What Color is Your Pâte Brisée?

After 20 years in PR, I qualify as "seasoned."

It's time to shake that up.

I get a charge out of telling stories for a living, thinking about the hook, the angle, what sparks interest. I approach work the way I do my greatest love, cooking: by visualizing an outcome that brings out the high notes of whatever lies in front of me. The kitchen is my comfort zone. It is where I think best, move most fluidly, and get lost in translation from raw to realized. Chaos becomes order, most of the time, and I love the buzz of heightened instincts, brightened flavors and seeking that fickle grail of joy at first bite. I am a good cook and fairly knowledgeable, but I want to learn the craft and apply those skills toward an even fuller life, work and all.

And that's how I landed in a class at The International Culinary Center.

I had always thought that culinary school was for people singularly focused on a future in the restaurant and hospitality industry. Then I picked up “Love What You Do,” a jewel of a book by International Culinary Center founder Dorothy Cann Hamilton that simply and directly explores all of the possibilities associated with a culinary degree. The Campbell, California campus of ICC is a short ride away, so I arranged a tour. They do make this incredibly easy. Culinary school is a big financial investment, and certainly a commitment if you have limited resources, a family and a day job. Still, I felt a genuine reception for my open-ended quest, and I was encouraged to come back to audit a class.

What a day! Upon arrival, I was warmly greeted, provided with a toque and chef coat (best dress-up moment ever), and led to a classroom. The kitchen was large and open, with several workstations, rows of stoves and ovens at the center and storage on two sides. Eight students, in what appeared to be varying states of anticipation, were gathered around their Chef for what turned out to be the first day of a new stage of their program. That day’s lesson was Timing; students were divided into teams and provided with a four-course menu that covered consommé to apple tart.

Suddenly, with murmurs of "Yes, Chef!", the room came alive. Knives were drawn, supplies were sought, flames were sparked and fevered chopping punctuated the air. It was a collective moment of invention and interpretation, and I was fascinated by each individual’s approach to the task at hand – in technique, yes, but more so in temperament. I was bearing witness to a cacophony of hope and fear buffeted by confidence and competence in different degrees as the kitchen filled with salt, sweet, melting butter, caramelizing onions, toasting rice, earthy mushrooms, bright citrus, smoke and saffron. Possibility and potential was all around me, and I saw myself among them, a lightly seasoned amateur with my own quiet dream.

Life’s midpoint can also be a starting line, and I walked away from that morning thinking that when I was younger I hadn’t once cast my dreams aside because of obstacles in my path. As Julia Child so happily declared, “I think every woman should have a blowtorch!” I think I’ll fire mine up and blaze ahead.