At the end of every three week subject block, we have a 4.5 hr practical exam in which we have to make specified products on our own (we also have a written exam the day before). We have already made each product in our 2-3 person groups, so we have a general idea of how they should go (and you’re free to practice on your own). They usually make us mathematically adjust the recipe, too. The 16 person class is divided into two streams, one starting at 6am and the other starting at 8am. We are also required to make a time sheet to plan how we will use our time. Following it is pure chance for now, I think.

For our practical in Baking Techniques on Friday, I was assigned to the 6am stream and to make: challah dough made with 1 quart of liquid and shaped into 12 oz loaves with 2 different kinds of braids; 1/2 recipe vanilla pastry cream; and 1 dozen blueberry muffins. It was the assignment I’d hoped to get, because I knew that I could make them acceptably, even if there were were pitfalls that threatened me.

I was tired the night before, so I went to sleep at 9pm… I woke up at 3:30am, thought “well, it’s technically not the middle of the night”, and got up shortly thereafter.

Once I got into the kitchen, I was at full steam. I have to admit that I liked the practical. Having full control of the ingredients and the equipment I used sharpened my senses a bit. The only inconvenience was scaling out every single ingredient, rather than dividing it among three people.

The challah started out my day in a bit of a panic.

I snagged one of the six large mixers that are best for mixing bread doughs, and after I had mised (the ersatz verb form of “mise en place,” which is having all ingredients ready before you mix them up) my ingredients, I notized that it lacked a wire guard over the bowl. The machine won’t start unless it’s in place. Ordinarily, leaving your ingredients waiting in a bowl isn’t a big deal, but with bread, we are supposed to aim for a desired dough temperature (DDT) when it has finished mixing. By factoring in the room temp, the flour temp, the egg temp, and the machine friction factor, we calculate the ideal temperature for the liquid that goes into the dough so that the dough will wind up where we want it (the water is the easiest factor to control, temp-wise) . So, while I was running around looking for a guard, I was scared for my precious DDT; maybe the water would retain its heat because it was topped with flour, but it could also cool off and damage the heated, wet flour. And even if there had been another mixer available, I couldn’t have just dumped my stuff in it because I had already put my wet ingredients under the dry ingredients so that they would mix together correctly.

I finally found the guard after about 10 mins, mixed the stuff, and off the dough went into the proof box for about an hour to bulk ferment and double in size. I would also have to fold it (which is a more accurate way of saying punching down) 45 minutes into the hour.

During that time, I made my blueberry muffins. I had planned to practice making them the night before, but had been too tired. When we made them in our group, they hadn’t turned out so good-splotches of sugar and butter dotted the muffins because they hadn’t formed an emulsion with eggs that had been added into the batter and they were tough from being over-mixed. That happened either because the eggs had been too cold and/or the sugar/butter hadn’t fully creamed. A teammate had made the batter, though, so I didn’t have a mental picture of how it should or shouldn’t go… and I don’t think I’ve ever made traditional muffins like these at home. But I figured that they’re something like pancakes and biscuits, so I wasn’t too worried. I also worked at a cafe in high school that made fabulous muffins, and I can still visualize how their batter turned out, even though I never made them myself.

I had managed to looked at instructions for different muffin recipes the night before, and in the end, I relied on Alton Brown’s wisdom. So, I creamed until I could no longer see the sugar crystals, but I could feel them when I rubbed it between my fingers, as he instructs. I added the room temp eggs slowly against the side of the mixer in 4 additions instead of the 2-3 in the recipe, just to make sure that the emulsion didn’t break by an overwhelming amount of eggs at once. When I added the flour and baking powder, I relied on Alton’s advice to count to ten and stop mixing. Since I was using a mixer, I counted to 6. There was a bit of unintegrated flour, but I took the bowl out of the mixer and when I folded in the blueberries, the flour combined more with the batter. There were still some powdery flour visible when I finished, and that was just where I wanted the batter to be.

We had to make them 3.5oz each, so I went to the scaling table with an ice cream scoop to measure them out in the tin. Even though I swear each one came out to 3.5oz at the time, they all looked unequal by the end, and I had extra batter. I tried to equalize them with the unwieldy scoop. I sprinkled them with AA sugar (which is the coarse kind) and put them into a convection oven where there were already muffins baking away.

I noticed that most of the students were working on their pastry cream now, which was the final product to make. I had about 10 minutes until my dough would be ready to fold and 15 more minutes until it would be ready to work with. I didn’t want to risk taking too long to gather my ingredients and feel compelled to pull myself away from pastry cream–which you can’t take yourself away from until it’s done. I had planned to do it later anyway, and I knew that a lot of people were assigned to white and whole wheat doughs that required a different schedule for the bulk fermentation, so they had more time before the next step.

So, I assembled what I would need for the challah. Sheet pans lined with parchment, large plastic bags that we use to cover dough so that it doesn’t dry out, and a scale with the correct weight. I rotated my muffins, and I folded the dough. I also cleared away the bowls and equipment I’d used, and cleaned my tools. I had a few extra minutes, so I cleaned around the scaling station, which is always dirty with grains of stray ingredients and egg runoff.

Finally, my challah dough was ready to be pre-shaped, and I checked my muffins –a skewer showed that there was still some raw batter, so I set my timer for a few minutes. We had to make 12 oz loaves of challah, so in the interest of time and ease of accuracy, a 2-braid and a 3-bread would be best. But, when I had made them in class, my 2-braids looked nothing like the raindrop shape they were supposed to, so I did a 4 braid instead, which had turned out nicely even if it required more cutting and so had a greater risk of irregular scaling. Rather than measure out 12 oz of dough and divide that into 3 or 4 pieces each, I scaled out 4 groups of 4oz chunks for my 3-braid, and pre-shaped each at a time by flattening them out, and rolling them up into fat little logs. I arranged them into little triangles to keep them in order (my own little innovation ).

During that time, I checked my muffins a couple times until they were finally ready. They looked good. Whew. A bit later, I unmold them with my small offset spatula so that the sugar wouldn’t stick to the tin, causing them to tear. I even found a cooling rack so that they would cool evenly (even though they were in liners).

Back to the challah–I had calculated that my dough made out of 1 quart of liquid would make 8 12-oz loaves with about 6 oz leftover, so I aimed for 4 more groups, this time with 3oz chunks arranged into squares to keep them together. Oddly and luckily enough, the dough gave me exactly 8 loaves.

We had been told that we were supposed to make neither more nor less than what the instructions asked for. So, for the students who had to make 60 rolls or 30 sandwich cookies, they had to make just so many (bless their souls), or were supposed to produce the extra dough/batter at the end with their products.

Bread dough generally needs to rest whenever you touch it, so I gave it 10 minutes after all this stress on it. I assembled some of my pastry cream ingredients (but not the egg or milk, lest they spill all over the challah in a freak accident), and returned to the dough. Beginning with the dough that I’d divided first, I rolled them out into strands to be braided. I remembered that I’d meant to officially confirm how long I was supposed to roll them. I’d read accounts that ranged from 12″ to 24″, and I had the notion that I shouldn’t roll it more than it would allow. Also, we’d made 16oz loaves in class before, and I wasn’t sure how different a 12oz loaf should be. So my first 3-braid loaf had strands rolled to a little over a foot that were braided together, but it seemed very short. So, for the next ones, I rolled them longer, about 20 inches, and braided them as I went, sealing both ends in a haphazard way that I’d also meant to rectify. The longer strand loaves looked better, even if they were much longer than the first loaf. I’d forgetten to put together an egg wash before, so I combined 1 egg, a tbs of water (I just flipped the bowl under the faucet), and a pinch of salt. I egg washed the breads, and they went back into the proof box, for about an hour.

The 4-braid had even smaller chunks for the braids, but I rolled them out as long as I could and braided. It was nearly 20 minutes after the first tray had gone in, so they wouldn’t go into the oven at the same time.

About this time, the second stream of students started their practical, so for the next 2.5 hours, 17 giddy bakers would be looking out for themselves in the kitchen.

Now was the time for the pastry cream. I arranged the portable induction burner, the ingredients, the bowl in the ice bath, and even made a collar out of my side towl to put under the bowl that had the eggs, cornstarch, and milk mixture so that I could mix while adding the hot mixture. I brought a mixture of milk, sugar, and salt to a boil over medium, and poured it slowly into the egg mixture while I whisked with the other hand. The collar worked to keep the bowl in place, and I followed the chef’s advice to pour 2/3 into the egg mixture, rather than the 1/3 specified in the book. I then poured the tempered egg mixture back into the pot with the rest of the milk, turned down the burner to med-low, and whisked. It started to bubble…. soon it was full of unsightly chunks (which the day before had caused me to stop, thinking that I’d messed up)… and it started to spurt up bubbles in a boil…. and the chunks mostly melted away and my whisk started to leave a trail… and I steeled myself to count to 43 sec (on my 2nd attempt the day before, I’d gone to 30 sec, and it hadn’t been fully cooked; in my independent attempts to make this stuff in the past, I invariaby burned it or came out with squiggles of cooked egg) until I poured it out into a bowl and to put in the ice bath to cool. I whisked it a little to cool it down, and then put plastic on it so that a skin wouldn’t form.

I checked my challah, and frowned at it’s failure to puff up… until I realized that I was looking at my second tray. I poked a loaf on the first tray, and it sprang back a little, a sign that it needs a little more proofing. So, I cleaned up, fiddled around with my tools, and eventually, the challah didn’t spring back when poked–perfect time to egg wash it again and bake it. One of the two convection ovens designated for the challah was already full of challah, and the other was full of… cookies??? At 325 instead of 350? Another student with a tray full of challah marveled along with me. It turns out that another student had changed the temperature of the oven to put cookies in. We didn’t want to be tattletales, but bread waits for no one… It was ready to go, so we asked the chef about it. The chef decided to let the cookies finish in 5 minutes, and it would take 5 minutes for the oven to reach 350 again. Sigh. So, back into the proof box. Finally, it went in, and a bit later, the other tray went in.

I don’t remember what time it was at this point–maybe about 9:30. I felt good–there was an hour left, and not much more I had to do. Two products were done, and if the bread burned, there wasn’t even enough time to make it again. So, I found a platter to present my blueberry muffins, arranged them, and covered them in plastic wrap… tasted my still-a-bit-warm pastry cream… Not bad, no taste of uncooked starch… I cleaned up my part of the table, and put everything to the edge so that the person next to me in the 2nd stream had more space as I had had in the beginning, and chatted with others who were in a similar state of near doneness…

I rotated the challah, and checked it like a fanatic, since I didn’t have much else to do. I was aiming for the deep mahogany specified by the chef. I wasn’t sure how long it was supposed to go, so I had to use the chef’s wily “bake it til it’s done” mantra.

Finally, the first tray was a luscious mahogany, and later, the second tray was. I put them onto cooling racks. I noticed that I’d made more than any other student had–there were 6 loaves, 5 loaves, and 4 loaves total by others. Ah well, whatever happens, happens.

The second batch was still a rather warm, but I thought it was suitable for presenting, so I laid them all out on a flat woven circle basket… and pottered around, having extra time. I finally put them all up on the evaluating table, but then realized that you had to put your name on a list first and then be called before your stuff was to go on the table to be evaluated. So, people who’d finished after me, but actually knew what to do, were ahead of me. That was fine. I was done. And I was happy with what I’d made.

I waited at a table with the other students until I was called, about 45 minutes later. Each evaluation takes 10-15 minutes, and I was about 6th. I’d heard scary tales and rumors in the meantime — that every muffin was weighed for consistency, that he was complaining about the “gray” muffins produced from the juices from the blueberry (which is hard to avoid when they’re frozen and melting fast), that no one in the previous section got above a B- because they grade hard on the first practical to instill the idea into you that you still have a lot to learn, and that the evaluation could be tough in some areas and light on others.

The chef had warned us in advance that there was no way what he could eat even a whole bite of everyone’s products, so we shouldn’t be offended if he spits out even good work. I happened to snag the seat that had this phenomenon as a view. A pillar blocked the chef except when he turned to spit stuff out. All part of the practical. Usually, the chef is quite cool.
Finally, I was up for evaluation. I wasn’t nervous anymore because I was happy with the way my products had turned out (and had received very kind compliments from classmates on my challah), so I was just curious to hear what the chef thought. He said that, just looking at my products, they looked “pretty good.” I decided not to say “Pfft… PRETTY good?” and instead mentally focused on the Difficult Grading Theory.

We started with the challah. They looked good, except for that the first shorter one I’d made; and only one braid had become unsealed and poked out as if waiting for a handshake. Turns out they were supposed to be long. But when he weighed them, they were consistent in weight. Heartbreakingly, though, they were a bit overbaked. It turned out that they should be mahogany, but without sacrificing the golden strips where the braids touch. He cut one open, and it was true — it was dry. I’d been looking forward to eating a loaf over the weekend, but it wasn’t the kind of chewy cake-like texture that I loved. I still got a very decent grade on it, but the most important thing was that I would have no challah for the weekend. Grrr.

Onto the muffins. As I’d noticed before, my scaling had gone wonky. I think they were inconsistently sized enough for maybe a customer to feel bummed if they’d gotten a smaller one. BUT they tasted delicious. I’m not a muffin person, but oh my god, they were good. The chef thought so, too.  The blueberries were bursting with flavor, but even more important, they had a light yet rich texture that I think tasted of perfectly creamed butter and sugar. I think I was in such a frenzy over the yummy muffins that when he went enunciated my low consistency grade out loud, I balked–loudly… until I realized that he meant consistency in weighting… Ok, then.

Then onto the pastry cream. I wasn’t a fan of this particular recipe for pastry cream. It uses the whole egg, instead of egg yolks, so instead of a satin-y sort of a pastry cream, it rather turns gelatin-like when cool and has occasional chunks of cornstarch or egg whites or whatever that are par for the course (though you can paddle it in a mixer, and it comes out much smoother and silkier). It had chilled by now, and we both tasted it… and it was good! I couldn’t believe it. I could have eaten more. It had a good depth of flavor and a satisfyingly silky texture once in the mouth. A second revelation for the day. The chef liked it, too.

During the evaluation, it occurred to me that it was as if the chef instructor was looking into a crystal ball that looks into the past… and I was the client clutched with suspense, nodding along, and matching up the pronouncements to her life. “The texture of the pastry cream is a bit more like gelatin than it should be… You boiled the milk a little too long, so the moisture that was lost caused the thicker texture.” The milk did boil too long! And so on. It was very impressive. Of course, this was done during evaluation everyday where we’re in groups, but it was fun to hear about what YOU had done, not what your team had done or what other teams had done… Egotist that I am, of course.

But it wasn’t all crystal ball reveries…. One comment that snapped me out of this was that “The coarse sugar on the muffins should be more concentrated on the center rather than evenly spread out like yours are.” Huh….? Not only was I not told that before, but I still can’t figure out why I would want to do that.

But on the whole, I found the evaluation to be very helpful and accurate… Fair. Heck, I got an 88%, so of course, I won’t complain about the grade itself. I know that purposely and mistakenly overbaking the challah and mis-scaling the muffins were the major mistakes, and they were completely mine. And… well…. no will ever ask you your grades from culinary school… They’ll ask you to make, say, a cake, and how that cake turns out is that true measure of who you are as a baker… not a number score. So for me, the perfect score will be able to say “I made that” and be happy that others enjoy it.

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 26th, 2006 at 5:33 pm and is filed under Culinary School. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.