We’ve all had one of those dreams… mine went like this:

I was in a kitchen with the dining room full of of hungry guests expecting one of my full-contact floor show dinners. In a Clash tee shirt and checkered pants, I stood at the ready with a towel slung over my shoulder. My knives were freshly sharpened and a clean cutting board lay in front of me like a sacrificial altar. My iPod was docked and queued up.  I opened the refrigerator.

The light turned on.  The chill air oozed down over my Dansko clad feet. I shivered.

The fridge was freaking empty.

This was how my decision to begin culinary school was received by my subconscious.

Cooking up a half-baked idea

I have been using the stove ever since my mother said that if I was big enough to reach over it, I had to learn how to use it. Same went for the washing machine, but that is another story. When at friends houses, I wind up in the kitchen doing a little more than puttering, sometimes elbowing people out of the way, sometimes falling for the bait to bail out the food coordinator. This ruse is commonly orchestrated by way of plopping a side of beef or a six ton zucchini in front of me and putting on a faux  Deer In The Headlights Look and then quickly disappearing until chowtime. I freaking love every second of it. I never said I was graceful or polite about my commandeering of a kitchen… I just gotta cook, man!

So, after forty years and too many of them spent serving people who are unconscious, I am going to take care of the awake ones. I am going to be selfish for the first time and learn to do what I love to do, only better. I am going to fill in the blind spots in my skills, learn the essence of flavoring, master molecules and physics and play with my food.

I am going to do a not-so amazing feat. I am going to blog about the whole process as I go, from Day One- the day I signed over my first registration checks for classes. Boring as hell you say? Hey, come on now, look at it like a hockey fan: There are those that attend a game for the love of the sport itself and those that attend to see a fight. I suggest you hang out to see a little blood on the ice, because I’m reasonably sure I’m gonna get my ass kicked once or twice in my year at school. Some meringue will leave me flat. A sauce will break and take my heart along with it. A saute’ pan will flip me off as I get overconfident in my own flipping abilities and ingredients will hit the deck.

So, here it is, folks. You are seeing it here first. Its my registration receipt for Culinary school, with a chaser of Baking and Pastry education. I tested into the program two weeks ago, went through all the financial aid business and its all a go for Monday morning, December 1st.

Please join me on my new website, dishingitout.wordpress.com for the Diary Of A Knifethrower!