Part 4: Have You Ever Dreamed of Going To Culinary School?


Pommes Anna In preparation for her date night, I drag Lisa to Madison Avenue for some drive-by shopping.  We enter my favorite boutique and I am drawn to a cobalt blue color block dress for her evening of debauchery.  However, when the salesperson arrives Lisa promptly asks if this comes in the size “women who eat.”  Horrified, I put my head down and we make our way for the door.  Having blown her paycheck on more important things like rent and electric, she scolds me and we raid my closet, settling on a safe and sexy DVF black dress.  It’s been a frustrating morning.  I have to remember my best friend is now divorced and nothing I can say, do, beg or borrow will help ease the pain of that.

I board the N train and study today’s lesson.  I breathe a sigh of relief as I walk into the classroom, shutting the door to my problems on the outside.  A Chef’s kitchen is a sanctuary with strict rules.  It doesn’t get cluttered or messy with feelings.  My nerves settle as I gather my ingredients.

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