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It takes a lot to gross me out. Or so I thought.
While filleting an Artic Char, one of other students decided to play bio lab and began investigating the fish’s eyeball and how it was attached. He poked, prodded, pushed and punctured. I was sneaking a glance in his direction when another student suggested he taste it. Chef chuckled and suggested breading and frying it. Why spend the extra time? He just sliced it out of the socket, popped it into his mouth, swallowed and remarked, “cartilegey.” His iron stomach may someday land him an Extreme Chef gig.
Disgusting, for sure, but brace yourself for this next story.
Most students practice for their cooking exams at home. The night before our first, one of the students texted me to say I had inspired her to try making chicken consommé. Hers came out crystal clear, she said. The piece de resistance? She didn’t have any cheesecloth to tie the herbs for her sachet d’epices, so she used her oldest, skankiest G-string.
Doesn’t get more ghetto than that.
