Eating The Cake

I feel like I am living a secret double life. It vaguely resembles Jennifer Garner in Alias, except without all the CIA drama. 

I am a professional ballet dancer by day who is posing as a wannabe Chef by night. I haven't been able to articulate this double-life concept to myself, but I am realizing I have always had a hard time describing myself the past few years after my new-found love of everything cooking. I am torn between two passionate worlds: One that I have been encompassed in for the past twenty-three years, and the other, which I have barely touched the surface of after a couple of weeks. I feel like I am on a glacier, and it is breaking in half, and I have to chose one side or the other. But, I just can't. 

I am enveloped by both. 

Living my life without each of them seems beyond the bounds of possibility. But, I also realize I am not willing to fully commit myself to one, or the other. 

Life seems scary without both. 

I took ballet class today, and I realize that I just adore dancing. It welcomes me like a familiar foreign country where I am fluent in the language: talking, shopping, joking, and blending into to their world. But, in the kitchen, I am visiting a land I have never been to before. I have read about it, in books maybe, and I know the basic history of the community. I can intelligibly make out what The Chefs are saying in their foreign language, but I can't always communicate back. I fit in, mostly, but it is obvious that I am an alien.  

Recently, my own comfortable domain has been turned upside-down. I have decided that eventually I do want to be a Chef. I want to study that language, become fluent, and live like I have with that familiar world of ballet. I want to step over to the cooking portion of the glacier. I know the dialect of ballet, and I am ready to learn another language. As hard, and uncomfortable, as it will be. I mean, you shouldn't always live in the same place your whole life. 

I can't have my cake, and eat it too. I guess I just want to eat the cake.  

All in due time.  

Butterflies and The Chef

Although the conversation I had with him was brief (and over the phone), I just talked to The Chef de cuisine at The Restaurant. He seems incredibly laid back, and excited to work with me. (Phew!) After Googling his picture, I wasn't quite sure. People can look different in pictures than in person.

People. I have done my research, and this is a serious matter.

The Chef is the REAL DEAL, and his resume runs deep in the food world. The intimidation factor is beyond high. I think I am up for the challenge, though. I am anxiously ready to learn something new.

But, I have to say that the curiosity of Thursday is killing me. I have myself wondering how much should I eat before I go to my first shift? How many knives should I bring? How comfortable do my shoes really have to be?

I have the nervousness I get before a really hard ballet. Anxiety. Excitement. Trepidation.

The butterflies have flooded my stomach, and at any time could come out of my mouth, eyes, ears, or nose.

I guess I will find out on Thursday, when the unknowns will be made clear, and I will be either regretting my decision to take on this project, or giving my self a big pat-on-the-back for making such a good use of my time off this summer.

Either way....

Can Thursday come already?!

The Beginning

I never thought I would start another blog. I mean, why would I? My food blog Anticiplate, keeps me busy writing about my life, creating and trying new recipes, and an occasional sentence on ballet. But, I have exciting news planned for this summer which warrants even more of this thing I call a "blogging time suck": I am actually going to work in a professional restaurant kitchen, and learn the tricks of the trade of being a restaurant cook.

Yes. I told you I would do it.

I mean, how else am I supposed to figure out if I want to open a restaurant in the future? Or cater private dinner parties? Or teach cooking classes?

On my to do list:

1. Buy a chefs coat, a knife bag, and maybe even some orange Crocs like Mario Batali wears.

2. Get my food handler's license. Yuck.

3. Get my knives sharpened (and maybe buy a new one, don't tell Erik)

And, I was kidding about the orange Crocs. I promise you. I will NEVER do this.

Don't judge. But, I might get black.

I am excited for you to go on this journey with me. I will be posting daily, and to be honest, I am scared shitless. I know this is going to push me past my comfort zone, and hopefully teach me more than I ever knew about a whole new art form. One in which I am so eager to discover, yet will be sure to have my heart broken by at some time or another.