Page 62 of Babydaddy To Go

“Of course,” I respond. I cross the room and quickly put the hook onto her stand mixer. It’s so easy a child could do it, but Samantha thrives on the attention.

The rest of the class stays relatively quiet, with only a few scattered questions.

Bread is a multi-step process, so I surprise the students with a secondary task while their dough begins its first rise.

“I want you all to make a main course with two sides. It can be any dish of your choice using the techniques you’ve learned thus far.”

No one complains. Most of the students appear excited about the challenge. That’s another sign of a good chef: the desire to cook no matter what the circumstances.

The students flutter around the classroom, picking up all the ingredients they’ll need for their special dishes. My eyes land once again on Alyssa who bites her lip in concentration as she looks into the fridge for something.

I half expected her to re-create the delicious alfredo dish she made for lunch over the weekend. Instead, she surprises me by pulling salmon steaks and crab meat from the fridge. Alyssa missed the seafood chapter, and now she’s trying to prove that she can still keep up with the class. She really has changed a lot since that first day, and I couldn’t be prouder.

When it comes time to taste test the students’ dishes, I’m excited. The classroom is filled with delicious scents emanating from each kitchenette. Smell is the first sign that a dish is going to be tasty.

I hardly have any complaints for the first half of the classroom. Some need more seasoning or a stronger sear, but for the most part, the students execute perfectly. I guess that makes me a pretty good teacher.

When I get to Alyssa’s kitchen, I’m greeted with grilled salmon steaks, crab cakes, and perfectly blanched green beans. I was worried about the melding of two very different seafood flavors, but Alyssa used complementary spices on the salmon and crab to create a coherent dish.

“Excellent,” I tell her honestly. “Your salmon is slightly overcooked, but the crab cake is perfect.”

“Thank you, chef,” she beams.

I move on to Samantha’s plate where I find salmon filet, mashed potatoes, and grilled sweet corn. I take a bite of the salmon and it’s all I can do not to spit it out.

“Did you cook this at all?” I ask while I chew the rubbery fish.

“Of course!” Samantha exclaims. “It’s perfectly done.”

“It’s practically raw,” I inform her. I force myself to swallow the disgusting bite and move on to the sides. The corn is fine, but it’s hard to mess up corn. The mashed potatoes, though, are somehow runny and overly chunky at the same time. “This is not the kind of work I’m looking for at this point in the semester.”

I finish tasting the rest of the dishes. Thankfully, no one else fails as badly as Samantha.

Back at the front of the class, I stare at my students.

“Listen,” I tell them. “We’re almost halfway through the semester which makes this a critical part of the course. I’m expecting you to step up your game and only give me the best dishes you can make. Understood?”

“Yes, chef,” the class responds. I stare deliberately at Samantha who wears a smug smile as if she’s won something. She’s going to regret that look come the end of the semester. With food like hers, there’s no way she’s going to pass the class.

While the students knead their dough and clean their stations, I find myself watching Alyssa again. She’s graceful in the kitchen, even when she has to avoid Samantha.

I picked the best woman to fall in love with.

Teaching this class was the best decision of my life, because it brought me to Alyssa. No matter how obnoxious one of the students is, I have to remember that teaching here changed my life for the better, and I think I’ve changed the lives of most of the students, too. That’s what really matters.

22

Nathaniel

Seven Months Later.

It’s only fitting that the last day of the course be an un-graded dessert day. The students are hard at work preparing coconut macaroons, cupcakes, pies, and any other desserts they wanted to make. The smell of sugar dances around the classroom.

While they bake, I put the finishing touches on their semester report cards. I look back at my notes as I finalize their grades to make sure everyone is treated fairly. I’m not giving out a single grade that isn’t deserved.

“Are we almost finished?” I call out to the class.

“Yes, chef!” they chorus in return.