A Real Class Act

In addition to the whirlwind that was our first week of restaurant plating production class, my classmates and I had to get our graduation photos taken. Yes, I know... nearly two months away and already we’ve had to get our pictures taken for the big day. Gulp.

We had individual photos with the medals we’ll be given on graduation day, then the photographer, who had absolutely no sense of humor, took us outside for a formal group photo.

There we were, in our cleanest chef’s jackets with our Serious Chef black pants, all arranged standing or sitting, our best "this is for posterity" faces. Then the photographer said we needed to take a couple "candid" shots for our classbook.

My class is many things... dysfunctional within yet fiercely tribal when it comes to dealing with other classes (We Hate Every Other Class Ever), bitchy, catty, back-stabbing, united when it comes to crunch time but always ready to turn on each other the moment the rush is over... For all its faults, however, one thing my class has going for it is a screwball sense of humor.

So when our wooden photographer said it was time to take some candid shots, well, we got candid. For about five seconds, we listened to his instructions ("Everyone lean in and smile..."). Then we spontaneously flashed the peace sign that one classmate (Sunshine) is always giving in photos.

This seemed to annoy the photographer, which delighted us. We responded by starting to remove our clothing in an equally spontaneous fashion (below photo taken by my classmate Momma, who pronounced herself "too fat to be part of this nonsense").

From there, things degenerated quickly, in all senses of the word. The official photographer wandered off in disgust, we changed locations because we felt we’d have better lighting and, well, mugged for the camera. Which is probably what we do best as a class, anyway.

Oh yeah, we’re classy alright. It went downhill from there with my more exhibitionist classmates, but I’ll save those photos for blackmail purposes in years to come.

Some of you who’ve been following my Cookin’ School Saga may notice that one face from the last class photo is missing.

Sadly, Zesty is no longer with us. Yes, it’s tragic, I know. My heart bleeds for the loss. Only not. My one-time teammate, who didn’t know how to zest an orange and couldn’t aerate a mousse to save her life, left us after breads class to "take some time off." We figure she knew she would never pass the second-year practical (hell, none of us thought she had a chance of passing) so she bailed rather than face the same humiliation she went through last year with failing and retaking the first-year practical several times (to be honest, I lost count... two or three retakes for certain). She’s still on campus, auditing some classroom classes and generally being a kiss-ass to the chefs. We think she’s lingering until we graduate, at which time she’ll try to sweet talk her way out of taking the practical, or that she’ll simply stick around until chefs have forgotten she never took it.

In any case, with her gone, class morale has improved. Somewhat. Class class, well, that’s another matter.