\nBy late 1950, I felt ready to take my final examination and earn my diplome from the Cordon Bleu in Paris. Bur when I asked Mme. Brassart, the school’s director, to schedule the test -politely, at first, then with an increasing insistence -my requests were met with stony silence. The truth is chat Mme. Brassart and I got on each other’s nerves. She seemed co think that awarding a student a diploma was like inducting them into some kind of secret society; as a result, the school’s hallways were filled with an air of petty jealousy and distrust. From my perspective, Mme. Brassart lacked professional experience, was a terrible administrator and tangled herself up in picayune details and politics. Because of it’s exalted reputation, the Cordon Bleu’s pupils came from all over the globe. But the lack of a qualified and competent head was hurting the school – and could damage the reputation of French cooking, or even France herself, in the eyes of the world.
\nI was sure that the little question of money had something to do with Mme. Brassart’s evasiveness. I had taken the “professional” course in the basement rather than the “regular” (more expensive) course upstairs, which she had recommended; I never ate at the school; and she didn’t make as much money out of me as she would have liked. It seemed to me that the school’s director should have paid less attention co centimes and more attention to her students, who, after all, were -or could be her best publicity.
\nAfter waiting and waiting for my exam to be scheduled, I sent Mme. Brassart a stern letter in March 1951, noting that “all my American friends and even the U.S. ambassador himself” knew I had been slaving away at the Cordon
\nBleu, “morning, noon and night.” I insisted that I take the exam .before I left on a long-planned trip to the United States in April. If there was not enough space at the school, I added, then I would be happy to cake the exam in my own well-appointed kitchen.
\nMore time passed, and still no response. I was good and fed up and finally spoke to Chef Bugnard, my professor, about the mat.ter. He agreed to make inquiries on my behalf. Lo and behold, Mme. Brassart suddenly scheduled my exam for the first week in April. Ha! I continued to hone my_ technique, memorize\u00a0proportions and prepare myself in every way I could think of . . On the big day, I arrived at the school, and they handed me a little typewritten card that said, “Write out the ingre\u00addients for the following dishes, to serve three people: oeufs mollets; cotelettes de veau en surprise; creme ren\u00adversee au caramel.” I stared at the card in disbelief.
\nDid I remember what an oeuf molter was? No. How could I miss that? (I later discovered that it was eggs that have been coddled and then peeled.) How about the veau\u00b7 “en surprise”? No. (A sauteed veal chop with duxelles, or hashed mushrooms, on either side, overlayed with ham slices and all wrapped up in a paper bag – the “surprise” – that is then browned in the oven.) Did I remember the exact proportions for caramel custard? No.
\nZut alors, and flute!
\nI was stuck, and had no choice but to make everything up. I knew I would fail the practi\u00adcal part of the exam. As for the written exam, I was asked how to make fond brun, how to cook green vegetables and how to make sauce bearnaise. I answered them fully and cor\u00adrectly. But that didn’t take away the sting.
\nI was furious at myself. There was no excuse for not remembering what a molet was or, especially, the details of a caramel custard. I could never have guessed at the veau en surprise, though, as the paper wrapping was just a lot of tomfoolery – the kind of gimmicky dish a little newlywed would serve up for her first dinner party to epater the boss’s wife. Caught up in my own romanticism, I had focused on learning far more challenging fare – filers de sole a la WaJewska, poularde Toulousaine, sauce Venetienne. Woe!
\nThere were no questions about complicated dishes or sauces, no discussion about which techniques and meth\u00adods I’d use. Instead, they wanted me to memorize basic recipes taken from the little Cordon Bleu booklet, a pub\u00adlication written for beginner cooks that I had hardly both\u00adered to look at. This exam was far too simple for someone who had devoted six months of hard work to cooking school, not to mention countless hours of her own time in the markets and behind the srove.
\nMy disgruntlement was supreme, my amour-propre enraged, my bile overboiling. Worst of all, it was my own fault.
\nI despaired that the school would ever deign to grant me a certificate. Me, who could pluck, flame, empty and cut up a whole chicken in 12 minutes flat! Me, who could stuff a sole with forcemeat of weakfish and serve it with a sauce au vin blanc such as Mme. Brassart could never hope to taste the perfection of! Me, the supreme mistress of mayonnaise, hollandaise, cassoulets, choucroutes, blanquettes de veau, pommes de terre Anna, souflee Grand Marnier, fonds d’anichauts, onions glacees, mousse de faisan en gelee, balancines, galantines, terrines, pates, laitues braisees\u00a0… me, alas!
\nLater that afternoon, I slipped down to the Cordon Bleu’s basement kitchen by myself. I opened the school’s booklet, found the recipes from the examination – oeufs mollets with sauce bearnaise, cotclettes de veau en surprise and creme renversee au caramel – and whipped them all up in a cold, clean fury. Then I ate them.<\/p>\n
Cotelettes de Veau en Surprise (Veal Chops Surprise)\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Creme Renversee au Caramel (Caramel Custard)\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Julia Child was an author of “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” and the host of “The French Chef.” She died in 2004. Alex Prud’homme, Childs’s nephew, is the author of “The Cell Game.” This article is an excerpt from “My Life in France,” by Julia Child with Alex Prud’homme, to be published in April.<\/em> By late 1950, I felt ready to take my final examination and earn my diplome from the Cordon Bleu in Paris. Bur when I asked Mme. Brassart, the school’s director, to schedule the test -politely, at first, then with an increasing insistence -my requests were met with stony silence. The truth is chat Mme.…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n\n
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\nPhotograph by Paul Child<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"