I wonder if I could ever be a chef, learn all there is to know and perform gracefully and successfully under such immense pressure. I wonder this every time I watch the beginning of a new “Hell’s Kitchen.” I wonder if I could remain cool under Ramsay’s watchful eye, his eye of Sauron, if you will.
I wonder if I would be able to give Ramsay lip, or if I would find my own lips quivering with antici– pation. Or stuttering remarks. I wonder if I would be able to plate a meal that is beautiful and delivers boldly in taste.
My greatest meal was a Parmesan garlic crusted chicken sauteed in pinot noir and spices with rigatoni Alfredo, among others. I like to improvise, and throw things in that you wouldn’t usually, like cooking the chicken in only the wine and butter. Something I had never done, but thought, well, it’s in my class, should go in the pan.
I wonder if I would make it as a chef, always thinking on my feet, stumble without falling, contentedly accepting criticism, and bowing out with finesse at the end of a long, hideous night?
My answer? Yes.
