A Blast From Holidays Past

The alcove in my living room adorned with The Bells of Christmas draped in lighted garland. Bells manufactured in 1992.

I often times long for the simpler times of yesteryear, when my biggest worry was what was for dinner on any given night. No NWO, no COVID, no piles of bills, no job, no nothing.

The same is true of the holiday season. It seems like the longer time goes on, the more I just don’t really look forward to holidays that much. It’s nice to see the family, sure, but they bring all sorts of stress in the form of shopping, traveling, car trouble, etc. Above all, the one who loved me the most as a kid is no longer here to celebrate them with me.

Alas, there is one little bit of holiday cheer that keeps me tethered to those times, even now, and is a direct link to my great-grandmother. The Bells of Christmas were light-up musical bells that were manufactured by the company Mr. Christmas from 1989 through 1992. I remember seeing them at what was then ALCO with my great-grandmother for the first time and being so enamored with them that my great-grandmother pleaded with my mother to buy a set.

It’s the one time my mother caved on something of that sort.

So around 1990-ish I got my first set of Bells of Christmas. I forgot what happened, but this set didn’t last long, and in 1992 (the very last year they were made) my mom was nice enough to get a brand new set. That wound up working out OK – because the 1992 version actually had some nice improvements – an expanded song bank (21 as opposed to 15 songs), a remote control, and actually a better sounding music box than the older versions.

This set lasted through my undergrad years, and my parents put them up along with the tree every year, surrounding our fireplace (when we lived in Roswell), and later our entertainment center (when we moved to Texas). When they finally gave up the ghost, it stung because it was like that link to the past, and my great-grandmother, were severed.

Fast-forward to just last year. I decided to go on the hunt for a set. I popped up a practically new-in-box set of the 1992 production run on eBay and snagged them up quickly. This is the 2nd year I’ve had them, but the first year I’ve had the garland to go with them to make a good looking display.

And here they are, hung around the alcove in the living room, in much the same fashion we used to hang them as a kid. That link that I’d been longing for had been resurrected, and while the holiday season is marred with the memory of her passing, I keep that memory alive now with a brand new set of Bells of Christmas, just as I remembered them all those years past.

Enjoy the music, especially if you had a set as a kid.

 

Gone 20 Years

I should be over the moon today, shouldn’t I? I just graduated from The CIA, I already have a job offer (I start the Tuesday after Christmas), everything is looking up. Alas, I’m not. I’m feeling very, very sad today.

December 19th is never an easy day for me.

It was about 3:00 PM twenty years ago today that I saw my great-grandmother for the last time. That sight will forever be etched into my brain, and it’s not a pretty one. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, and her breathing sounded very aqualung. I didn’t want it to be real, but I knew that likely was the last time I would see her. When she became totally unresponsive, my dad called 911 and she was taken by ambulance to the hospital.

She didn’t even make it to the hospital.

From that day on, my life as I knew it was gone. My only support system had been yanked out from under me. On some level, my parents were always ashamed of me, because I wasn’t normal. They just didn’t understand. My beloved great-grandmother always did, and accepted me for who I am, including my differences.To make matters worse, my mother’s harsh words echoed in my head – “you’re probably the one who gave [the flu] to her!” Not something you say to your kid under any circumstances.

Fast-forward 20 years later. The seeds she planted in me from a young age have finally grown and blossomed. Having just walked the stage, I reflect on the countless hours we spent watching Yan Can Cook on PBS. I had no idea then that those were seeds being planted, only to spout and blossom at the right time, becoming a chef myself. I know I’ve done countless things that she’s not too proud of (and I’m not proud of those things either), but I only hope I redeemed myself from the many transgressions I committed in my 20s up through my early 30s, and have finally become the person I should have been all along, and that she would be proud of me today.

Be well, hiiobaasan. Until we meet again. Thank you for everything you did for me during the 15 (almost 16) years we had together, and for everything you continue to do from the other side.

I’ll never forget that sweet, bright smile. Who could?

I Guess I’m a Chef Now…

It’s been 24 hours and it’s finally just hitting me. I’m officially a graduate of the country’s most prestigious culinary school. I guess that means I can officially call myself “Chef,” even if I don’t have that work title yet.

This has been an experience unlike any other. I learned so much in my time at The CIA, but most important is that I learned that there is still so much I don’t know. It’s said the more you know, the more you realize you don’t know. That surely applies here.

This chapter of my life has now come to a close, but I couldn’t be more excited to turn the page and start the next chapter of my life. What’s in store for me? Only time will tell, but I have the feeling this is only the start of something big. Marcus Lemonis always told the businesses he rescued to “trust the process” – so that’s what I’m going to do here.

With that, it’s onward and upward for me!

Pictures from the day:

Receiving the Katharine Angell Academic Achievement Award for being the class valedictorian.

Receiving my diploma.

Picture with James Beard Award winner Chef Edgar Rico, who was kind enough to be our guest speaker.

After party at Re:Rooted 210 Urban Winery right here in San Antonio. They really went over the top, and yes, it was cold but I showed up in my signature “Davy” Dukes anyway, much to the amusement of my classmates (I owed it to them, after only teasing them with photos of a younger me wearing them – they’d never seen me in person wearing anything other than my chef uniform otherwise).

Where Has The Time Gone? (Or, My Last Day of Culinary School)

I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. It doesn’t seem real. It feels too surreal.

Today, for the last time, I will be walking into Savor, the teaching restaurant at The Culinary Institute of America – San Antonio, for the last time (as a student anyway). Just over 24 hours from now, I will be donning my CIA Alumnus chef coat as I take my place in the procession lineup for the December, 2022 commencement ceremony. I never missed a day of school (I’ll be the only perfect attendance award in my cohort) and I will be graduating as the class valedictorian with a 3.9+ GPA, despite never having worked in a restaurant prior to coming to school. Not too bad if I do say so myself.

If I were to be honest, my culinary school stint seems somewhat like a blur. I don’t remember a whole lot of it, as much of my memory of the daily grind has been muddied by the stress of strict production timelines, uniform standards, multiple cuts and burns, and a significant amount of verbal abuse from instructors (here’s looking at two of you in particular, Chef Jew from Queens and Chef Viet-Nazi), and a tyrannical administration imposing jab mandates starting our Tri-2 and then a ridiculous health insurance mandate starting Tri-5 for us, for which my change check was almost $1,900 less than it had been in the past. These things definitely took their toll on my mental and physical health, and I am coming out the other end of the program with a plethora of additional emotional scars and a handful of additional physical ones.

All that said, I am taking away some very important lessons from school – the importance of mise-en-place (things in place), a whole new set of skills to add to my cooking arsenal (how to properly hold a knife, how to bake, braise, stew, pan-fry, how to use a wok), and I learned about various world cultures and cuisines worldwide. Unfortunately right now, these are eclipsed by the tyrannical way in which the school is run, and I’m left with an overall bad taste in my mouth.

Maybe one day, I will look back on this journey more fondly than I do in this moment. If someone were to ask me if I would recommend The CIA, I would have to say no. I would recommend any of the other great culinary schools in this country that are as good in terms of curriculum, but might not have the same level of name recognition in the general public eye. It’s more about what you can do and what you learn than where you go to school (if you even go to culinary school at all – there are many great chefs out there who never went).

As for what’s next for me? I already have a job offer at a location of a small fast-casual Asian restaurant chain, not just as a cook, but as a manager-in-training. One area school did not train us at all in is managerial skills – something I will need to have to run my own business someday. I’m hoping this next step in my life’s journey will give me those skills, and I hope to launch my own business as soon as I feasibly can. Another next step for me at some point will be to become a Certified Sommelier, which will be quite a difficult task, but the instructor I had for Wine Studies gave me his full blessing, as he believes I have the knowledge and love of wine to be able to do it.

While I reflect on my stay, I don’t dwell too much on it, and I am excited to begin the next chapter of my life, where I hope to go out and make a name for myself and live the true “American Dream” – self-employment. It seems that this part of the dream is no longer taught in the dumpster fire that is public education today, which is a damn shame.

With that, here’s to an upcoming new year and hopefully a new and improved me!