Page 17 of Babydaddy To Go

Nate runs through five more dishes and each time he gives us a great job, but nothing more.

“Okay! One last dish,” he says. “Get everything you would need to make a medium rare steak and mashed potatoes.”

This is so easy! We gather the few pans and utensils necessary. This time, Nate doesn’t check us.

“Now, use that equipment to make a medium rare steak with simple seasoning and mashed potatoes.”

Excellent. Finally, we get to actually cook.

I get to work right away, ignoring Samantha and getting in the zone. I can do this.

I belong here.

6

Nathaniel

Monday

Alyssa and that blonde girl, Samantha, are standing at their work stations ready to serve me their steaks. Luckily, they’re near the rear of the other side. It’ll be a while before I have to ruin Alyssa’s life.

The first kitchenette holds two young boys, probably eighteen and nineteen years old. They stand at attention in front of their plates. I like these two already, but I can’t show them that.

Silently, I slice into the first boy’s steak and take a bite. It tastes okay, but it’s extremely underdone.

“You call this medium rare?” I ask, holding the steak in front of his face. “This cow is still grazing!”

I slam the nearly raw meat back onto the plate and take a spoonful of mashed potatoes. It takes me longer to chew than should be necessary for mashed potatoes.

“Did you even cook your potatoes? Did you just think you could chop them up, squish them, and I wouldn’t notice that they’re almost as raw as your steak?”

The boy cowers beneath me. I love teaching classes for this reason. Students fear you, and I like to be feared.

“Sorry, sir,” he whispers.

I turn from him in disgust and turn to the second boy’s dish. When I cut through the steak, I find it perfectly medium rare.

“Do you see this?” I ask the first boy. “This is what medium rare looks like.”

Are those tears in his eyes? I think they are! It’s my first day as a teacher and I’ve already made a student cry. There should be an award for that, although I also feel somewhat bad. After all, he’s just a kid. But should I tell the other chefs?

After all, I’ve been in touch with some of the former teachers – and some of the students – from NYACA. They helped me get in the right headspace for my year as the instructor here. It’s been tricky, and I’m still treading a fine line between firm discipline mixed with supportive encouragement. Teaching is definitely a difficult profession.

Biting into the steak, I find that the temperature is right, but the outside is chewy.

“Did you bother to sear your steak?” I ask the boy.

He shakes his head.

“Always sear meat before cooking it,” I growl loud enough for the entire class to hear. “I hope the rest of you are better than these two.”

This one’s mashed potatoes aren’t much better than the first, but at least they’re fully cooked. I tear him apart for screwing up such simple dishes and move on to the next team. They look sufficiently terrified of me.

When I was leading the discussion and lecture, I tried to be nicer to the students. However, this is practical learning. If they can’t take the heat, they won’t last in the kitchen. Most of these kids will have to be assistants before they can lead their own restaurant. Chefs love to yell at the lower cooks in the kitchen, even if the mistake was the chef’s fault. I’m not trying to be mean to these students, I’m trying to prepare them for the reality of their chosen professions.

The next group is somewhat better, but the girl’s steak is medium well and the guy’s mashed potatoes are bland. He didn’t add any seasoning, not even salt. Yet, his steak was over-seasoned with salt, pepper, and what I think was burnt oregano. I’ve never had oregano on a steak before.

By the third group, I’m starting to wonder if this is a prank. Am I on some TV show where I’m supposed to teach terrible chefs how to not kill people in the kitchen? That’s the only explanation for the awful steak and potato combinations I’ve had to endure thus far.