A fresh start...

To a certain extent, it hasn't hit me that I'm in grad school yet, or what exactly that implies. I had about a 2 minute window in which it hit me that I'd be living in Seattle for 6 years and it was a bit panicking. And now again, I still don't really believe that this will be my home for the majority of my twenties.

Day 1 was near and it seemed like the Astro dept really wanted to throw me head first into the world of grad school. My first commitment as a student was to be teacher's assistant (TA) for a class on planets. Being a TA entails heading up a quiz section twice a week, assigning homework, leading lab exercises, and that sort of thing. It really isn't just a review of what the professor has taught, but includes teaching new material. The first day was meant to be just an introduction in which I went over the syllabus I created for my section and tried to claim my authority over my students by saying things like, "I don't accept late work." The fear of this first section was not about teaching itself, but of standing in front of 25 students as an authoritative figure. Although my first section had to have known I was really nervous, by the second section (I teach two sections every Monday and Wednesday morning), I was a lot more confident and comfortable. On the other hand, in terms of showing them I was knowledgeable and deserving of the TA title, things didn't run as smoothly.

I took them on a "Planet Walk" where I show relative sizes and distances of the planets in the solar system. As I was going to the next planet after Venus (starting at the Sun), I stated, "Next, we will go to Mars." One of the students then responded with, "Isn't the next planet Earth? You know, the third rock from the sun." I don't even know the order of the planets. Great.

After this shaky start, the next hurdle to overcome was my first attempt to teach concepts clearly. The first lesson was on gravity, using an equation to figure out how the gravity on a planet or moon would change if you changed the mass or radius of the object. I lectured on the topic for about 10 minutes, and at the end asked, "Makes sense, right?" Everyone stared at me, dumbfounded, wondering what I had just blabbed about. To my credit, these students don't know how to divide fractions, so it may not be entirely my fault.

They say the first two weeks of grad school are the worst time in your life. For me, that hasn't been the case at all. Living with a friend who knows me from before is a huge factor in this but also, I think the decision to come to UW was the right decision. I feel a sense of belonging and comfort with the people in the department already, within a month of school starting. Usually the first couple months are the hardest when you move to a new place, but I've been here just over a month and am loving it!!

Better Safe Than Sorry

I keep wondering why I'm not writing these days, and wonder if it's because there's nothing to talk about. To a certain extent that's true because nothing particularly epic has occurred, but I am having a lot of fun. It's less than one month until I come back to America so I'm just enjoying the free time I have and the time I have left with the Mertners.

Then there's also the stress of the imminent final. I don't know if I wrote about it, so I'll tell you what it consists of.

It's a 6 hour final in which we have to make 5 different things. 1) Sable Biscuits 2) Brioche 3) Sugar Sculpture 4) Chocolate truffles and 5) 2 Identical plated desserts. Basically, 6 hours is not enough for all that, which is bad because I'm slower than the average student. But, let's talk about number 5. Plated desserts mean you have an individual portion of some dessert that is decorated with sauces and either sugar or chocolate decoration so that it is something that would be served at a really nice restaurant. We aren't given a recipe for it, but have to come up with combination ourselves. We are, however, given a list of ingredients we can use but the rest is up to us. It must look good, taste good, have a good balance of flavors and textures, and the two plates must look identical. I've decided to do a chocolate tart base with a layer of raspberries and a chocolate mousse on top, plated with a raspberry coulis and creme anglaise, decorated with chocolate curls. Now this might sound yummy to you, and it probably will be, but this is so basic that I really hope it'll get me a passing grade. Everyone I know is doing something a lot more complex, so I'm not sure how this will work out. But in general in pastry school, I've always opted to go for the simpler way. For example, when decorating a plate, I will have a simple design that looks nice but not mindblowing versus a complex design that would probably just come out looking like a mess. If they're grading on the marrying of flavors and textures, and presentation, my plan should work. Anyhow, I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Reactor Malfunction

I've always been the weird one when it comes to music I like and thus, have always wanted to go to a Juno Reactor concert. Clearly, no one knows who that is so I'll just explain them by saying that they did the Matrix trilogy soundtracks. Last time I tried to go to their concert in the US, it got cancelled because no one knows them there and they have no fan following. So I was ridiculously excited about the fact that they were playing here in London while I was here.

I had convinced Mamta didi to come with me cuz she's into the same music and was figuring out how to meet up for the concert since I had class late that night. I looked it up finally and realized that the "concert" started at 10 p.m. and ended at...... 7 a.m.!! I would be ready to be there until 2 a.m. but obviously, Juno Reactor wouldn't come on stage until at leastttt 1 a.m., probably later. Then there's the fact that even if it was a normally timed concert, only weird druggy people like this type of music. So the fact was, that if I went to this concert, it would just be a lot of drugged out people and I would wait and wait until Juno Reactor came out.

What's weird is that I decided that I didn't want to go at all. I don't think I could handle druggies and wouldn't appreciate the music when I was surrounded by people I didn't feel comfortable around. But what makes me feel like crap is I really love their music and I realize that I'll never be able to see them live, by my OWN decision. I don't know why I find this to be a big deal but somehow I do. Mamta didi just finds it hilarious that we both are such losers and can't handle late nights. Makes sense for her since she's almost 20 years older than me, but what is wrong with me?!?

Why I will never be a pastry chef...

Let's talk about my worst day since I've come to study at Cordon Bleu.

It all started when I was assigned to be the assistant who transports all the needed ingredients for the day from the pantry to our kitchen. Because I spent so much time setting up, I got off to a late start. I was hurrying to keep up as I was the last one to get each part of the cake done, of which there were 5. First, a sponge cake which we would make a 60 x 40 cm sheet of, yet only use
a thin strip of 60 x 3 cm. Then there was another crunchier coconut sponge cake. Then two mousses -- passion fruit & raspberry. Then the raspberry glaze to top it off.

The chef that was overseeing us had only worked with us in one other practical, in which I had a minor mishap and so he already thought of me as the straggler of the group. So seeing me struggle to get everything done no doubt solidified his notion. Just as I was catching up to everyone, I went to put the almost finished cake (just the glaze needed to be poured on), in the freezer to allow the mousse to set. As I bent down to put my cake and a fellow student's cake in the freezer, the tray tilted and a cake slipped off the edge and fell to the ground. At first thought, I was somewhat relieved that it was my cake, but then realized that I had dropped another student's cake! In my sudden panic at how I would tell the girl that I dropped her cake, tears weld up in my eyes. I told her the news and after seeing how I looked, visibly upset about it, she was really nice and said "Don't worry. Things like this happen." As I cleaned the cake off the floor, I shed a couple tears and then got it together to help her redo the cake.

The chef was not present when I dropped the cake and a student went to inform him what had occurred. They were all the way across the room, but I heard the student answer when asked who did it, "Vaishali." I turned around when I heard my name and saw the look on the chef's face. It was an "oh...figures" type of look. I just wanted to run out of the room at that point.

After the initial panic, all I really could say to myself was, "Thank god I plan to be an astrophysicist and not a pastry chef."

Daft Punk -- the only worthwhile contribution.

The first time I realized that I liked London better than Paris was when I was on the Tube in London for the first time since I'd moved to Paris. I hadn't talked to anyone since I landed in London, so it wasn't the simplicity of using English to communicate, but something else that made me feel more comfortable in London. I realized much later that the reason I had this thought in the Tube was because my experiences in the Paris Metro are a good telling of my experiences in Paris as a whole.

I had always noticed that people looked at me in the Metro, but it never really bothered me. This was probably because I was initially looking at people too, being in a new city with new fashions to digest :-). But after a while, it's just odd that everyone is staring at me. Today, I was sitting in the train and a girl was staring at me throughout all 8 stops we were on the train together. Every time I looked in her direction, I'd catch her looking at me. And when I did, she wouldn't even smile to acknowledge my presence. Which brings me to point number 2. Oh before I get to that, Parisians don't like their gym clothes. They also don't like working out. I get stared at even more (if that was even possible) in the Metro in my gym clothes. Even when jogging on the street in them, people stop to see the girl running in Paris. Apparently, skinny French girls don't go running to keep their figures.

Although I sit here complaining about people staring at me, I've done a decent amount of people watching myself. Other than the fact that every French girl is skinny, they also never smile. As in, I really don't think I've ever seen a French girl smile. Maybe it's justified to not smile alone in the train (although I definitely do smile to myself), but even when they're with their significant other, being unnecessarily romantic, I still haven't caught them smiling!

I think this bit about not smiling somewhat explains the overall feeling I've been having about Paris. Although the city is gorgeous without a doubt, and I've never had anyone be blatantly rude to me (something many people have told me they've experienced in Paris), I don't feel any warmth from the people. It's really hard to explain but it's the overall feel of the city that makes me realize that I cannot assimilate into this society not because of my decision, but out of their decision.

I'm starting to think that Paris' only worthwhile contribution to my life is Daft Punk. Actually, Paris' only contribution to the world -- Daft Punk.

Yes, chef. Oui, chef.

Disclaimer: The cake in the picture is made by my chef, not me. Although mine did look remarkably similar to that one, except it was circular.




There are a couple things that have made this term different than my last one--some more obvious than others. In terms of the dishes we've been making, this term I actually like them. This can be viewed in a positive and negative light. Negative obviously being that I have no control over eating the cake or whatever it may be when I bring it home. But the positive is not only that I get to enjoy it. I've realized that when it's a dish that I am really excited about, I really put in a lot of effort to get it right. For example, the other day we made a triple chocolate mousse cake. It was basically a sponge cake base, with a layer of dark chocolate mousse, then a layer of milk chocolate mousse, and then white chocolate. You then top it off with a shiny layer of dark chocolate glaze, and use white chocolate to pipe a nice design on it. (I can just hear some of you salivating...oh right, it's just me.) Anyway, everything was going fine, the mousse was pouring in smoothly, until the glaze. It's important to have the glaze at the right consistency and temperature so that it pours on in a smooth, thin layer. I asked the chef if the consistency was right, and he said yes, but as I poured it with him watching, it was evident that the layer was a little thick and clumpy. Apparently my consistency was fine, but the temperature was too cold. I was so mad about it! But then when the cake was taken out of the ring, turned out my layers of mousse were perfect! Each layer was the same thickness all around. To me, it seemed obvious that you would get your mousse to the right temperature so it pours in and levels itself off, but some people had their mousse too thick so they actually had to spread it in the pan, meaning some sides were higher than others. To rectify the uneven glaze, I used my piping to make the top busy looking to detract from the unevenness of the layer.

Second thing that's different is that I'm a lot more comfortable in the kitchen now than I was last term. I remember that in London, a 3 hour class would barely be enough time to finish whatever it is we were assigned. In Paris, I've usually been relaxedly getting the job done, without feeling like an absolute wreck. It's hard to believe for me, but I guess it's just that I've learned so much that I'm finally comfortable in the kitchen.

Then clearly, there's the obvious difference of language. Instead of saying, "Yes, chef!", we say "Oui, chef!" Speaking of which, my last post about Gordon Ramsay got me thinking of why people found him to be a complete jerk. Other than the obvious rudeness, I think it really bothers people that he makes everyone respond to him by saying, "Yes, chef!" It makes people wonder, "Who the hell does he think he is?" that everyone has to defer to him and blindly yell "Yes, chef!" to whatever his ridiculous orders are. But us students do it all the time in school. When the chef gives directions, in unison we yell, "Oui, chef!" If we don't respond, he'll say it himself, "Oui, chef?", to remind us to say it. It's just a sign of respect that has become not only a tradition but imperative in designating hierarchy and a chef's importance and position in a kitchen. My respect and awe of chefs has really made me come to appreciate this military-like chain of command.

A new love, in Hell's Kitchen

Things have been going well here in Paris. After the first day of class, when I didn't understand a word of what the chef was saying, I think I've really improved in my comprehension and my speaking. At the demonstrations, where the chef is lecturing at us, I pick up about half of what he's saying. Granted it helps that there's a bit of help from contextual clues, but I can see it getting better and better. One of the chefs in practical spoke to me the whole time in French and even when giving me feedback on my dish, told it all to me in French, and I understood!

Also, I have finally figured out which milk is low-fat and which isn't....the hard way. I had been drinking whole milk because I didn't know what the word "entier" meant. One day, in class, I looked at a recipe and it said, "amandes, entier" translated to "almonds, whole." I thought to myself, "where have I read that word?" and then realized, "oh great, I've been drinking full fat milk this whole time."

A couple times I've been stopped on the street and asked for directions. I mostly assume that they're asking for directions because I don't understand a word of what they're asking, so I just say "Sorry, I don't know." (in french) The other day, I was running over to the Eiffel tower and a woman stopped me to ask me for directions. I was about to answer my usual "I don't know." but realized at the last second that I understood where she was asking directions to and that I actually knew how to get there. Luckily for me the directions were able to be pointed out, so I gestured to it, instead of trying to actually get the correct words out.

So, I have a new love. An unlikely candidate to grab my attention since he's known to be a complete jerk. Oh wait, maybe that's exactly why he's grabbed my attention. Anyway, the new love -- Gordon Ramsay. I started watching "Hell's Kitchen" which is a "Top Chef" kind of show except it's more Gordon-centric. Premise of the show is to get a group of 12 contestants to work together in two teams to run the kitchen of his restaurant, Hell's Kitchen. During this, Gordon doesn't hesitate to tear apart the contestants by swearing at them and not only identifying their incompetency, but ranting loudly in the open kitchen so even guests can hear this.

In the first episode he tells each contestant to make him their 'signature dish'. He then proceeds to spit out many of them and say things like "This is dog shit." (pardon my French, lol.) Anyway, now you'd wonder why I like this guy, right? Well, I admire him for his perfection, and he has a mentality that if you push people to the utmost, you'll make them the best they will ever be. And he's not all criticism, every now and then he'll say something like, "this risotto is spot-on" and a small compliment like that will mean the world to you. Also, at his restaurants, if one dish has to be remade (before it's sent out, by the way), he has all the dishes for that table remade. It's the perfection that he demands and strives to bring out of these contestants that is so awe-inspiring to me.