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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LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 8.15 107 Seared salmon with white bean ragoût out when we're doing a fsh demo or a chicken demo," Akmon says. "Tey've just never seen it before. Kids these days, they grow up, they see a chicken nugget, you know what I mean? 'What is that?' 'Chicken, man.' "We've got a diverse population. Everybody has their issues. Hypoglycemic. Epileptic," he says. Gleason says students who can't tolerate four wear facemasks. "Some people say, 'I'm allergic to shrimp.' No, you're not — you just don't like it," she says. Some students are recovering alcoholics or might abstain from drinking for religious reasons, so the school does not force them to use alcohol as an ingredient. Loriann Felmey is a vegetarian. At 43, she says she's "probably one of the older people in class," though Akmon says that some students enroll as they near retirement age and want to pursue a lifelong cooking passion. (One current student who is about 55 and a practicing physician already has a concept for a fast-casual vegetarian restaurant.) Felmey tastes meat to learn how to prepare it but says she is nervous about her second quarter of classes. On the frst day, she must truss a chicken — essentially, tie up a raw bird's wings and legs — and section it into eight parts. At that chicken-trussing class, chef Robert Beighey shows students the "lay of the lab" — where to fnd the pasta equipment, the can opener, curing salts, soy protein concentrate, high-gluten four, panko crumbs, vinegars, cooking liquors, chemicals for farces. Te school goes through more than 2,000 chickens per quarter. One student with long dreadlocks pulled away from his face asks, "What's a farce?" Beighey tells him it's a flling or stufng. (Later, I talk to a student who describes a farce's ingredients: ground meat, eggs, vegetables, favorings. "Basically bologna," she says. "I couldn't eat hot dogs for a while after learning about farces.") Beighey has the students get out cutting boards, chickens, buckets of ice, some twine and boning knives. One kid starts sharpening his knife in a rhythmic pattern of metal scraping metal. Te students form a circle around Beighey. "What color should the chicken be? Should it be purple?" he asks the class. "Yes, because it's been on ice. Should it be white or yellow? Depends. If it's been raised on corn, it's going to be yellow. Tese farm-raised ones are usually more white. Odor? You don't want to have that ammonia smell. And broken bones indicate the bird has been mishandled. "Now, give it a little dance," he says, holding up the bird by the drumsticks and moving it around. "Massage it, loosen up the joints. You don't want the bird to be prudish; you want the legs open." Ten he gets out the twine. "Why do you truss? Even cooking. What else? To retain the moisture or favor. What else? Even browning." While he shows them the right way to wrap the twine around the bird, some students use their smartphones to document the lesson. Ten they go back to their stations at diferent tables to attempt the task themselves. Some seem confdent and work quickly. Others glance at their neighbors. Some look like they're tying their shoes for the frst time. James Moran, now the 31-year-old chef de cuisine at Seviche, worked in kitchens as a kid growing up in Louisville before deciding it wasn't for him. He went to Western Kentucky to get an international business degree but continued to earn money in kitchens as a college student and realized, "Hey, maybe this is for me." He looked up the best schools and Sullivan was one of the top results. At school he says he was a "huge geek" and went in with the frame of mind that, though he was experienced, he shouldn't waste his time and money going in there with his nose in the air. He'd refuse dates to focus on studies, and he worked 60 hours a week at the since-closed NuLu restaurant 732 Social. "Sixty hours a week plus school?" I blurt out. "Oh, I ain't done yet," the chef says in a twang that hints at his 10 years in Bowling Green. "Sixty hours at Social, 20 hours at Asiatique for my internship and 23 hours in school. I was averaging eight hours of sleep a week. Luckily, I was prescribed Adderall at that time." He says that the hard work paid of. Before graduating in 2011, he had knocked $15,000 of his tuition by winning cooking competitions. (Any high school student who wins a national cooking competition earns a $10,000 Sullivan scholarship.) Without getting too specifc, Moran says he now makes more than $50,000 a year and that it's not unheard of for hard- working chefs to make $80,000. "I tell you what, I was getting those $9-an-hour jobs, but while I was taking that pay cut I was strengthening my resume and sharpening my skills. It's not always about money," he says. "Sometimes you have to sacrifce. Perfect example: I was making $24 an hour when I frst moved back. I "Now, give it a little dance. Massage it, loosen up the joints. You don't want the bird to be prudish; you want the legs open." — instructor Robert Beighey on trussing a chicken

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