My First Attempts at a Cooking Class

Well, folks, after what can only be described as obsessing over various cooking classes available at Central Market, Sur La Table, and The Viking Cooking School, I finally attended my first (two) cooking classes.  After many years of somewhat disappointing Thanksgivings (don’t even get me started on the all-Greek Thanksgiving of 2001, courtesy of my mom’s attempt to “mix things up” by asking her Armenian friend for recipe ideas.  I’m all about Greek food, but at the most all-American holiday of all time??  I wanted a green bean casserole made of two gelatin cans of condensed mushroom soup, two green bean cans, and some unidentifiable french onion crispies!  The disappointment was palpable…mainly because my brother and I spent the majority of dinner complaining that there was feta! on! our! green! beans!), I was able to talk my mom into taking two different Central Market classes devoted solely to cooking your entire Thanksgiving (sides, that is…but of course, what else is there to Thanksgiving) with me.

I also learned that I would make a terrible culinary student.

First of all…I am pretty much the worst at the whole “taking it serious” thing.  I take nothing serious.  Some people find this endearing.  Those people do not teach cooking classes at Central Market.  I actually had my knife CONFISCATED from me, like I was some 15 year old who was allowed to handle a knife for the very first time.

The first class was taught by an infuriatingly cheerful lady named Carol Ann or Carol Hannah or some two name sound-alike version of “Carol” and “Anne.”  Approximately 50 to 100 times, we were reminded by Carol Ann that she once had a cooking show on channel five.  She also told meandering stories about the first time she cooked a turkey and she rubbed the whole thing down with Crisco.  That’s it.  That’s the abbreviated version of the story (the real one lasted maybe 10 minutes) but that’s the essence of it and apparently just the mere mention of turkey and Crisco in the same sentence is HILARIOUS.  We never found out if the turkey turned out good/bad/slippery….just that it had Crisco skin.

I dropped my allotment of flour within the first 5 minutes.  Thus set the tone.  I splattered gravy all over my “team” when I added the roux (but I did learn what a roux was…take that!), and generally made people nervous all around me including the infernally cheerful Carol Anne, who’s smile grew tighter and tighter as the night progressed.  Luckily (for me, apparently), this class was more on the “remedial” end of the cooking class spectrum, and no one was allowed to handle knives, so I was unable to get it confiscated until the later class, taught at the Central Market in Dallas.

This class was divided up into five small groups of four, with one cooking instructor assigned to each.  My group consisted of me (awesome!), my mother (awesome-ish), and two other women, Lee and Kimber (eh).  It seems Lee and Kimber were regulars at the Central Market Cooking School.  I know this because the following exchange happened word for word:

Kimber:  I love classes here.  I have taken probably at least 200 Central Market Classes.

Lee:  Well, I have taken 500.

Kimber:  They gave me my own Sous Chef Coat because I have taken so many classes.

Lee:  They haven’t given my own coat!  But I have taken more classes, right Wendy? (the instructor)

Kimber:  I had a private class for my baby shower, that’s how many classes I have taken, right Wendy?

Me and Mom:  Where’s the wine?

Once Kimber and Lee finished measuring each other’s respective penises, we were able to begin our little section, which immediately resulted in my knife being taken from me thanks to my dangerous knife techniques.  Also, my mom’s gasping might have also had something to do with it.  This annoyed me, so I couldn’t resist on commenting on the crappy dicing technique of the Million Class Duo.  Wendy was 100% NOT CHARMED by me, not even when I tried to bond by mentioning all the Food Network that I watch.  It didn’t help that when she asked me what my favorite show was, all I could remember was Rachel Ray and I knew that was the WRONG ANSWER so I grasped at the only other show I could think on the spot – Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee.  My uncouth Food Network watching habits uncovered, Wendy, Lee, and Kimber judged me, and my mom went off searching for a refill on our wine.

We moved on from the cranberry chutney (and my DANGEROUS cutting) into spinach, which my mother quickly ruined by throwing a fistful of kosher salt into the tiny portion.  Kimber and Lee tried to cheer her up, but I appreciated someone else earning the disdain of Wendy The Great, who condescendingly explained to my mother the correct way to add salt to a dish and provided the nugget that “you can always add more salt, but you can’t take it away.”  My mom and I, sufficiently rebuked for our lack of normalcy, once again went in search of wine.

By the end of the class, I noticed a familiar dynamic within our cooking group.  You see, whenever I am with groups of people, I seem to evoke a sort of general feeling of, “who is looking out for Kristi?”  Because I am generally an impulsive mess, my friends have always tended to treat me like somewhat of a child.  This is fine with me, so when Kimber started complementing my portion divvying ability (the only task I was trusted with), I took her compliments with pride.  We ended up with 2 different kinds of cornbread stuffing (mediumly delicious), two different kinds of sweet potatoes (highly delicious!  SWEET IS IN THE NAME), two different cranberry side dishes, creamed corn, creamed spinach, and gouda mashed potatoes.  And despite my giggling inability to TAKE THE KNIFE SERIOUSLY (Wendy’s command), I walked out of both classes with only minor grease burns courtesy of the gravy.

And as for all the dishes we assembled?  Delicious.  Including the salty creamed spinach.