Ahh yes the Hudson valley, with its lush green rolling hills sloping down to the river for which its named, then up the Adirondacks to the west. Its breath taking scenery eclipsed only by the fables and stories of its past.Farms, winery's,producers of artisanal goodies now dot the landscape, once the domain of hippies, escapees from the city and the occasional redneck. Let us not forget Woodstock, Dylan and the Band and of coarse Tim Leary,Roosevelt , and Vanderbuilt all had their place here. So it seems weirdly fitting that a fledgling culinary school would thrive in such a place. The CIA of the late seventies was not the CIA of today. Roth Hall, the diner, A,B,&C dorms was pretty much it. No gym, no building housing the library,no specialized restaurants, not much donated this and that. It was our treks down route 9 to Marist, that was our haven for such luxuries. The upside to this you may ask? We knew where all the bars, liquor stores and various dens of inequity lay. Cool just the places we love. Gaffney's, to this day I can still taste those quarter pickled eggs, quarter drafts, and quarter pool. Conversation with the Gaffer himself .....priceless. School was much like the kitchen, the shifts were shorter, but the beer tasted every bit as good. Students today look so, so professional. They look like the guys we'd pick on for not drinking to within an hour of class. The ground work laid by intense hours of indulgences, sweat, blood, by nonconforming misfits such as ourselves now broadly supports those who we once looked upon with suspicion.Karma.What other well respected school had their president playing on its hockey team? Top that Harvard. Of course there's lake Ohta, named so for our OTB Japanese classmate/ party animal Sam. It sat proudly between B & C. The famed autumn light of the Hudson valley reflecting off its olive brown surface,made for a grand spectacle,save the smell. In all of its frozen majesty,winter was magical in all of its testicle shrinking frigidness , it became the shortcut of choice. Never mind that roll of razor edged knives, obvious lack of balance, or even the rush of endorphins when head meets ice. Hey I wonder who rolled security's jeep into that beautiful expanse of a cow pond?
We considered ourselves special, we lived in Roth hall. Ten by twenty , ceilings forty feet high, a sink, a window, bathrooms down the hall these were the monks cells. Contemplation of God and sins was the idea. We chose the former. Ironic. The first words from my roommate? " Wanna smoke?" This coming from the pursed lips of a fat, balding at 20, bespectacled, dorky looking dude. As it turns out we had much in common. Like him I wanted to be a chef, check. Like him I never looked like a stoner, check. Like him we got stuck contemplating like monks how to get into the real dorms. Advantage us. We only had to stagger down stairs to the kitchens, all warm and cozy, stroke inducing hangovers an obstacle tackled like Krispy Cremes on Kirsty Ally's night stand. All the while our brethren had to trudge ,from their Motel Sixesque rooms [ yeh I know its not a word]across to Roth hall. Testicle shrinking, nipple hardening, mind numbing cold held no sway,their task,punctuality. So we figured that hey lets dull the shame by ingesting large amounts of alcohol. Note; Beefeaters and Keebler Fudgestripes do not mix under any circumstances, lest projectile vomiting commence.
Organizing the first class kegger, hey we're all chefs, chefs drink, right? Worst case scenario we get piss drink on first class eve, best case scenario, a night of carnal lust. Alcohol is the great equalizer. It cuts thru all lines of society, race, age etc. Held on the cliff overlooking the Hudson, directly above the Montreal express tracks, cold beer, warm bonfire it was a success. Success this time measured by percent of mates hanging, divided by number of fence posts used for bon fire, equals denial to Dean of Students by virtue its only our third day.
First kitchen, baking 1. Class starts at 4:00 am sharp. The anticipation of how can we impress the most, weighed heavily that night. So in our new uniforms Sid and I walked down stairs to the sub floors where the bakeshops are found. Cutting through an outside door we encountered a dark figure leaning perilously against the wall. Heaving like a pro,vomit artistically splattered we quietly passed him in the predawn darkness. Auspicious start as he turned out to be our chef instructor. Hmmm someone to look up to? To emulate? maybe. We tried.
Chartreuse, no not the color, but the six hundred year old elixir for a long life, brought forth by the Carthusian Monks for the pleasure of the chosen few. Carolyn, Doug and myself. Actually it was Doug who by the grace of God, turned us on to it. Carolyn, with her glowing blond hair, infectious smile, quick wit and out going personality, really scared the shit out of me for the first year. J.C.Papini legendary chef par excel-lance, always refereed to her as "Miss Carolyn" all the while trying to get her to go Bear hunting at his cabin ---- bear hunting? yeh right. She had an apartment in Poughtown, scene of at least one great debacle of a party. Note: Seconal and liquor yippee. Doug was way more layed back. Either one I would have never guessed, we joined together to form the Champagne Cocaine Society Extraordinaire. To all else known as the C&C club.CIA had the Beer and Ale Society, Movie Club, Vets Club, Suck my Ass club so we officialy known to the school as the Champagne Society. Fooled more than one instructor. Upon questioning our diversion of flutes from downstairs, wines and spirits instructor even offered school assets for our meetings,A beautiful 69 Dom Rose, not realizing we lacked official sanctioning. Meeting location, Doug's Roth Hall cell. We imposed the strictest methods of evaluation for the Champagnes and illicit substances garnered for each impromptu occasion. Champagne, a social beverage for a few hundred years, has always brought out the best in people. Likewise Cocaine has had a similar effect, just ask Dr. Freud. Of course there was food, borrowed from the slim pickings found in the great hall down stairs and thoughtfully prepared by Doug on his Colemans camping stove ala minute. Our last meal meal so prepared, Shad roe beurre noisette. Into this wonderful mix, and yes it was wonderful, two great people. Now I don't remember impetus for the first meeting, it doesn't matter. Nor does it matter how they were as students. What does matter is that after all these years I have always remembered them as they were, and feel like a real asshole for not keeping in touch. This all changed recently for the good. Doug I would recognize him even after all these years. Carolyn comes for vacation here only a few miles from my home. You see she is one of those, snowbirds. Though it has been some thirty years I'm sure they haven't changed, that down inside they are still those two which drank, partook, laughed,and had the time of our life with. You see this was our thing, La Cosa Nostra of sorts. Graduation came, Carolyn went there, Doug , he went over there, and I came all the way here.
Hey I still have my Tee shirt and membership card.
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