Basic Pastry Exam

We were nervous, my friends and I, but we were prepared.  The day of the Final Exam had finally arrived.

I was too nervous to sit around at home and wait until it was time to come to school, so I left even earlier than usual (which is pretty early) and arrived a little over an hour before the exam was to begin.  I ironed my uniform, bought a crisp, clean new toque, and sat with my classmates, speculating about what was about to take place.

Our friend, Tanvi, had taken the exam the previous day, as each section had its own time block.  She informed us that there were only three different cakes in her practical, and three recipes to write for the “Bon d’Économat” portion.  Knowing which six recipes her section had, I assumed that we would have completely different ones.  The school must know that students speak amongst themselves about these things.  Knowing which recipes her section had made me a little nervous:  it seemed like the selection was the easier half of the exam list, and I didn’t like how that was sounding for our recipes.

In my preparations, I took special care to know the Lemon Tart recipe and procedure front and back.  I just had a feeling that it was going to be the recipe I drew, since it was the one I had the most trouble with in its practical.  Trying to brush off nerves, we finally walked upstairs to the room in which we would take the written portion of the exam: the Bon d’Économat.

The Pastry Chefs, usually chipper and all smiles, were serious and quiet.  Chef Jocelyn ushered us into the room where there was a large table with a white table cloth, and bid us to sit and wait until it was time to begin.  When the time came, he held up an envelope and said, “I don’t even know which recipes are in here.  Wait to open them until I tell you.” and he walked around the table, handing each of us a numbered envelope.  We opened them and began.

My recipe was the Mirroir au Cassis, and I was pleased.  I would have done just as well on any other recipe, I think, after my incessant studying.  I flew through the recipe, double-checked it, and was the first to hand it in. 

Being the first to finish, I also had the first pick of envelopes for the practical portion, which were fanned out, face down, at the end of the table.  I knew they would be numbered, and I had my eye on number 8, since I had guessed it was my usual spot in the kitchen.  With them face down, though, I just chose one near the center and returned to my seat.  It was number 9 – not bad!

Once everyone had chosen an envelope, in the order in which we handed in our written recipes, the Chef informed us that we would have 10 minutes to jot down some notes on the procedure after opening our envelopes and before heading to the kitchen.  We all opened and, sure enough, I was looking at a big, bold “Tarte au Citron.”  Lemon Tart, we meet again.

Just a few notes to keep me on track

As instructed, I wrote down an outline for the procedure, and all of my nerves dissolved.  I was all business.  When we filed into the kitchen, I discovered my guess for the station was correct: #9 was right next to my usual spot, #8.  We also had three recipes for the entire class, with four students performing each.  The others were the Christmas Log and Black Forest Cake.

On the counter in front of me was a stack of the equipment I would need: trays, a tart mold, a cake board, a lemon zester more powerful than the one in my knife kit.  I quickly added my personal tools to the pile, scaled my ingredients, and got started. 

Everything was going so well.  Making the pie crust dough was like a reflex, and I baked it beautifully.  The almond cream practically made itself, and the lemon cream, though it took longer than I remember, also didn’t pose any problems.

And then there was the Italian Meringue.  The first time we made Lemon Tarts, nearly the entire class failed the Italian Meringue at least once, resulting in a thin, runny mess that was impossible to pipe.  Eventually, most of us with the help of the Chef, we got it to work.  Since that day, we had made successful Italian Meringues many times, and I had chalked up my first failure to the fact that it was my first time.

I scaled my ingredients for the meringue and started making the syrup (which is poured into whipped egg whites while constantly whipping until the syrup cools and sets up).  I whipped the egg whites, tested the syrup, and did everything like I always do.  My meringue failed.  Once I saw that there was no saving the batch, I notified the Chefs (as instructed) and started again.

I scaled the ingredients, made the syrup, whipped the whites, tested the syrup, poured and whipped and…another failed meringue.  At this point, I was starting to get a little tense.  Time was ticking and all of the Black Forest students were finished, leaning against their clean counters twiddling their thumbs.  I turned and saw that all of the Lemon Tart students, including myself, had failed our meringues.  I could tell that the rest of the class was glad not to be in our shoes, but that they felt for us.  My friend Jen, who was right beside me and had finished her Black Forest; encouraged me, reminded me to breathe and calm down, and gave me time updates, which were a huge help.

I didn’t have time to make the meringue again, so I piped what I had.  It didn’t look terrible, but I knew it wasn’t quite right.  My hands were shaking as I sprinkled the top of the tart with slivered almonds and popped it into the oven for toasting.  I crouched on the ground in front of my oven, hardly able to breathe, and watched the tips of the meringue brown while I tried to calm down.  Chef Jocelyn walked by, telling Robyn (a classmate with the exact problem as me) and I that it would be fine, and that we had time to finish.

My tart came out of the oven within the last minute of the exam before it would’ve been counted late.  I quickly unmolded it, with the help of Jen, slid it onto the cake board, and sent it with Chef Hervé to be presented to the guest judge panel with a large “#9” sticker on it. I wish I had had time to take a photo of the tart, because I am sure that it looked a lot better than I remember.

We were exhausted, but we had done it.  No one was late.  Everyone finished their dessert.  The Lemon Tart students convened after we left the kitchen to discuss what happened, and it turns out that I was right: everyone failed their meringue.  Three out of the four of us failed it twice and piped failed meringue onto our tarts anyway.  I am still convinced that the proportions of the meringue recipe that accompanies the Lemon Tart recipe are off (how else could four people who consistently succeed at Italian Meringue all fail it with this recipe?).  I was nervous, but confident that I had passed.  I cleaned out my locker, changed out of my uniform, took my hair down, and went home.

Back at the apartment, all I really needed was to sit down and have a good cry.  The stress of the exam was overwhelming, and it was nice to get it out.  I think Chad was a little flustered by the water works, but it definitely made me feel better.

Then it was waiting time.  The school handles exam scores like this:  if you pass, you hear nothing and show up at graduation.  If you fail, you get a call from Student Services.  I never wanted my phone to be silent so badly!

Luckily, though, my friend’s landlord was one of the guest judges.  He informed her that everyone in Section A had passed, and she passed on the good news.  SUPER relieved, it was nice to be able to relax and prepare for my family to get into town for the graduation ceremony.  I had done it.