Class starts with a snack. I toast some bread and I soften some onions on the stove. While the onions go, I gather the ingredients for the dishes the students will prepare. That is how we begin.
Organization of the Studio is important. There is thoughtfulness to how we prepare our meals, of our mise en place, of our execution. There is a heightened level of awareness that requires six arms and two sets of eyes. But above all, it requires the quick agility of an ever-present mind, an ever-present memory. I strive to convey that. I strive for each student to fee an accountability for their implementation of the entire dish.
Knowing that, I burn my onions. That is a “hmmmm” coupled with an “oops”. Robert catches them on the stove and I rush over to either fix what I can, or start over. What onions remain translucent and sweet, I scrap out of the pot, into a bowl. They taste good. I mix them with some gruyere that we needed to use. I spread the melted cheese and onion mixture over the toast. We all sit down and discuss our recipes that we will make for the evening.
Preparation is often peppered with the winds of chaos and change, of mechanical and human malfunction. Those winds blow through the studio on a regular basis. Invariably, we can do our best to buffer against those winds, but they are perhaps one of the reasons we cook. Nothing keeps us on our toes better. We should also credit the invaluable gift of “reparation” that follows preparation gone wrong. At the Studio we teach preparation, yes. But through the course of classes we learn that creating something beautiful because something else traveled off-course is just as valuable.
Preparation and reparation.
–Blake Van Roekel, Teacher
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