"Overdone and Undercooked" Newspaper Columns©

I had bills and bills and bills.  I  immediately started to sell the furniture and the Jaguar.  The Jaguar had always had issues.  The old joke you need one for you and one for your mechanic.  But it was actually the $450 a month payment which was the biggest issue.  Nothing could be done, nothing was allowed to be sold until after the final divorce papers.

It was my first sports car and I immeadiatly got hooked on speed.  You could race around a semi-truck in the middle of a rain storm and the tires would be gripping the asphalt as if becoming part of it.  It was thrilling.  It had all the bells and whistle including a sun roof and a fantastic stereo.  It made me feel like we had worked hard and long to reach this place and it felt very much like a reward.

It also gave me a lot of comfort, when on days I couldn’t get it together. I would go to my favorite road that was windy up hill and long.  By the time I got home the music , the wind in my hair, the speed, had me in a better place before everything had crashed in my life. Knowing that it would end soon I went to check on the farm truck that our daughter had taken to college and came back with scratches and dents, big and little, and the red paint was chipped.

I knew the clutch had gone out, what I did’nt know, since it had been locked and parked for almost 2 years.  It was entirely full…of mold.  Mold on the seats, the seat belts, the floor, the floor mat, the ceiling, the side panels, the dashboard and even the  steering wheel.  The smell was horrid.

It reminded me of our first year of marriage and our apartment kitchen was wood walls and floors. And a blue refrigerator and oven.  We had been gone for a month traveling and the refrigerator had been unpluged!  The mold and smell inside was like a 1,000 people vomited in a stadium.

I cleaned the truck the same way I cleaned the refrigerator. With a lot of hot water and vinegar and washed it down entirely.

I found a mechanic who helped me sell the Jaguar.  He came and fixed the clutch. And start the battery.  And kept my beat up old red truck working.

Goodbye $450 a month payments.

 

Nick is a no show. Trial has been cancelled.  The Judge signed the settlement papers. Divorce was finalized April 2O, 2011.  Nick has the financial responsibility to pay the October 2010 property taxes as ordered by the court.

Which he did not pay.  My attorney is putting a  lien on him in regards to the $4555.61 back taxes from October.  But our hopes of acquiring any payment are very nil.  As he has moved out of state, is unemployed and seems to have alcoholic and drug problems.

Because it was a separation (without a divorce decree in a community property state)  I was ordered by the court not to sell any community personal property. This has posed financial challenges.  Right now I’m able to pay my mortgage with the financial aid from school and will soon have work study available for the summer quarter.

Attaching an escrow account with interest and fees on an adjustable mortgage and living on financial aid, no spousal support alone after a 39 year marriage without a partner and without family who I could turn to for financial help in a recession.  I can only ask you for help.

I have carefully assess the situation and know that it can be resolved, but I need you to work with me as I need at least 30-60 days to be able to sell enough belongings to gather the full amount and pay County immediately when received.

I will then be able to have County help me wth the October 2011 tax as I will qualify for the deferment program for those who are facing financial hardship as I had 0  income in 2010.

I will then be able to set aside the necessary funds each month to pay the April 2012 property tax,  so that I will never end up in this unpleasant situation again.

First, I can’t even count change.  Let alone do the formula required to bake. To make a cake, you need 16 eggs, to put in those giant tubs.  And I could not even remember how many eggs  I put in!  And messed up the recipe and would have to start over.

As a class, we made cookies, cinnamon rolls, brownies, scones, muffins, cream puffs, eclair, croissants, cupcakes, danish turnover, whole cakes, whole-fruit pies, cream parfait cups, cheesecakes, whole tiramisu, bagels, bread, panini, ciabatta, focaccia, milk rolls and sold to the student body what we made.

The best part was we got to taste everything!!  And those we didn’t sell we ate!  I waited all day for that one moment of pleasure.

Leigh would bake after class for the four of us.  We would sit in the main foyer where the table and chairs were and joke about the course of or life.  One day Willow pushed her long red hair back behind her ear and said. ”Guess what guys, we are going to have a big final test presention.”  Dylan shrugged at her and slumped in the cafeteria chair.  Marcus cupped his hands around his mug, “Oh Shit.”

At the same time, Leigh over and above with excitement!  She knew exactly how to get back to Chef Penny, who always gave her bad grades.

Just to piss off the teacher, Leigh’s presentation was going to be on edible underwear!!

 

Chef Penny divided up our classroom into groups of four.  I was lucky to have Marcus again.  Tim had decided cooking wasn’t for him and left school.  And we had  a new guy.  Dylan, who has smoked his joint first thing in the morning.  He smells like he has never washed and walks heavily.

Willow  in our group had long red hair.  The first thing she said to me was she didn’t know about my generation.  However, her generation has to shave down there.  And it itches like Hell.  I told her I was sorry.  Cause my generation didn’t seem to have a problem with a Fur Burger.  We became instant friends! With at least 30 years of age difference.

And the last one in my group was Leigh.  So incredibly talented.  She could have been the teacher.  And she knew it.  She could bake and make anything.  I learned so much from her.  I know we were the envy of the baking class because of her.

With the trial so close, I didnt have the patience to bake.  I never seemed to be able to follow the instructions.  My mind literally twisted in knots as each day got closer to trial.

“Baking is based on the science of chemistry.  And accurate measuring is important to consistent baking results.”  Chef Penny said to the class.

Oh God, help me.  Number one, science, chemistry and accuracy are all things i know nothing about.  And by now, I had survived the dish pit, and chicken pot pie and making cafeteria sandwiches feeling ever the Lunch Lady.

However, nothing as scary as the size of industry baking equipment.  The kitchen floor held enormous industrial mixers.  As tall as me that could chop off your arm.  A colossal bakery floor, the size of a basketball court.

It all scared me.

 

So, my first day of Baking class was terrible.  All i could think about was having the teacher sign my Financial Aid so that i could pay my mortgage.  It was a cold, sour morning.

I almost dropped to my knees when the group of us hanging by the door, wondering why the Teacher/Chef was not there to greet us. We were told not to return in three more days as Chef is at a Bake Off, half a state away.

I went inside the school bathrom stall.  Locked the door and cried.  I had not one penny.  Not one under the seat cushion.  Not one on the floor. Not one on the floor of my Jaquar.  Not one could I find on the street.  Threatening text messages from Nick and his girlfriend became a big part of this Spring Quarter.  But that wasn’t even the worst part. Spring Quarter went from April to the middle of June.  And I was facing Trial on March 23, 2011.

To the Judge, you are a stranger with no time to understand my values, background, experience, etc.  Just like the Police.  They do not know you from Adam. Most likely the Judge will tell you to sell the house.  My biggest fear is no home.

Walking the streets with all my belongings in a shopping cart.

Three days later, we were introduced to our Baking Chef.  Her name was Penny. She was a no-makeup, serious bad hair, hippie, who still talked about her EX and the property she had lost.

And of course, that was the exact same road I was heading down, losing the property.  I was too embarrassed to tell Chef Penny my personal problems. It was hard enough for me as Baking is just another word for Math.

 

 

THE DISHPIT

The whole process could stop and usually Chef had to reach in there to reset and my god that took courage, because that jaw could easily have snaped his hand off.

But it was a chance to take a breath, cool off and admire this kids courage, enthusiasm, and fun spirit.  He always said, I had a smile. But he was always smiling at me!

So  once the hole let go of the spoon the process begin.  You grab a sprayer the size of a dinner plate and run water through it.  There was a tray for just cups that you had to pick up and swing inside the washer, which also had a slidng door. Run it through, then a tray for just cups. You have to pick up and swing inside the washer, which had a sliding door.

Fill the tray with cups and slide through the fun filled “Car Wash Dish Pit” that invariable jammed too.  When it jammed you had to turn everything off.

I was already scared of the ovens and the dishwasher was bigger than and all the knobs and slide buttons.

So , once you slid open, the trough steam hit you in the face at 100 miles an hour! I could feel my bangs curl and my mascara run.  As quick as possible you would fix the cup track and slam the door shut.

After about 100 times in the dish pit.  I had rhythm and FUN.  When the waitstaff, usually the next period, who was their first experience, and now I have had a whole quarter under my belt. They would bring the dishes up to the tray. Which my head was above and I would shout at them in my best dish pit voice HEY WE AINT TAKING NO MORE DISHES TODAY.

The look on their face  ha ha!   Their mouth would open wide.  Their eyebrows would raise up, and they looked like they had just step in dog poop.

Oh god that was fun..  What I didnt like was delivering the clean dishes to their proper places.

Nobody told me I could put them all on a tray!  So I was carrying that heavy load and I know the quarter above was laughing their heads off.

Or the next best thing was to spray a Chef.

 

 

 

Already back to school and my first turn at the DISH PIT!!

It seemed like every other day I was in the DISH PIT.  Literally, the scum of the kitchen.  Our Dish Pit had a metal tray on one side so that the waitstaff could slide the dirty dishes to the other side, where there was a trough of continuing running water in a vast sink that was fllled with gook.

Gook consisted of bits and pieces of food, including drinks, soups, sometimes tea bags, etc.  The waitstaff was to scrape the plates into a bucket below the shelf.  It got full fast!!

Then they were to place the dirty plate, saucer, cup or silverware on the top.  Way too soon, they had stopped scraping to rush back to service the tables. And within minutes, the open middle was jammed with dishes.  Nothing was sliding anywhere except – maybe on the floor.

By then the kitchen staff, always cooking something, would throw the hot pan with bits of hardened stuff into the mix.

My job in the Dish Pit consisted of standing in front of an enormous sink with a gaping hole that was a garbage disposal.  If a full-size large stock pot ,metal spoon fell in that ( an inappropriate time) it was like a rocket spinning towards space!!

The whole process could stop, and usually, one of the chefs had to reach in there to reset.  And my God, that took courage because that jaw could easily have snapped your hand off.

 

In school I get panic attacks and sometimes I feel like I am in the Twilight Zone.

You know what makes me smile?  When I think of school and the fun of the Knive test next to Marcus and Tim.  How cool that was all 3 of us had the Veloute sauce.  And such a great way to end the quarter with my two favorite friends and how we had helped each other.

The quarter was over and Marcus said goodbye  and Happy Holidays. It was such a nice, sincere, and honest moment, considerng all the issues he had with being black and discrimination.

I’m excited we get to continue together next quarter the only bright spot in my life.  Oh, please all the gods above help me get and keep the house my only salvation.  I can’t pay much more punishment, before I will give up and I don’t think I will be able to get back up.

January, Feburary and March we will have Beverage Management

Culinary Skills

Restaurant Fundamentals

Introduction the Front of the House

Food Service Safety and

Sanitation

Nutrition in Food Service

Costing and Menu Planning Garde Manger

 

 

Weeks later, our next tests were Knife skills and sauces.

OH MY GOD!  The three sauces: Veloute, Bechamel and Beurre Blanc, were so good!  I wanted to drink them like Erma Bombeck, who said, “In their family Gravy was a beverage!”  They were not too difficult. However you had to pay attention.  The class had to pull tabs on what sauce to make.

Marcus, Tim and I were shocked and delighted that all three of us got the same sauce, VELOUTE. We met inside the walk-in. Which is a cooler commercial refrigeration unit about 3,000 square feet. We went inside to make our plan on how to ace this test.

Marcus went first.  And as soon as the sauce was made. Chef Laura would taste and grade it. Marcus came running back to us and said he forgot the Tarragon.  Don’t forget it!  Tim was next.  He returned and said he felt he had left out the lemon but was so nervous he couldn’t remember.

And now I was next.  I had not praticed.  The attorney had decided to quit me nor non payment.  I was headed to March Trial with no attorney and no money to get another.   I couldn’t  breathed.  I would leave school and start crying so hard and was glad that the school was only a mile away from my house.

I would be so exhausted. I would open the front door and find myself awake 3 hours later on the living room floor.  One time I actually fell asleep in the car after I parked.

I was exhausted.  It was now 8 months since Nick left.  The busness line had stopped calling.  I had had 3 months of financial aid and my mortage was only 600 a month, but October property taxes  had not been paid. I called and pleaded and was told there was nothing they could do.

I had to wipe all these probems out of my mind when I would arrive at school. Today, we had our Knive skils.  Since I had been cooking for the last 37 years and did not study I thought I might have a chance to be OK.

There were 200 posible points and I scored 146.

Marcus, Tim, and I were called into the Chef’s tiny two-chair office.

All three of us were told we were failing and that she was going to recommend that we quit.

I had so much pressure at home, that I had flunked most of the tests.  I couldn’t tell her that I was living on the financial aid and that I was only there in school for the money.

I didn’t want to tell her. I respected her.  She was right.  We were not taking the class seriously and she demanded that we would.

I apologized profusely.  I told her how much I enjoyed cooking and wanted to learn these new skills.  Would she please put me off probation and give me another chance?

She leaned back in her chair; her dark hair cropped off inside her Chef hat.  Her face was always without makeup.

Chef was surprisingly strong.  I saw her pick up restaurant-sized rice bags off the floor and fling them onto the countertop.

She knew I was an older student, and I am pretty sure she also knew that I had some sort of problems at home.

“Ok.”  She stood up.

”One more time. Please tell the next student to come in.”

I told Marcus and Tim to say the same thing.

And they did.

We had another day.