Occasional Paper #2
Ian Smith
Mrs. Miller - Period 1
March 2, 2004
Memoirs of a Sous Chef
Cooking bacon is rather tricky business. Ill-treated bacon comes in a variety of forms; possibly a floppy, spongy strip of pork fat dripping in its own grease, or perhaps a shriveled, brittle little sliver of what can only be described as “salty bacon crackers”. Both are completely inadequate for human consumption. Indeed, there is a certain method involved in preparing this delectable piece of pig that requires the utmost care and attention, necessitating the memorization of a few simple, yet very important rules. Of these rules, the most important is the one most oftentimes forgotten: bacon, when being cooked, must be layered. The line of fat on one side of the strip must be layered over the line of meat on the consecutive strip until the pan or other cooking device has been filled. This ensures that the bacon retains enough fat to remain crispy and flavorful, while at the same time ensuring that it does not cook itself in it’s own grease drippings. When bacon is not layered, what comes out of the oven is a brittle, flaky mess, usually sticking to the cooking surface. What’s more, it tastes crap. In addition, another, rather peculiar thing happens when one forgets to layer the bacon: Brian Neumeyer gets angry. And when Brian Neumeyer gets angry, objects tend to fly through the air. Their trip through the air, however, is abruptly ended upon contact with the wall, at which point a ruckus is caused, and a mess is made. Mr. Neumeyer feels better. You wouldn’t like Mr. Neumeyer when he’s angry.
It is true; the oft-told tales of Mr. Neumeyer’s short fuse are more rooted in fact than fantasy. I have myself born witness to a tray of white-chocolate pumpkin macadamia nut cookies being thrown shot-put by the man because one of his intro students tried to sneak a cookie out of a box while making a delivery (which is a definite no-no). Going farther back to the time of the senior barbeque, I distinctly recall a box of frozen hamburgers being soccer kicked out of a student’s hand. This wasn’t without warrant; the student in question was 45 minutes late, at which point the lunch had ended, and we had lost money. The most recent demonstration of Brian Neumeyer’s legendary temper was took place under the exact same circumstances mentioned previously; someone screwed up the bacon, which we needed for a lunch that day. Instead of lashing out against his surrounding environment, he cursed up a twenty-second storm, nothing more… well there was the plastic fork, but I’m not going to get into that. My peers and I, well, we found it rather humorous and, of course, the lunches got out intact and on time.
Our prestigious teacher also has a penchant for disappearing whenever he feels like it, and always during the worst possible times. In situation when his expert advice is most needed, he is nowhere to be found. We have no idea where he goes, and most of us don’t bother to ask, for fear of swift and painful death. Personally, I think he has some sort of grand base of operations staging a world takeover from under the school, but that’s just me. He also tends to talk on his cell phone a lot, which is equipped with the most ear-biting ring in the history of all mankind. I always assumed he was talking with high-ranking Russians about the impending world takeover.
Flaring tempers, disappearing acts and nefarious plots aside, Mr. Neumeyer is an extremely competent man who runs an exceptionally tight class, and treats us all with the utmost respect. However, people still tend to talk in hushed tones about our activities, as if we couldn’t hear them. The comments I most often hear from my peers usually consist of: “Hey, look at those Home-Ec kids in the funny hats. How lame,” or, “What a blow-off class. You guys get it so easy,” and especially, “Hey, can I have some of whatever’s in that tray you’re holding?” To these, I have planned out a set of informative and articulate responses: “Shut up,” “You have no idea,” and “Go to hell, moocher”.
The simple fact that these statements are made, though, signifies just how little people know about what really goes on in the room that sits adjacent to the school trophy cabinet. While it is true that we do have our share of fun (maybe even more than our share), the work we do is quite difficult. I bet many students would be surprised at how much effort both Neumeyer and the rest of us put into the program. Like any other class, we have strict deadlines to meet, and need to put in long hours to get it all done. I can’t recount how many times I’ve arrived at the school before 6:15 and worked straight until 9:30, or have had to stay after-hours to bake off 150 dozen cookies (that’s 1800 for those who aren’t good with numbers).
At this point, I don’t even consider it a class. It’s more of a job to me, and, like any other job, it’s not easy. It is, though, immensely rewarding.
To close this little essay of mine, I’d like to review what we’ve learned today:
First and foremost, that the Culinary Dept. is not filled with academic rejects or wandering slackers, but rather a group of individuals who are dedicated to learning a new craft.
Second, that Mr. Neumeyer, although having some rather out of the ordinary habits, is a person who is to be respected, who takes his job very seriously, and makes every attempt to ensure that our products are of the highest quality.
And finally that bacon, when being cooked, must always be layered.
Mrs. Miller - Period 1
March 2, 2004
Memoirs of a Sous Chef
Cooking bacon is rather tricky business. Ill-treated bacon comes in a variety of forms; possibly a floppy, spongy strip of pork fat dripping in its own grease, or perhaps a shriveled, brittle little sliver of what can only be described as “salty bacon crackers”. Both are completely inadequate for human consumption. Indeed, there is a certain method involved in preparing this delectable piece of pig that requires the utmost care and attention, necessitating the memorization of a few simple, yet very important rules. Of these rules, the most important is the one most oftentimes forgotten: bacon, when being cooked, must be layered. The line of fat on one side of the strip must be layered over the line of meat on the consecutive strip until the pan or other cooking device has been filled. This ensures that the bacon retains enough fat to remain crispy and flavorful, while at the same time ensuring that it does not cook itself in it’s own grease drippings. When bacon is not layered, what comes out of the oven is a brittle, flaky mess, usually sticking to the cooking surface. What’s more, it tastes crap. In addition, another, rather peculiar thing happens when one forgets to layer the bacon: Brian Neumeyer gets angry. And when Brian Neumeyer gets angry, objects tend to fly through the air. Their trip through the air, however, is abruptly ended upon contact with the wall, at which point a ruckus is caused, and a mess is made. Mr. Neumeyer feels better. You wouldn’t like Mr. Neumeyer when he’s angry.
It is true; the oft-told tales of Mr. Neumeyer’s short fuse are more rooted in fact than fantasy. I have myself born witness to a tray of white-chocolate pumpkin macadamia nut cookies being thrown shot-put by the man because one of his intro students tried to sneak a cookie out of a box while making a delivery (which is a definite no-no). Going farther back to the time of the senior barbeque, I distinctly recall a box of frozen hamburgers being soccer kicked out of a student’s hand. This wasn’t without warrant; the student in question was 45 minutes late, at which point the lunch had ended, and we had lost money. The most recent demonstration of Brian Neumeyer’s legendary temper was took place under the exact same circumstances mentioned previously; someone screwed up the bacon, which we needed for a lunch that day. Instead of lashing out against his surrounding environment, he cursed up a twenty-second storm, nothing more… well there was the plastic fork, but I’m not going to get into that. My peers and I, well, we found it rather humorous and, of course, the lunches got out intact and on time.
Our prestigious teacher also has a penchant for disappearing whenever he feels like it, and always during the worst possible times. In situation when his expert advice is most needed, he is nowhere to be found. We have no idea where he goes, and most of us don’t bother to ask, for fear of swift and painful death. Personally, I think he has some sort of grand base of operations staging a world takeover from under the school, but that’s just me. He also tends to talk on his cell phone a lot, which is equipped with the most ear-biting ring in the history of all mankind. I always assumed he was talking with high-ranking Russians about the impending world takeover.
Flaring tempers, disappearing acts and nefarious plots aside, Mr. Neumeyer is an extremely competent man who runs an exceptionally tight class, and treats us all with the utmost respect. However, people still tend to talk in hushed tones about our activities, as if we couldn’t hear them. The comments I most often hear from my peers usually consist of: “Hey, look at those Home-Ec kids in the funny hats. How lame,” or, “What a blow-off class. You guys get it so easy,” and especially, “Hey, can I have some of whatever’s in that tray you’re holding?” To these, I have planned out a set of informative and articulate responses: “Shut up,” “You have no idea,” and “Go to hell, moocher”.
The simple fact that these statements are made, though, signifies just how little people know about what really goes on in the room that sits adjacent to the school trophy cabinet. While it is true that we do have our share of fun (maybe even more than our share), the work we do is quite difficult. I bet many students would be surprised at how much effort both Neumeyer and the rest of us put into the program. Like any other class, we have strict deadlines to meet, and need to put in long hours to get it all done. I can’t recount how many times I’ve arrived at the school before 6:15 and worked straight until 9:30, or have had to stay after-hours to bake off 150 dozen cookies (that’s 1800 for those who aren’t good with numbers).
At this point, I don’t even consider it a class. It’s more of a job to me, and, like any other job, it’s not easy. It is, though, immensely rewarding.
To close this little essay of mine, I’d like to review what we’ve learned today:
First and foremost, that the Culinary Dept. is not filled with academic rejects or wandering slackers, but rather a group of individuals who are dedicated to learning a new craft.
Second, that Mr. Neumeyer, although having some rather out of the ordinary habits, is a person who is to be respected, who takes his job very seriously, and makes every attempt to ensure that our products are of the highest quality.
And finally that bacon, when being cooked, must always be layered.