Trying to play it SMART, I look for a good PLACE in the class. It’s only the second week of cooking school, and I feel cautiously optimistic about how the first week went. But my mind goes BLANK as a different instructor walks in. Have I made a mistake? Did I walk into the wrong room? I do not recognize this person at all. I glance about nervously. No help from the other students. The instructor looks very intimidating. His chef’s toque sits smartly on his head, and his apron is starched and blindingly white. He begins, his voice soft and accented. I strain to make out what he is saying. We are all bewildered. Then our bewilderment turns tense, as we begin to grasp what he is saying. “We will be developing a series of dishes involving what is commonly known as offal, or organ meats,” he whispers to the class. He claps his hands sharply, twice. We all jump, startled by the loud noise. Assistants step into the room from the doors to the supply area. They are carrying tray after tray of something. The assistants distribute the trays. I can barely bear to see what I have been given. It’s a platter of sweetbreads – the pancreas or thymus GLAND of a calf or lamb. It so happens that I have eaten this delicacy, but I have most certainly never prepared it. I feel both relieved (thank goodness we aren’t starting with kidneys) and intimidated. I hear the person behind me say in hushed tones, “Oh, I heard this set of recipes is how they weed people out, testing us to see who is cut out to be a chef.” I swallow hard as I wait for instructions.

Georg’ann

So much hair in the DRAIN.
It comes out in handfuls now.

Desire spice, relegated to BLAND.
Each GLAND felt for swelling.

Changes noted with curiosity.
Disintegration and renewal.

Heather