Thursday kicked off the start of the year long culinary arts program here in Florence, Italy. The day began in the administrative branch of the two buildings that comprise Apicius. The orientation started promptly at 10am- Italian time. Tenish. Tenishish.
The group of about sixty of us was greeted by Barbara, an eager brunette who sports that deep Italian tan and a big smile. She welcomed us all and went over some of the rules and regulations. Various packets and pamphlets were distributed by name. We discussed the different programs- baking, wine, cooking and whatnot- and what was involved with each.
During this time a sheet was passed around so that everyone could write down their addresses, emails and countries of origin. Since I was one of the last folks to get this fun little paper, I was able to peruse everyone’s nationalities: Turkish, Mexican, Venezuelan, Thai, Israeli, Japanese, Croatian, Hungarian, Canadian, Taiwanese, even a few Italians; all in all a pretty impressive mix.
At this point, somewhat inexplicably, Barbara launched into a lecture about ATMs. “Here there are no ATM’s,” she explained. “We are calling them bancomats and not the ATMs. You will wonder all day looking for ATMs and asking all you want. ATM, ATM, you will say, but no. It will not be. In front of you though will be the bancomat, many bancomats, but you will not know if you are not knowing what to call them.”
While this may be true, it did seem a little odd. I mean they’re everywhere and they look like ATM’s. Also, most of the people are in their mid twenties. How big of a problem could this be? I pictured some horrible past episode: A student destitutely roaming the twisting streets of Florence, clutching fistfuls of hair. “Why God does this cursed city have no ATMs! Why have you plagued me with such close approximations that look like ATMs and dispense money to other people, but are not labeled with the acronym that I am used to!” It must have been a sad sight.
When I finally refocused on the events at hand, I was treated to a prime example of Italian efficiency. “We are running ahead of schedule,” Barbara proclaimed, apparently referencing some sort of internal personal timetable. “We shall take a ten minute break.”
About fifteen minutes later, when everyone had reassembled, we each signed a sheet listing the rules of conduct. These included, but are certainly not limited to:
- You must wear a clean chef’s jacket.
- You must wear black pants.
- If you miss 21% (?!) of your class, you will not pass the class.
- You cannot photocopy your books. And finally my personal favorite-
- You may not eat the food you prepare in class. Food may only be tasted to evaluate its quality under supervision of the chef/instructor.
Of course. You may not eat it, you may only taste it. Perfectly reasonable. Then the signed lists were whisked away from all of us, leaving no one with a copy. These are the important rules. You had your chance to see them, now follow them to the letter or be punished. Perfectly reasonable.
So after the break it took about ten minutes to sign the forms, and then…time for lunch. That, my friends, is some excellent time management.
After an hour or so we coalesced for a “Walking Tour of the City.” First we meandered the few blocks over the other section of the school, the actual kitchen branch. We descended en masse upon three elderly couples eating some sort of fruit crostada that they had no doubt paid a hefty sum to learn to make. They stared up at us with wide eyes, pastry crumbs and sweetened cheese clinging to the corners of their mouths. We stared back confused and shifty. After a few moments the old people went back to their wine and tart and we were hustled back out onto the street.
On the move again, we made our way to the train station. Yes, finally, the train station. How would I ever have known what this was or how to find it without our trusty guide? After sampling its glory, Barbara announced our next stop – on to the Post Office. I tingled with anticipation.
Trundling forward, we passed an interregional bus line office – something that was of interest to me as we are trying to find a cheap way to Naples for Pizzafest ’06. I ducked in for a second to see if I could glean any helpful information and in a deft maneuver, managed to lose a crowd of sixty slowly shuffling people all carrying bright red notebooks. Masterful I know.
Since I remembered that the next highlight attraction was a post office, I got a helpful lady cop to point me toward the nearest one. As it was on the other side of the train station, I took off through the building to see if I could make up some time. Now the train station is about a 100 yards across. In the three minutes or so that it took me to traverse the distance, I was told “You are for the drugs,” “You are against the drugs,” “You look like this particular Italian futbol player,” “Well, no you don’t really, but you do have a mustache.” These were all good to know.
Emerging on the other side I saw nothing. I was about to return to the school when around the corner came my ambling pack of cohorts. I rejoined the pod and we concluded the walking tour by going back through the train station and onto our place of origin. I was enlightened.
Back at the school, it was time to get everyone’s coat measurements and collect the last of the student fees. It was two o’ clock. Displaying more Italian efficiency, they announced that this was not scheduled until three- so we could either wait or leave and come back.
By about four thirty, I was finally able to say "extra-large" and hand them 350 euros. As a final added touch they told us all that they could not possibly give us receipts today as we would all be there until after nine if this were the case. Joyfully, we can pick up our receipts tomorrow when we return for Day Two of orientation.
Day Two Update:
Today we heard more about the ATM vs. Bancomat controversy. Finally, it seems to be becoming clear.
We briefly met all of the head teachers. They seem nice enough and very earnest. Andrea, the head of the culinary arts program, is super intense and seems to want to get down to business. It will be interesting to see if he loosens up as the semester goes on.
Following the introductions, we were treated to not one but two extensive lectures on drinking and how to do it properly. The second was even accompanied by a power point presentation that included slides of fluid and such. (I’ll spare you the pictures).
Barbara gave us the first one:
“Above all Do- Not- Get- Drunk! It is not a useful thing and nobody wants to see it. There is nothing more to say about we don’t like the drunkenness. Do not drink things that are awful. Appreciate good wine. Do not show up to class with a face showing that you had a very, very bad and awful night. If you are drunk do not think to call me. I will come but when I come I will beat you!”
Well said.
After our Don’t Be A Jackass lectures, it was on to placement testing. Since I’m enrolled in the intermediate program I had to prove I wasn’t a ham-fisted hack. The first trial was an insanely hard Italian language deal that I’m pretty sure I mangled. The next were written and practical culinary tests. The written one was fairly easy with questions like How do you make a risotto? and List as many Italian cheeses as you can and describe their culinary applications.
The practical part consisted of making a basic tomato sauce using ingredients from a preselected set. Andrea told us that some of them were included to throw us off – or maybe not. He seemed to really like mine. He said it was tasty and he liked my selection of ingredients, but I should have added the basil later. C'est la vie.
We won’t find out the results until Monday, so here’s to a slightly apprehensive weekend. Wish me luck peoples.
-L. Pants
