Jello

My parents’ nickname for me is “Jello.” I’m not sure how or why jello, and say, not “pudding” or “jelly” or even “idiot,” but I think I must resemble an old college friend of theirs that was a bit of a klutz. Actually I know I must resemble this unknown individual, because let’s face it I’m a bull in a china shop. I’m the most athletic klutz you’ll ever meet, an unusual combination on most days, but on others days …

Today was one of those days, you know what I mean? You cry at the drop of a hat, you don’t want to do anything, and nothing seems like it’s remotely interesting … females out there?? I know you girlfriends have those moods … I mean days.

Well on days when my doppelganger Jello appears WITH my moody bitchiness, disaster strikes. Did I mention I work with fire and knives? NOT a good combo.

We’re currently in the chocolate section of our pastry course and when we graduate we become not only professionally trained “pastry chefs” but “chocolatiers.” Pretty cool since The French Culinary Institute is one of the only schools that does top-to-bottom chocolate training for each of its chefs.

Today we made a chocolate nut cake, with dried figs, apricots, pears, cherries, and walnuts. It’s a cream butter cake that gets its height from (a little baking powder) and aeration from creaming the butter and sugar.

We decorated the cake (which was moist and dense, ah!) with chocolate leaves. Tempered chocolate that is used to cover lemon tree leaves, and peeled back to reveal the beautiful vein imprint.

My cake was great. BUT, I tend to get VERY cold naturally. If you know me, you KNOW how badly this happens to me. If I’m not draped in a blanket I’m hovering near a space heater, sticking my hands in whatever pockets are available, or … standing next to an industrial stove … lit …

Totally unsafe, totally illegal, and totally warm. Smelling that gas, blasting the burner, and warming the hell up. The kitchen is generally freeeeezing, to put it lightly. I’ve been known to wear long underwear (top and bottom) underneath my whites.

Everyone has come to recognize that if they cannot find me in the kitchen I’m two places, near the ovens, or next to the burner. Today was no exception. Except I burnt myself. Well I didn’t exactly burn myself, I burnt my hair … off my entire right forearm. All of a sudden Vanessa smells something and shock! things are curling on my arm. Horror!

Shock, followed by giggles, I’m fine. Jello one, Colleen zero.

I’ve also figured out my least favorite time of the year in New York: holiday time. There are NO New Yorkers, just tourists. Or, all the natives are aware of how incredibly annoying slow walking tourists are with large shopping bags and how freaking cold it is, that they choose to hibernate. I think I’m going to pick up this trait asap.

That being said, I was freezing, cake in hand and headed to lululemon to buy a new pair of workout pants. I left my cake. My beautifully covered, soaked, coated cake. The cake I was supposed to bring to my New Year Eve party … Whoops!

Jello two, Colleen zero.

Can’t win ‘em all. Enjoy the pictures and bundle up!