If an artichoke could press itself up against a window, like a five-year-old ogling a pastry shop, it would look like the artichoke I'm holding in my hand -- flattened on one side, bulging and misshapen on the other. For a moment, I'm flummoxed: How am I supposed to trim this stubborn hunk of spikes?
"Try to follow the shape of the artichoke," advises Susan Spicer, 46, chef at Bayona, a four-star restaurant in the French Quarter of New Orleans, and proprietor of Spice Inc., a one-stop cooking school, gourmet shop, and gathering place for local foodies in that city's Warehouse District. "In my first restaurant job, I had to prep a case of artichokes every morning. Somehow, artichokes know what shape they want to be. Pay attention, and you'll know too."
So I pay attention, in the same way that tens of thousands of other food-obsessed people are paying attention in similar classes at thousands of cooking schools across the country. Anyone who has watched the steady profusion of designer pizzas, techno-sushi, and neo-Thai and American-bistro cuisines won't be surprised to learn that cooking-school enrollment has skyrocketed by 500% in the past 10 years.
The reason for this boom in popularity, explains Dorothy Cann Hamilton, who launched the French Culinary Institute, is that people are eating out more: "They're trying new foods and flavors, and their palates are outgrowing their knowledge of food. So when they cook at home, they want to prepare something special."
"Cooking classes demystify the art of fine dining," adds Spicer. People don't want to learn to make every dish. What they really want is to see how a great dish is made -- to understand that it's not magic."
In fact, a bit of magic -- or at least a bit of alchemy -- does go into transforming a bag of groceries into a memorable meal. That's why eight of us apprentice sorcerers have gathered at Spice: to prepare a multicourse meal with a master chef, to pick up a few tips, and to find out what it takes to turn a series of recipes into a fluid progression of tastes and textures.
Spicer holds court in her high-ceilinged demo kitchen. Our group of four men and four women -- a Big Easy-style mix of on-the-go free agents and change agents -- gathers around a modern slate-topped work island. A large overhead mirror provides a bird's-eye view of Spicer's technique from any spot in the room.
The lesson unfolds: a four-course neo-Cajun meal whose ingredients include Spicer's multicultural repertoire of chefly secrets, along with the class's curiosity and instant camaraderie -- both of which are helped along by enough wine to keep us all moist. Total (learning) time: four hours. Serves: one master chef and eight acolytes.
"When putting together a meal, look for unusual combinations of ingredients -- dishes that bring together favorite flavors and textures in surprising ways," advises Spicer, who then guides us through the evening's menu.
First course: Crabmeat and Artichoke Gratin. This is a traditional New Orleans recipe, with an untraditional twist. "Crab gratin is a classic," says Spicer. "But I also want to show that you can do more with an artichoke than just steam it."
Second course: Bayona Crispy-Smoked-Quail Salad. Bobwhite quail -- a traditional southern game bird -- is treated to two traditional southern-cooking methods: smoking and frying. But instead of corseting the bird with an egg-batter armor, as is customary, Spicer opts to coat it with a light mixture containing finely milled white-rice flour.
Third course: Crayfish Curry. "We've all had your basic "Joy of Cooking" shrimp curry," says Spicer. "So I thought I'd mix things up by substituting crayfish and by tossing in pineapple juice and adorning the dish with lime pickle."
Dessert: Coffee Pots de Crème. This dessert is like crème brûlée, only without the burnt-sugar crust. Spicer thinks that a sweet pudding will smooth out the curry's jumble of textures and flavors. "This also lets us use coffee as an ingredient in the meal, instead of using it only as a beverage."
Four courses, four new ideas. All that remains is the execution.
Almost every chef I know has the same take on prep work: Do as much of it as possible before the cooking begins. To prep well, you've got to wield a knife skillfully. Cutting is important, Spicer explains, because the size and thickness of ingredients determine whether they are cooked uniformly. Size and thickness are among the few variables in cooking that you can fully control.
Before turning us loose with sharp blades, Spicer demonstrates some basic chopping and slicing techniques. For instance, to make slicing an onion easier, she cuts off one side of the onion so that it rests flat on the cutting surface. Then she deftly slices the onion with a rocking motion, keeping the point of the knife on the chopping board as she lifts the knife's handle to do the chopping. Used properly, the knife serves as a lever.
I pick up a paring knife and attempt to trim an artichoke so that all that remains are its edible innards. As I struggle to a finish, I realize that I need lots more practice.