Day 48: In which an extra set of (undamaged) fingers proves most desirable

I want a skin graft for my birthday. I cut myself in class thrice - all due to idiocy - on three different fingers. My injuries included lopping off part of my nailbed, ugh! "Excellent decision to take your hand off the chopping board!" chef Vic said as I was about to hack off the bone and, possibly, my fingers, with a gigantic cleaver.

But there's a happy ending to the story: I scored a personal best in labwork for this level. I'm not sure how that happened. Our dish last night was Pan Seared Frenched Pork Loin with Polenta and Chasseur Sauce. The chef liked everything, amazing!

Frenched, by the way, refers to a cut of meat in which the chine bone is left protruding. It reminds me of English ladies' patrician pinkies sticking out during high tea. Only the French can turn the adjective referring to their peoplehood into another signifier for a professional cooking term - like the tourné, it is more evidence of their deliberate efforts to keep their kitchen hauteur esoteric (rolls eyes. But no, that's not racism, mes amis Français. Please think of it as good-natured ribbing).

My polenta and sauce were well-seasoned and of the correct consistency, and the blanched green beans were fortunately done just right. The last time I had a blanched vegetable - asparagus for grilled tenderloin labwork - for garnish, it got overcooked. It turns out that one is supposed to let it stay in tap water for some time after cooking. I'd just dipped my asparagus in the cold water and took it out immediately (apparently you can only do that if you have ice water). The poor things were as limp as my self-esteem that night!

I didn't think my pork was something to write home about - I found it a little dry inside, in fact. But the chef liked my cooking last night (and that, really, is something to write home about!). He only took off points for the way I arranged the beans on the plate - I should have just arranged them in one row parallel to each other instead of stacking them diagonally like fallen lumber converging on a point atop the pork.

So, it was a lucky night for me in the kitchen, though it left me wondering: are my standards for "good" food really that off? Am I from another planet?

In other news, my favorite "new" food is polenta. I love its mouthfeel - the way the finely-ground grains of corn tease and tickle the tongue before dissolving. It's an elusive-feeling food - before you can put your finger on what exactly that new texture in your mouth is, the polenta has already disappeared and slipped down your gullet. Hey Bill [Buford, the journalist who apprenticed to Mario Batali. He complained in his memoir of the experience that it was such a pain to cook in mass quantities], polenta ain't that bad. You should've just thinned it out with some milk or water.