THE OTHER STORY ABOUT TODAY
So there I was… in a state of pure bliss. I’m talking zen monk meets Michelin chef during my 2nd Exam at Ecole Ducasse.
Just me, my polenta, and a whisk, floating on a cloud of confidence I absolutely did not deserve.
I had this tiny-but-definitely-too-big grin on my face, whispering to myself,
“You’ve got this, Eric. You’re basically the Polenta Whisperer now.”
Then… destiny struck.
While peeling the orange, which, by the way, should be classified as a Level 3 culinary hazard, I brutally sliced my thumb. Not a cute little paper cut. Oh no. This was a crime scene.
Suddenly my beautiful white board turned into Niagara Falls: The Blood Edition.
A full-on geyser. A Tarantino remake. The Sistine Chapel of “holy sh*t”.
Miraculously, not one drop touched the orange slices. (If you ever doubted miracles, this is your sign.)
Meanwhile, I’m standing there with peeler in one hand and polenta whisk in the other, and I realize I’m at a crossroads - a true culinary fork in the road:
SAVE THE POLENTA?
OR SAVE MY FINGER?
And because I’m now a dedicated “chef” (please note the quotation marks), I chose violence. I chose… the polenta!!!!
I wrapped my thumb in a blue towel like I was staunching a medieval battlefield wound, took one heroic breath, and whispered:
“Not today, death. I’ve got a five-minute window.”
And then like some deranged Spartan, I kept cooking. Whisking with my good hand like my life depended on it. Ten minutes straight. My thumb pulsing. Blood still geysering. Polenta getting creamier by the second.
Ladies and gentlemen… it was the best damn polenta I’ve ever made in my life.
Actually the first polenta I’ve ever made in my life but we don’t need to get hung up on details.
Only once it was done, once I knew the ancestors were proud, did I finally stroll (casually!) to the Band-Aid station. You know, the one that suddenly looked like it was about 400 meters away.
I performed what I consider minor hand surgery, slapped a bandage on like a war veteran, then returned to my station and cooked the duck like nothing happened.
Because priorities.
Because Ecole Ducasse.
Because I will literally bleed for a passing grade!
