NOVEMBER 15 2009
AMERICANWAY 43
KEllY KINgMAN
is a New York–based writer whose work has
appeared in the
NewYorkTimes
and
Gourmet
. Sheenjoysspend-
inghours in the kitchen in the pursuit of perfect salt caramels…
as long as someone else does the dishes.
the CIA. He tellsme that he loves cooking
because good foodmakes for goodmemo-
ries. “I want to be remembered, to be part
ofpeople— food isaniceway todo that,”he
says. “Idon’t care if peopleknowmyname.”
He’s disappointed to find, though, that the
Experimental Food Society meeting he
wanted to check out has been canceled be-
cause they couldn’t get anynitrogenandno
one had a license to cook
sous-vide
(under
vacuum).
On FridaymOrning at Five a.m.,
it’s a
cold, darkwalk to themainbuilding.When
I arrive, the place is already hummingwith
activity. This is a production kitchen, and
the students here will make 13 kinds of
bread in five hours: jalapeño sourdough,
bialys, Englishmuffins, brioche, croissants,
babka, andmore. Instead of having stoves,
apastrykitchenhas long lab-type counters,
rollingbinsoffloursandgrains, and several
ovens like kilns along a far wall. I am con-
stantly in the way as rolling racks of sheet
traysarepushedaround, and it feels likeI’m
trying tomaster a complicated dance step.
I’m lost andbadlyundercaffeinated.
I’m assigned to English muffins with
Karys, amature 20-year-old from Tucson,
Arizona. She’dplanned togo intoneurosci-
enceuntilhermomnoticedshewasrushing
through her homework tomake brownies.
“This is a good fit for me because it’s half
science,” she says. Indeed, thewhiteboard is
coveredwith numbers: water temperature,
finaldoughtemperature,bulk fermenttime,
final fermentation time, andmixer friction.
It’s too much for me before sunrise, but
Karys is moving confidently through each
step, checking temperatures likeanurse.
Our chatting ismomentarily interrupted
forababka-shapingdemonstration.Watch-
ing chef Eric Kastel demonstrate shaping
butter-yellowbriochedough intobraids re-
minds me of how a potter handles masses
of clay — shifting raw heft into increas-
ingly delicate shapes. Later that afternoon,
the chocolate babka, still warm, is passed
around for tasting.Kasteloffersme thecen-
ter slice, the tenderloinof thebabka. I leave
class licking chocolateoffmyfingers.
I snoop around the dorms before din-
ner.Thenewer lodgesarenamed for spices:
Clove, Cinnamon, and Nutmeg are sprin-
kledaround the two small lakeson campus,
called Lake Velouté and Lake Béchamel.
The ground floors have three eight-burner
Viking stoves. I had hoped to find truffled
popcorn topped with
fleur de sel
, a type of
sea salt, in the snackmachines, but no such
luck. Word is that the washing machines
clogoccasionally from theCascade students
use tokeep their chefwhites stain free (they
are graded on cleanliness and profession-
alism). The fridge is nearly bare, but the
pantry items give away something of the
paradox that is the CIA: A small bottle of
fig-infused white balsamic vinegar and an
industrial-size bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s
pancake syrupare cheekby jowl. Iam, after
all, ona college campus.
AW
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