When our platoon of preppers completes its chopping, Spicer puts some fire under the pans and begins caramelizing the vegetables. We take turns sautéing, stirring, and scraping up the brown bits on the bottom of each pan. All of us, except Ricky Lemann, work on the first three courses of the meal. Lemann, 39, who owns Loa, a hip new bar located in the International House hotel, is the designated dessert guy.
To make a dessert, you need separate knives and a separate work surface: Who wants to taste garlic in an apple pie? Of equal importance: Who wants to prepare dessert after eating a filling meal and downing a couple of bottles of Château Margaux? At that point, all you really want to do is serve the dessert. So the solution is to work on the dessert while you're working on all of the other dishes. Once the meal is served, all that should stand between you and your dinner's finale is a small finishing touch.
Any chef who gives you a recipe expects you to follow that recipe -- up to a point. A recipe is a good guide, but it is not Holy Writ. Ingredients will always be riper, sweeter, or sharper (or less so) than any recipe can anticipate. To get the right balance of flavors, master chefs adjust a recipe's seasonings accordingly, and that requires careful tasting and fine-tuning.
So the rule in general is this: Don't follow the rules exactly -- unless you're making a dessert. Lemann learned that lesson the hard way when the pots de crème came out a little runny. "I used two fewer egg yolks than the recipe called for," he admits. Cooking may be an art, but cooking desserts is an exact science.
The room is full of cooking aromas. Spicer is shaking pans, adding ingredients, commenting on the food's progress. We drink wine and go about our assignments. Within a half hour, a group of strangers has become a gathering of chatting friends. "There's a natural camaraderie in cooking," says class member Linda Caporaletti, 39, who consults to such companies as Union Carbide and MCI WorldCom. "Cooking lets shy people feel included and gives extroverts a way to express themselves without dominating everyone else."
Our group provides living proof of Caporaletti's point. As sociability gains an upper hand, we drift away from the prep area, leaving the chef to complete the meal. "I'm used to that," says Spicer. "People learn a few things, and then they're ready to party. Hey, this is New Orleans."
Peter Kaminsky (pkaminsky@aol.com) is writing a book with Peggy Fleming titled "The Long Program" (to be published by Pocket Books in October).
You don't have to look far to find a good cooking class. If you live in a town that has some good restaurants, chances are that the chefs at those restaurants serve up occasional courses or demos. But if you want one source that covers the whole smorgasbord of classes, then pick up the "Guide to Cooking Schools," published by ShawGuides.
The guide is updated annually and covers nearly every form of cooking instruction, from a full-blown professional course, to a one-night session with your favorite cookbook author, to a sensualist's tour of the vineyards of Burgundy (with some tips on foie gras thrown in). There are also lists of apprenticeships, wine courses, and food-and-wine organizations.
A great cyber assistant in your search is the ShawGuides Web site, which describes more than 1,000 schools, highlights upcoming programs, and provides a selection of "Quick Tips." The site is searchable by various criteria, such as cuisine, time of year, and location.
Coordinates: $22.95. ShawGuides Inc., www.shawguides.com
Everyone has a bible for cooking, A book whose stuck-together, gravy-stained pages proclaim that this is the guide that you use when you're getting serious about cooking. When I learned to cook, "Joy of Cooking" and "Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking" were my bibles. They're still great. But now I have a new book in my kitchen that's becoming dog-eared and getting dripped on: Mark Bittman's "How to Cook Everything: Simple Recipes for Great Food."
Bittman, who writes a weekly column ("The Minimalist") for the New York Times, is conversant in all the multicultural cooking styles that have become popular since the heyday of Julia and Joy. His book, with more than 1,500 recipes, is both easy to follow and encyclopedic. Plus, the glossary will prove to be a lifesaver when you forget what "salsify" means, or if you don't know the difference between basting and braising.
Coordinates: $25. Macmillan General Reference, www.mgr.com