My story today is about my baking class that I just completed. It's only the second time I've taught the baking module. I've always said I'm not a pastry chef but I consider myself a baker. My ex-partner, the pastry chef, with whom I've since parted ways, was my mentor. I learned most of what I know about baking from him, and I have the experience of owning a bakery too (aka- nightmare on South Water street).
What I'm finding is, I love it. I love teaching it and doing it. Some things I had not done since I went to school like puff pastry or danish dough. I'm amazed by my own hands when I demo how to make pie dough. Those are experienced hands! There's joy when I crumble the cold butter with the flour, mix in the ice water and make a cohesive ball of dough. Rolling it out, showing them how to flute a crust. I'm damn good!
Then there's the part about seeing them try it. Most of them have not baked and they are intimidated by it. I always tell them that this is school and it's okay to make mistakes and that they are learning.
Cautiously they get their hands in there. I do it all by hand (as long as they are clean). There's a lot of calling out to me, "Chef, help!", "Chef, is this right?", "Chef, I'm scared!". Suddenly all these tough street brothers and sisters are like kindergartners. They become vulnerable. Some of them actually look like they are going to cry when their cake batter falls, or their dough turns into a sticky mess. Then there is the look on their face when they succeed, sheer pride.
Like a mother I go around and fix it, try to show them where they went wrong. My competent hands show them how to roll that pie dough, keep turning it so it does not stick to the table. Keep it moving, move quickly.
I fight another battle too. I want them to do everything from scratch. I know that most of them, it they go on, will end up in a corporate food service operation. They will used pre-made fillings and cheap shortenings. But not under my watch they won't. I insist on getting fresh fruit. I bring in some of my own recipes. I have a stash of Valhrona cocoa powder and let them use it. I show them how brown their chocolate cakes come out and how the flavor is deeper than the cheap stuff the school supplies. Most have never seen a vanilla bean, so I bring those in too. And they love my toolbox with the bench knife, the pastry tips and all my stuff that I've collected over the years.
There's usually a big guy with tattoos and a history who turns out to have a gift. This guy will have "the touch" as I call it. His puff pastry dough is perfect. It's smooth and pliable with perfect flecks of butter in it. He's amazed with himself as well as I am secretly.
I'm not going to go into the disciplinary events that took place in this class, because we had some rough days. But I will say this, I got through to them. Some very tough girls in that class. A couple of quiet ones too who barely spoke a word. My big guys who wore their do-rags underneath their baker's cap and when they wear their street clothes look like hoodlums. Somewhere I earned their respect and I got to know who they were inside. They gave me a card, a thank you card on Friday. Signed by them all, some saying that I actually got them to like baking.
I'm sorry readers, that this is so un-bitchy. I'll try harder next time.
