Smegma - Usually known as dick cheese, butt cream, or the Rachel Ray.

So to continue from my last Holy Scripture, I was talking about that night with your girlfriend. Wait. No. Don't beat her I was kidding. Actually no, she's a whore. Really though, this is about my leap into culinary, and it updates as much as I mas......master my arts. I have a long road ahead of me, and I'm sure it's filled with trials and tribulations that only I can overcome. Almost like Link, when he has to get all that shit to save Zelda, only to appear in another game to save her bitch ass once more. Women, pfft. So sit back, lie down, bend over do whatever it is you do to read this and enjoy. If it helps your sex life, please send videos to chef_mallah@hotmail.com....for critique......yeah.



So I wore my chef whites. Freakin' sweet. I couldn't be any more happier, even though I didn't really grasp the concept of culinary, I still thought it was cool to look like the others. Now, I didn't have a hat, so they let me wear this brand spanking new skull cap. Now I felt like a pirate. I was ready to plow through whole salmon, rip open and de-bone a lamb leg, boil up a storm and make the world's greatest stock. No. I was handed a knife and about 15 bunches of parsley. Fucking great. Although, I was genuinely excited, because this was my first time cooking in a real kitchen, so I thought 'What the heck?'. So I chopped and chopped and chopped some more until my entire white cutting board was green and my hands stained for god knows how long.

They were impressed at the speed of my knife skills, even though I nearly cut myself several times. I was an amateur. So after that, I was given some more mundane tasks such as peeling potatoes, cutting potatoes, boiling potatoes, and making a 1/100th scale of the last supper with potatoes. After I was done I was told to get changed and go home, to come back the next night and try out night shifts. They were impressed at my speed so they thought, 'Why the hell not, let's try him out'. I was excited. Keep note, this is all for free since it was co-op, but the chef apparently promised to pay me for everything at the end ( He didn't, that french fuck). So I went on home, passing some places and picked up some temporary stuff. Man were they shitty.

I got this crappy Chinese knife, thin as fuck. Some retarded peeler, and a whetstone the size of an eraser. I didn't know what I was doing, leave me alone. I went into work the next day and they all laughed at me. The sous chef came over and patted me on the back. She sympathized and said," I know you're knew, but you could have asked one of us. You look silly with those." I had to make due, since I didn't really have much money at the time. So as service went by, I helped out with prep and some salads. When they needed a tartare, I made it.  I was flying through everything they gave me, until they asked me to go on the line and help get a tray out of the oven. *gulp*

I burned myself, bad. Like a fool, I let the heat of the moment drive me to become the clumsiest mother fucker around, but I kept cool. As I grabbed the tray, with a wet rag, it fell on my hand. I was screaming inside, but I made sure the contents didn't fall. Lo and behold, there was nothing on the tray. I saved a tray. A fucking, stainless steel tray. Fuck me, it hurt. So as the back of my hand started to form a blister and whatnot, I jumped back in the game, impressing my brothers-in-arms. After it was all done, I got a big ol' smack on the back and a cheer from the staff. My first night service, perfectly initiated minus the burn, and something to talk about when I arrive home. They hired me!

I was so damn happy. My second day and I was already hired! People only get hired AFTER their co-op. So in secret, I was getting paid, but I had to wait at least a month. Just for the high school part to be over, then once I started going to college I got my bi-weekly pay. I was still attending high school, but only once a month or so for check ups and whatnot. Fridays were when I went to college and the rest of the week was work. I worked hard, no days off except for the school days. I learned more than I could ever hope for, from people who've been cooking for awhile. Everyone was young mind you, nothing past 27-28. The chef was the oldest, never knew how old, but nothing like the Turtle from Neverending Story. Although he smelled pretty bad.

As time went on, I began absorbing tons of information. I started to care less for school, although when the time came, I showed off my skills. When it came to cooking, I knew what I was doing. Well, sort of. I became enthralled with cooking. I let it drive me to pursue more, never being content with what I currently knew. I would show fellow classmates the quicker way to do things, and even the teacher. When it came to food costs however, my skills dropped. I HATE homework. I just can't do it. As much as I want to, my brain tells me to cook, not to write. Then again, it's probably the way it was taught too, considering our teacher was a heartless wench, hell-bent on making us crack down on numbers. I did, however, try to play the charm card and woo her into giving me a pass. I got her to laugh, smile and even twirl her hair. It was locked down.

Not.

She barely gave me a passing grade, if it wasn't for my awesome menu and somehow glorious cost. I don't know how I pulled it off, but I did. As goes for some other classes which I just winged and passed. I didn't really care for school. I didn't graduate, and I was working full time. When it came to enrolling for second year, I passed the offer. I chose work. Now mind you, this might of been the wrong decision for some, but I really and truly believe it was right. It had to be right. At this time we had some staff changes, people leaving/being replaced. Then we got news. David Ajey was going to be our Consulting Chef.  Fuck yes.

Frenchie moved on to bigger and better things and we all dearly missed him. As an hour passed we forgot about him and started hyping up about Mr. Restaurant Makeover. It was super cool. He also came in with some random, innocent looking doe-faced man. Andrew Bradford. That name will be seared on my chest because he fucking raped me. He taught me almost everything. When I was moving slow, his hard-ass would drive me to go faster. When I nearly chopped my finger off, he bandaged it and told me to return to post. When I yelled, I got chewed out and glared at, I swear to god he's the devil. From the first time you look at him to now, your mind gets butt fucked. He put so much fire under my ass, I swear I could fart Hiroshimas.

To be continued!~