Cooking Class Warfare

The Place

Young children are taking cooking classes to "assist them in confronting life's practical problems: planning, shopping, weights, measures, keeping the fuzz at the door, etc.," says school director Juliana Rittenhouse.

In the kitchen, the children work with miniature stoves and sinks. The chef de cuisine's little voice can be heard, even from outside, effing and blinding. Moments later, an apprentice will storm out for a good cry and smoke.

On The Menu

For dessert, the fledgling chefs whip up a sponge cake in the form of a sun with rays: a special sweet made to "reflect their mood". Recently, the parents of one boy were asked to stay after class, because he had made a fondant noose. "What can I tell you?" remarked the boy's bewildered father. "He's an intense kid. He used to want the stock reports read to him at bedtime. Once, when the market was volatile, we found him in the treehouse on the ledge, staring into the abyss."

Verdict

The school disclaims an intent to "create chefs". Frankly, this is no concern, judging by the fare coming from the kitchen. This reporter was given a rare steak (uncooked) with a side of ice cream when he visited. Marching to the kitchen and confronting the chef de cuisine precipitated a hasty retreat, by myself, outside for a good cry and smoke. There, a whimpering commis chef, rather than offering sympathy, found the opportunity to bolster her allegiance to the head chef. "His steak is the first and last word in the culinary arts," said five-year-old Lucy, and then added, "Now get lost, I can't be seen with you."