Yes, I’ve been to culinary school. I like to consider myself a pretty decent (alright, a damn good) cook. Sure, I know how to make pizza from scratch, and I can achieve the creamy custardy consistency required to make ice cream taste so smooth it feels like silk in your mouth. Heck, I can even bake (and braid, mind you) a fantastic loaf of challah bread and I know, if given a second chance and the right types of flour, that I can knock a gluten-free pie crust outta the freakin’ park. Yes, siree. I felt downright proud making it through the last year and learning the intricacies of baking, the mother sauces derived from classic French cuisine, and even how to butcher a chicken, duck, cornish hen, or any other two-legged bird I could get my hands (or my knife, rather) on. Instead of all of those things,...
