What, Me....Serious?? (Or, A First Impression of Culinary School)
My daughter, Stephanie, thinks I should stop being so serious in these posts and write as I normally speak.  Because I'm not at all a serious person, she says, and if I'm going to write a blog, I need to give people SOMETHING TO READ.OK.  What the hell.When I signed up for these classes, I thought I would be the oldest student in them.  Again.  Older than the instructors. Again.  Like when I first enrolled in college years ago at age 32.  I was a mother figure for many of my classmates. Yawn.But, I am amazed now that so many, ahem, non-traditional students enroll in culinary school.  I mean,

OK...I'm one of those people....
On Day One of my new culinary classes, we had nervous introductions all around and tales of culinary inspirations. Most had started cooking rather early: at ages 10, .. 8, .. 5, ... It seemed everyone was trying to outdo each other with who had begun earlier. I was waiting for someone to say he had once made Chicken Fricassée while in the womb.I have to admit, I was one of those telling of cooking early, at age 10 or so. Growing up in rural Mississippi, I usually had to create my own avenues of fun, especially in summer months when school was out. Not having many other kids around, I would get out my mother's cookbooks and play. My grandparents lived with us, bragged on my expe