First, let me apologize for leaving too much to your imaginations about my progress in advancing to culinary school. Part of me assumed the details were too typical of a woman in her thirties returning to school. My surprise at how many vaccinations were needed, my excitement when I was officially registered for classes seemed to be unexceptional to any other adult student.
So, to catch you up, reader, I'll let you know that I'm sitting in my first class. Our professor, though I understand he needs to be addressed as "chef", is eight minutes late. I have some mild regrets about staying out late last night. After an opera performance that I attended with J. we met her fiance for "just a quick drink." I was here on time, but I sure will miss the coffee I didn't have time to fix this morning.
In any case, chef has now arrived and seems unwell, to judge by his size, gait and labored breathing. He thinks he's funny. He's taught here for 30 years.
This is the end of my in-class ramblings, as I transitioned over to taking the first few of 11 pages of notes, but I am delighted to post a photo of a new addition to my kitchen arsenal, as given by some very gracious friends.
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