Chef School

Don't ask me, I've got no idea why I'm doing it. I just had a particularly bad day at work, made a casual phone call, and two days later I'm standing in a stonking-hot kitchen with 15 people less than half my age, kitted out in full chef's regalia, three day's late for the course start, feeling like an utter muppet and wondering WTF had hit me.

Actually the fault in this latest hair-brained scheme lies with Mat Follas. Kiwi bloke who won last year's Masterchef UK. I was glued to the telly. I loved his food and his ideas, fresh locally sourced ingredients where possible, not over-worked nor particularly "cheffy", but obviously damn tasty. Plus he seemed like a hell of a decent bloke, and of course being a Kiwi helped enormously. I followed him on Twitter while he went on to start what is now a hugely successful restaurant http://www.thewildgarlic.co.uk/ in Dorset, quite an achievement given that the winner of Masterchef UK receives nothing but a trophy! I even tweeted him (and that took balls, one doesn't want to come across as a stalker) (even though one clearly is) to say it was his fault I'd started Chef School, and bless him, he responded!

I was catapulted out of culinary complacency. Despite being mad about food and cooking enthusiastically for roughly 37 years, I'd kind of sunk into the same ol', same ol' grub. You know, always cooking lamb shanks when people come for dinner and not being very adventurous at all.

So after two weeks of slightly regretting yet another random decision, week 11 finds me thoroughly loving school! And as happens when you just dive in the deep end, outrageous possibilities keep popping into my head. Like Antarctica. Always wanted to work a season there but never had the qualifications. Now all I have to do is get a couple of years cooking experience, a few months as a commercial cleaner, an Advanced Trauma First Aid qualification, lose 15kgs, get fit, develop "the personal attributes to be able to relate well with others", and I might be in with a chance as a Domestic/Kitchen Hand. Doddle.

Or what about cook on a superyacht in exotic locations? I have sailing qualifications and (more importantly) in 4 ocean passages and several nasty coastal "encounters" I've never been seasick. I can in fact down a double-serve of lasagne surrounded by 3 barfing crew members, clean up after them and still go back for thirds.

Or what about . . . . hmmmm.