So it turns out that a lot of people cried after the practical exam. Which means that Rachel was giving out a lot of hugs.
Thursday, the day of my practical exam dawned beautifully and I know this because I was awake at four-fucking-thirty with work orders and meat identification and mother-daughter sauces and writing ideas and don’t forgets all careening around my brain. So I finally did get to see a sunrise and it was absolutely worth it.
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Almost everyone reported the same exam experience: calm and in control, humming along, doing their cook, in some kitchens some laughter and singing (none in mine except for me quietly telling a couple of bad mussels You’re No Good), but generally a strong start. And it stayed that way for two, two-and-a-half hours?
Then some pin drops, usually around the time Leo or some other nice instructor kindly informs you that you are 15 minutes away from the three hour mark. A little more rushing, a little less cleaning-as-you-go, a skill of which some of us are quite proud, and you know what goes before a downfall. About five minutes after he’s told you it’s almost three hours, Leo tells you it is almost four hours and you have been led to believe that you will have to step away from the stove at that moment and all hell breaks loose. In a controlled way, there is no shouting or (loud) swearing or running around, but there is frantic plating of food and scattering/throwing/abandonment of the meticulously-planned garnish and absolutely no cleaning and basically barely-concealed panic.
I mean, this was my experience, I’m extrapolating for the others. But based on the post-practical tears and reports, basically everything came near falling apart for almost everyone during the last twenty minutes or so.
It turns out that they don’t really make you step away from the stove. But they are watching, and if you are fortunate enough to have Sue around your station, maybe doing a little discreet clearing of crumbs and stems and splashes, and making sure that you are actually pulling it together and not just spinning. When it gets to the point that you mutter to yourself that you are not actually adding anything to your presentation you are just making it worse every time you touch a plate and Sue says that’s right, you know it is time to call it.
Here’s the spread, after all that, and a closeup on one of those fab tarts that I ate in bed afterwards.
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They put a name card with your food, take a picture of your spread (oh my god did I really just stuff fennel flowers in the gaping hole of my weird-ass galette and now they’ve taken a picture of it for their files? Yes I did and yes they did.) You leave the kitchen and if you are me, you go into the thankfully empty dining room, imagine what you would say to Bill if he called right now, and promptly burst into tears. And of course Rachel pops in at that moment with a cheery Lisa! How did it go? and your voice wavers a bit and she gives you a hug and says not to worry about the time, they really don’t care about that so much, she’s sure it is great, so sorry she didn’t get to taste mine today, and generally is kind of mom-like which is honestly what you need after that experience even if you are 58 years old and the mother of grown-ups yourself.
I still wasn’t quite recovered when German Max popped in to see how it went but he was also kind and we had a kind of bro-handshake and agreed that it was time to celebrate.
After they’ve tasted, you are called back in to clean up your station. If you haven’t eaten in a few hours you are probably a little shaky so this takes a while and that’s OK because your goddamn white yeast bread loaf is still in the oven. Also you can see the tasters moving around the room to the other stations that have finished so that is a little unnerving. Oh yeah, and the tasters for this session were only Rory O’Connell himself, Dervilla O’Flynn head chef at Ballymaloe House, and JR Ryall pastry chef at Ballymaloe House and author of that stupid dessert book with the wrong measurements for the praline cake. But the man knows his way around dessert even if his editors suck so oh jeez that is a helluva lineup looking at my sloppy plating and messy station (it was so neat just minutes before, I sweah!)
And then things got a little surreal, or so it seemed. Sue tried my gin and we cheers’d each other and then she asked if she have a little for Leo, it would put hair on his chest. Rory sidled up to me and said, sotto voce, really well done, we’ve taken one of your tarts for our tea later. Very intelligent menu, very well done.
Wait, did that just happen? Did Rory O’Connell just say my menu was intelligent and my tart was so nice he was taking one for later? I know I didn’t dream it because I have proof that I told the fam about it. Izzy’s response:
God I love that kid.1
The Civil War scholars among you will doubtless be familiar with the two photographs of Abraham Lincoln, showing how he aged over the course of the War.2 I haven’t exactly been through the wars but it was a very long afternoon.
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Which was followed by a very nice recap at the Goalpost. It was supposed to be a study sesh for the next day’s written exams but turned into more of a Guinness-fueled gabfest. Just what the doctor ordered.
BUT WE ARE NOT DONE YET.
Friday is the day for the “written papers” as they call exams here and let me tell you, my right hand is feeling it now. As in the midterm and wine exams, we must wear our whites, and drop our phones at the door. Everyone is milling around before the start claiming that a) they don’t know anything, b) whatever they’re going to know they know and that’s how it is going to go, c) it doesn’t really matter anyway because it is only 20% of your final assessment, or d) staring at cow diagrams on their phones and muttering to themselves.
It’s a good thing the exam doesn’t count for a lot because I really didn’t study the business of food notes at all, and it turned out that the first four or five pages was all about that. 😬 After that there are just lots and lots of questions about techniques and ingredients, ome true/false, some multiple choice but lots of “list 10” etc. and “what are 10 steps” etc. kinds of questions. At some point we’re shepherded silently through the other exam room and into Kitchen 3 to identify salad leaves and herbs and spices and beans and then back we go to list recipes for them. I can’t bear to leave a blank for an answer - feels like a worse failure than getting it wrong somehow - so the whole thing becomes something of an exercise in creative writing.
This part took an hour and a half, and was followed by an excellent lunch (probably excellent because we hadn’t cooked it) and chatting about. Rachel took this really nice picture of us Pennyworters, almost done. We can see the finish line!
But then it was back into the room for final roll call and paper 2. This time we’re in the ID room at the very start, identifying fish and shellfish and meats and the kitchen smells like an absolute abattoir. Also, Pam says that subject no. 7 on the seafood ID list is alive so please do not mess with him. (Spoiler alert: it was a very sleepy lobstah.) This paper has more make-lists kinds of questions, and some short answer and a lot of requests for recipe suggestions for various ingredients. We have questions about preserving and sauces and jamming and ingredients and chocolate and of course, the dreaded HACCP section.3 I have been writing for hours and my right hand is absolutely on fire at this point.
Then we’re told that we’ll get the evaluation at the end of the exam and that we have to do it there, we cannot take it with us. I have a LOT to say and by now my handwriting is so bad that I finally ask them to get in touch if they want more info. Except they probably can’t read that.
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And THAT is IT. We are done: over-, under-, and definitely well.
Mad cleaning and packing commences and then stops when it turns out that everyone except me seems to have brought something gorgeous to wear to the most fab farewell dinner ever. The school is transformed with greens and flowers and candles, there is some Prosecco to start with a couple of canapés, one of which probably included that formerly sleepy lobster. As for the dinner itself, I’m just going to steal pics of the food and scene from the School’s insta because it was really fantastic.
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There is speechifying and actual music (yet another talented Allen - grandaughter Willow - what can’t those people do?) but David completely stole the show with his spectacular reaction to winning the wine medal with a 96% on his exam.
Oh, yes. And there was a round of Here’s To The Chef to salute our teacher/cooks for the night. Our Queen Sarah told me later in a well-pickled moment that she thought I was so brave to do that and you have to wonder when someone says that did I make a total ass of myself or was it really great? I guess I’ll go with the latter. I mean, these people have seen me at my absolute worst and probably the biggest growth thing that has happened to me here is that it is OK to let people see you at your worst because then they also see you at your best.
After dinner, the School sensibly organized a bus to take us to the Blackbird in Ballycotton where there was more celebrating of ourselves and some dancing and some very nice whiskey among other beverages. Also there was this king of a DJ. And is that a women’s soccer game I spy on the telly? Is that a sign from the universe?
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You who have known me longer than 12 weeks know that I’m slow to admit perfect enjoyment of anything because you just never know you might jinx it. But I’ll say it here: the stars aligned over East Cork last night, and it was pretty damn near perfect.
Still haven’t watched the Miracle clip? My own little Jim Craig, Izzy psychs herself up when she is playing any team that is wearing red sweaters by pretending they’re the Soviets.
On the left, 1860, just after being nominated by that new Republican party, and on the right, February, 1865, about two months before he was assassinated.
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If you are not moved by the Gardner photo on the right, you are made of stone.
Hazard Analysis Critical Control Point. Which I could only remember the Hazard part so I said something like Hazardous Accident Committee Control Process, and here you see why this was really a creative writing test. We don’t have that in ‘Murica anyway so who the fuck cares, right?
What an incredible experience you've had. Thank you for sharing it with us! It's been inspiring to follow along.
Wonderful! Congratulations on your sotto compliment - that is your precious prize!
Lisa this has been so impressive and I am happy for you . Thanks for taking us in your journey - well done!!