. How hard could it be to change that? My camera is of the “aim and shoot” variety. After trying to understand its many buttons and screen directions, I ended up cursing and screaming at that little piece of light blue metal. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to “aim and shoot” it or myself! It’s amazing how something so small can cause such annoyance. It’s like the TV remote for the cable channels when you hit the wrong button. Instead of another channel appearing on the TV, you are in no mans land. You may be just one button away from the right one, but hours away from figuring out what you did wrong. I’ll never call an 800 number for help either. I just suffer until I figure it out, which for me is never easy. Last night I didn’t have hours and I was too tired to fight. I decide instead, to calmly put the camera down, step away and pick up the fight again later. I’ll try again when I am not so riled up.

Hopefully next time you stop to read this blog, (please, oh please!) I’ll have worked it all out and there will be beautiful clear pictures to accompany my words. An enticement per se. Until then, thanks for listening.

Where everyone knows your name...

This afternoon as I head off to school, Dan will be heading out with me. That's a good thing, because believe it or not, I have the jitters again. Tonight is the first night of Level 6, the last level at school. This is the big time, the last act, the stepping up to the majors. Dan is good at reassuring me that all will be fine. It's really not too much different than level 5, I guess I just like to be dramatic about the whole thing.

Dan will not be walking with me long. He and I will part ways at the corner of Vernon and 50th in Long Island City, in that lovely borough of Queens. I'll head down the dusty, dirty stairs to the subway and he'll make a quick right, into Leahy's, our corner bar. And I mean that literally, it's right there on the corner. He usually doesn't arrive there at 4:00pm on a Saturday but today is the New York Jet's wild card playoff game, so he is watching with our new friends at the bar. Everyone should have a corner bar to patronize. In most places, it's a thing of the past, like family dinners and Sunday drives. We aren't every night regulars, but the place definately has them, a bunch of characters, of every age and walk of life. Francess, the bartender, hails from Northern Ireland, from County Armagh, and she truly is the draw. We first met her a year or so ago, and she alone was the reason we started to stop by for a drink. Her warmth and humor could draw in a crowd of antisocials.

We usually go two nights a week, when we know Francess is working. One of those nights is always Saturday night. Dan and I meet there after I am done with school. Dan would wait for me outside, lingering on the corner, resisting the urge to retreat into the cool safety of the airconditioned bar. Now that old man winter has arrived in full force, he waits inside. When I walk in the door, Francess yells "Hello dear Bridget" across the crowded room and then shouts out a number. The number represents how many more Saturday nights I have of school left. We started at 24. The number is now down to 7! Francess recently confessed to me she isn't so fond of the countdown calendar. She is worried when it's 3 - 2 - 1 done, that it will be the end of our weekend ritual. I told her not to worry, that she and the fun loving "family" we have there are the true ritual. They're an interesting diverse group, these new friends. They have made for Danny and I, who are recent transplants to this small concrete spot in the world, a true sense of neigborhood. When we see each other walking on the street or in the subway, its a quick hello. At the bar, we get to catch up on the week in more detail, sometimes hilarious detail. Love lives, jobs, recent travels and family are all discussed. We also wonder where someone is when they don't show up. Dan and I have met parents, sisters, and friends. It's a nice sense of community. In a place as big and crazy as the five boroughs of New York, it's great to have your own spot.

Next step – Level 6!

Tonight is the last night of Level 5 at the French Culinary Institute where I attend school. That means I am officially in the home stretch! I can’t believe it, where did the past nine months go? I seemed to have survived so far, even though there were times of fear and doubt. Even a few tears, God how embarrassing.

Yesterday my boss asked me (for the 10th time mind you) “When do you graduate?” I told him next month and his reply was “then what happens.” I told him you get a diploma, a toque placed on your head, a glass of champagne and then call it a day. “But what does that mean for you” he asked. I stared back at him and thought to myself “I really don’t know” but actually replied “I get to check cooking school off my to-do list”. I don’t think that’s quite what he expected, because he looked at me quizzically, turned around, went into his office and shut the door. I am afraid my boss doesn’t understand me. Hell, I don’t even understand me.

It did get me thinking…what am I going to do? That damn clock on my blog is ticking, ticking, ticking. I feel like Marisa Tomei in the movie My Cousin Vinny…”my biological clock is ticking, ticking, ticking”…although trust me, it’s not my biological clock that concerns me. My concern is that I don’t dilly dally around anymore thinking I have all this time to figure out the big question of where I want my life to go. School is a great thing because there are plenty of connections to be had. I’ll start there. When I was 30 I was the oldest living intern at NBC. I was answering the phones in the complaint department. Yes, they actually had a complaint department. Believe me, when you cut into a soap opera with a special news report, people complain. And if Michael Jackson were still alive, I’d tell him that nobody liked it when you grabbed your crouch while singing at the Super Bowl. The calls flooded in. I can still see the lines lit up, blinking, waiting for me. People don’t hang up when they want to bitch about something. However that job later led to some amazing experiences outside NBC’s complaint department. After the panic of the mad blinking phone bank, I felt I could handle anything.

I keep hearing and reading that you have to be open to change. That change occurs when you are ready for it. When I graduate next month, I’ll be one step closer to being ready. I say, change, bring it on.

Busy, busy, busy...

Let me tell you, the life of an executive assistant isn't as glamorous as it sounds! Ha! Today was phone calls, calendars, meetings and a few nutcases on the phone, leftovers from the holiday season. (that does not include the ones still here at work)
Not much time to blog before I have leave work for my downtown culinary school. I am headed out into the artic blast which has decided to linger over the East coast for the next week. The ten day forecast is easy to memorize: freezing.
As an update, I walked the stairs last night, took down the Christmas tree, made dinner and remembered to call my dear friend Christine for her Birthday. Quite good for a Monday night, especially the part about the tree. Dan and I did get into a little tangle with the tree stand...unfortunately the stand won. It too is now on the curb, still attached to the tree, waiting to be picked up. I am sure the tree recycling police would have us immediately arrested if they could pin the crime on the two of us. Leaving the stand behind I can be certain wasn't acceptable recycling...but it was so cold outside and the damn thing would not let go of the tree! The tree actually looked rather nice standing tall on the sidewalk. Instead of lying down like the rest of them, it stood proud.
Well, off to school! Wish me luck with my gnocchi!

The party's over...

Today it was back to the office. Nothing helps reality set in about returning to work then an early ride on the 7 train with a thousand other happy straphangers all bundled up, ready to brace the wintry weather. New Yorkers really know how to layer it on, like they are getting ready to summit a mountain. Perhaps my fellow commuters were just excited about wearing all their pretty new gifts because every bit of outerwear one could think of was on display this morning. Unfortunately the subway car I jumped into felt like the inside of furnace. Trying to remove any garment in a jam-packed subway car is no simple feat, it would be easier to play a game of twister. The guy directly in front of me had a backpack on the size of a steamer trunk. But since it’s behind him, he can’t see it, so it’s not really there. Noooo, it’s not there taking up precious space. The girl next to me was traveling with bags of varying sizes. Three bags to be precise - immense, bulky, and the where-the-hell-are-you-going-with-that-huge sized bag - flung over her shoulders. Excuse me there darling sherpa girl, those overstuffed bags aren’t holograms, they actually are knocking me in the back every time the subway lurches. At least there wasn’t a full set of golf clubs swinging around that 7 train. (True story) It’s impossible to try to even loosen a coat button or unfurl a scarf when things have reached the sardine can factor. I did manage to yank my $5 Elmer Fudd hat off. What a find! Those fake fur nylon hats that you buy off the street corner are surprisingly warm. I was sweating by the time I spilled out and headed to the office. Fortunately, my day went by fairly quickly and without too much drama. I tried my best to cheerfully answer the phone and wish my co-workers a Happy New Year. Of course, there were the self importants who didn’t think it necessary to reciprocate my pleasant salutation but I am not going to let them bother me. The first cut is the deepest…tomorrow, it’s already Tuesday! Tonight I am going to start on my list in earnest. Take the stairs, not the escalator on my commute home, make a few phone calls, cook a healthy dinner and decide which book to read. I am on my way!

The holidays have melted away...

and so here I sit at my little shabby chic desk (more shabby than chic, trust me) in my cozy apartment on a bitter cold New York City day, thinking about the fact that it's actually 2010. January has arrived, even if I was secretly hoping it wouldn't. New Years Eve was a wonderful anniversary celebration, fun and memorable! Dinner was a decadent, delicious trip to a steakhouse, proceeded by Dan and I ringing in 2010 with a icy cold glass of bubbly champagne. However, since Friday, with the festivities behind us, I have attempted to prolong the New Year's arrival by being horribly lazy and putting off my To Do list. But the Irish guilt is starting to settle in. The countdown clock which I added to my blog over Christmas is starting to unnerve me. Hell, the damn countdown clock actually counts! When I see those minutes slipping away, never to return, I get a little anxious. Now that it's already Sunday, January 3rd, I am getting a little panicky. So I prolong no more. I have an official short list to get me started. I kept changing my To Do list...which isn't a good sign for my future success at all. I must be committed! One really can't procrastinate about procrastinating, can they? Therefore, here it goes, the list. By writing something down and sharing it with you, I am hoping that as Anderson Cooper and my know-it-all sister Kathy just kindly reminded me, I'll be "keeping it honest".

My TO DO list - 2010

1. Blog - it's something you should do every day, which will help me with my lack of discipline.
2. Exercise - in some fashion, at least 5 times a week so it becomes habit (Yikes!)
3. Lose weight - which hopefully, once #2 comes into play, won't be so difficult.
4. Keep in much better touch with my family and friends, learn to love the phone!
5. Volunteer with an organization that I believe in, knowing that one person can truly make a difference.
6. Learn conversational French. For once I'd like to get past "I'll have a glass of wine, merci beaucoup!".
7. Graduate from the French Culinary Institute (sorry, I know, a cheater, sure thing "to do")
8. Find a new job so that when Sunday night rolls around, I am not sitting on the couch thinking I need to find a new job.
9. Travel - to learn, explore and walk those delicious steps.
10. Visit a museum once a month. Please I live in NYC - that can't be hard.
11.Adopt a pet - wherever I might be living. (I am sorry, I am no Angelina Jolie - Sparky is going to have to do)

That's the start of my list. I'll add to it as I see fit, I promise. One addition is I do want to finally read all the books that are tucked away in numerous locations in my apartment. Until then, to "keep me honest", I will not allow myself to buy my beloved treasured Kindle. That seems like the wise thing a 49 year old woman would do. So, at last count, I have roughly 47 unread books lounging about, feeling ignored. Conservatively speaking, by reading one a week, I'll be buying that Kindle just in time for my 50th Birthday...how funny and apropos is that?