Starting from scratch

One and a half week into vacation and my students' faces are starting to become fuzzy and their names are a distant memory. Life is now happily filled with catching up on TV shows. One of them is the Chef Jeff project on Food tv. I'll let Food tv do the explaining. 

About the Show

Jeff Henderson grew up on the tough streets of South Central L.A. and San Diego. At 19 he was running a $35,000-a-week cocaine operation. At 24, Jeff was arrested and sent to prison, where he spent the next ten years. While incarcerated, Jeff discovered a passion for cooking and the drive to turn his life around. Jeff became Executive Chef at Café Bellagio in Las Vegas, wrote a bestselling book, and now he is focusing on giving back. In The Chef Jeff Project, he takes six at-risk young adults and commits to turning their lives around by putting them to work in his catering company, Posh Urban Cuisine. He arms them with the knowledge, the skills and, ultimately, the opportunity for a new life with a culinary career.

I was watching the very first episode when Chef Jeff laid down the gauntlet of the first challenge: to make your signature dish in 45 minutes. I've seen a Top Chef episode that featured a similar challenge, so in my mind popped up images of foie gras terraines, delicately poached eggs with shaved truffles, or a meringue floating in a sea of creme anglaise with passion fruit foam.  

Instead I cringed as I watched one student stand there helpless for 15 minutes saying, "I don't even know how to cook!" Maria, who had the vision of making a quesadilla, proceeded to burn her chorizo. And Shante chopped her shrimp in an unbelievable snail's pace because her long acrylic nails were getting in the way. The presented "signature dishes" were garlic mashed potatoes, a limp salad from the girl who couldn't cook, and spam masubi dubbed as "South Central Sushi". I was appalled for the contestants and Chef Jeff who had to taste each dish. But he surprised me by calmly and seriously tasting each dish and offering genuine commentary. He didn't crack a joke at the laughably amateur signature dishes. 

It reminded me of a time when my friend helped me grade papers and she turned to me in disbelief asking, "Are these 7th graders?" Let's just say that she wasn't dumbfounded by my students' extraordinary talents. After trying to decipher sloppy scribbles that wouldn't have made more sense if it were written neatly, I don't blame her. I wanted to shove those papers and them into a closet, ashamed of not only them, but of my own teaching abilities. But I shouldn't be embarrassed at all. I need to pop my snooty visions of creme brulee and tuna tartare, and instead accept and respect my students for who they are and what they can offer. If all they can make is packaged jello, then hey, jello it is. I love jello. From there, who knows how far they'll go and what they'll be able to create.