The sharper your knife, the less you cry

That's the name of the book I finished two minutes ago. It's by Kathleen Flinn, who got fired from her job at 36 and decided to go to Le Cordon Bleu. I cried. I can't remember the last book that reduced me to tears.

I've been reading it between work and studying for the past week. It has me dreaming of Paris, eating at little cafes, and shopping for baguettes every day. Sigh. Is that something I will ever get to do? I thought I'd gotten all my wanderlust out of the way. It appears I have not.

I loved the book for more than the Paris brain candy. She went through a (much tougher) version of what I'm doing. It's nice to know I'm not the only culinary student to get lost in knife cuts. I can do it all day. Peel, square, trim, slice, julienne, brunoise, repeat. Very cheap therapy. It's also nice to know that not everyone starts culinary school with a clear goal in mind.

Because honestly, I don't know what I want to do with all this learning. Ask the majority of my class what they want to do, and you will get one answer. "I want to own my own restaurant." I've managed one, and I've got to tell you...It's a TON of work. Kiss the family life good bye. Be prepared to work 60-80 hours a week. And by the way, it will take you at least six months to start making money. If you're any good.

I've become increasingly interested in the farm-to-table movement. I grew up blissfully unaware of fois gras and duck confit, and I really don't feel I've missed anything. Isn't the beauty of cooking making something fantastic out of something simple? And does fantastic have to be elaborate? Why not let the green beans speak for themselves? My husband requests my meat loaf more than anything else I make. I think I want to make the food that people really eat.

But, all that is two years down the road. I mentioned moving after graduation to Brian last night. He was tentative, but not opposed. He said he'll need to know where I want to go so he can find a job. He instantly said, "The valley!" No. I'm not taking my cooking skills to Harrisonburg to cook for students and townies who don't know sea salt from kosher. (That's awfully snarky of me. I apologize.)

Off to read about eggs for school.