An Encounter with an Old Friend
The kitchen was busy, bustling with activity and sweating students, but I was in a tranquil state as I worked on my grenobloise. I was calmly segmenting a lemon across the island from Derek when I felt something soft hit my rear end with a WHUMP.
Before I could turn around, I heard a distinctly French voice whisper hurriedly. “Put this underneath; it is zee carrot top.” I smiled as I swiveled my body around, and I wasn’t at all surprised to see Chef X scurrying back to his students in level five.
I took a quick moment to admire the bushy green leaves wrapped in plastic before turning my attention back to the lemon. Peler a vif. I’d cut off the top and bottom, then gently separated the skin and pith from the flesh with my paring knife. Now I was working the tool in and out between the membranes. The supremes that popped out would be used as a garnish for skate sauteed in clarified butter and dressed with a beurre noisette, capers, croutons, parsley. Chef X taught us how to peler a vif this summer, and it seemed so long ago that I stood at my station in level one, willing the knife to work, the segments not to become mangled. It seemed so long ago that I took the train back home to Brooklyn, crying because Chef was so mean, so unfair, because class was so hard.
Well isn’t it funny, I said to Derek and Krista, showing them the greens. Wasn’t that nice, I said. Don’t you miss him, I asked, and they had to admit that they did.