Louisville Magazine

AUG 2015

Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.

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104 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 8.15 in black non-slip shoes, double-breasted white coats with black- and-white checkered pants. Hats will cover hair that's (in some cases) dyed pink or blue. Any piercing holes will be metal-free, fngernails paint-free. And the students will be armed with the knives they bought with part of their tuition. A full-time paramedic named Bill Starks is on staf and sits right across the hall from the kitchens. Each quarter, he tallies the number of frst-time knife cuts on a dry-erase board. Four days after the students get their knives this quarter, the board has seven marks. Te running joke — or at least one that multiple instructors mention — is that, if you chop of your fnger, Louisville's the place to do it, with the Kleinert Kutz Hand Care Center nearby. Gleason, who is 46 and has been teaching at Sullivan for 12 years, has her credentials — CSC (certifed sous chef ) and CHE (certifed hospitality educator) — and name embroidered on her coat. Many of the instructors have worked at the school's National Center for Hospitality Studies for 10 to 20 years. One Portsmouth, England, native spent time cooking for the royal family. Another wrote Te Kentucky Bourbon Cookbook. John Castro, the executive chef at Sullivan's fne-dining restaurant, Winston's, is a veteran of the Louisville restaurant scene and has appeared on Trowdown! with Bobby Flay. In January the school's director of the baking and pastry department ("the dark side," joke some culinary folks) became the frst American to receive the certifcation "master pastry chef." Tis morning, Gleason, who wears her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, says: "One of you could burn everything you do in one day. It happens. Screw up while you're paying 60 grand (for tuition), not while you're getting paid 60 grand. "Always remember: I'm not insulting you. I am critiquing the food and procedures. Sometimes we take that a little personally and are like, 'Oh, my gosh. I embarrassed myself, chef. Tat sauce was horrible.' Yeah, it was horrible, but the next one's gonna be a little better. "No more do we throw things at you or cuss at you. You'll see it on my face. I'm a face person." She tells them to wear their uniforms with pride, that it takes many years to gain respect as chefs, that the brigade system — the French ranking of chef, sous chef, chef de cuisine, etc. — has to do with a "lineage of knowledge." "We are going to use all types of learning to get this knowledge in your head. Any questions? Are you chilly? Keeps you awake." Eighteen months from now, these students — at least the 65 to 70 percent or so who typically stick it out — will earn associate degrees in culinary arts. Sullivan's culinary program is one branch of the school's National Center for Hospitality Studies, which also ofers degrees in baking and pastry arts, event management and tourism, hotel and restaurant management, professional catering, and beverage management. Tis fall, NCHS will have nearly 1,000 students — about 250 of them earning a culinary degree Sautéed skate niçoise that skin crisp, but at the same time, you want to render the fat out of that skin." "You don't have to put cinnamon in sweet potatoes every time you make them. You realize that, right?" "You gotta keep things in proportion. If I'm serving a three- ounce piece of pork, I don't need eight ounces of starch." "And this — what is this? Lemon mashed potatoes? You want to be real careful adding acids to starches. One, it's going to neutralize the salt. Tis needs salt. And acid will break down starch quickly. It'll make your potatoes mushy." He gets to Freitas, who is last in line. "Pork. Little overcooked. Sauce looked good, but it's been sitting under this heat lamp for a little while. Got good favor. Pretty salty. Cook that pork loin, then cut it. You'll do a lot better." Freitas takes it well. "Tere's always a technique," she says. "And there's a rhythm and an order to things. We're still learning at this stage." On the frst day of the quarter, in late June, chef Danielle Gleason explains the course requirements to 16 frst-day students. "We get on you about piercings, earrings, jewelry — things of that nature," she says. "We don't like to think that people judge us; it's a horrible thing. But I don't want a guy cooking my cheeseburger who looks like he just worked on my car. OK?" Te class — many of them 18-year-olds in fip-fops, hoodies and jeans — are in one of Sullivan's 11 kitchens, where they'll learn basics such as sauces, knife-cutting skills and product identifcation. Tey nod along to Gleason's introduction. Some chuckle. Some roll their eyes. Tey're mostly quiet, probably because it's 8:30 a.m. and likely the frst time they're not getting a summer vacation from school. Within the week, they'll be dressed "One of you could burn everything you do in one day. It happens. Screw up while you're paying 60 grand (for tuition), not while you're getting paid 60 grand." — instructor Danielle Gleason

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