Cordon Bleu? Sacre Bleu!

Our daughter Miss Katie is about to graduate from high school, which means that every college recruiter worth his or her salt has been calling our house on a regular basis for the past 8 months.

We’ve heard from them all – big universities, small private colleges, local schools, art design institutes, even a place called “Brown College” that really does try hard to pass itself off in the same vein as their similarly named Ivy-league brethren. All of whom seem to think that our lovely Miss Katie would be perfect fodder for their fall enrollment.

But the recruiting phone call we got the other night absolutely floored us.

It was from Le Condon Bleu College of Culinary Arts.

Now, I absolutely love my daughter. She’s a wonderful person, a kind soul, and (usually) an all around nice person to be around. But a culinary expert she’s not. This is the kid who eats her Eggos while they’re still frozen. She wouldn’t touch a truffle, caviar, or foie gras for all the money in the world, much less something as simple as peas, broccoli, carrots, or even mushrooms.

She’s also one of the most picky eaters you’ll ever meet (surprise, surprise). The Lovely Mrs. G. and I used to joke that some day we’d end up having to serve chicken nuggets and Spaghetti-os at her wedding banquet because that was all the bride would eat. She’s a semi-vegetarian, and will turn her nose up to anything beef or pork-related, and she also won’t eat fish, game, escargot, or God forbid you should even suggest it - cute little fuzzy bunny rabbit.

So why in the world Le Cordon Bleu thinks she’d be the ideal chef candidate is beyond me.

I went to baking school fresh out of college, but I liked to bake. I loved developing formulas, getting to know the feel of a perfect batch of bread dough, and being able to tell just from looking at the pastries that they were perfectly done inside.

Miss Katie on the other hand? Well, let’s just say that if McDonalds wasn’t so close by, she’d probably starve. Although I know she could if she really had to, she won’t cook anything harder than Easy-Mac or Top Ramen. The thought of my precious little angel preparing duck confit or lobster Newberg makes me giggle like Emeril in a garlic patch.

But that’s okay – food is a necessary evil in her mindset; not something you get excited or passionate about. She eats because she has to, not because she necessarily enjoys the experience or looks forward to it. As long as she has something healthy on a regular basis, I suppose I can’t argue with that.

So I’m sorry to tell you that my child, as wonderful as she is, won’t be attending Le Cordon Bleu anytime soon. You won’t be seeing her taking on Bobby Flay on Iron Chef America. She won’t be one of those pompous people you see on magazine covers in their tall white hats and starched chefs top with a dozen culinary medals around their necks. She won’t come home and discuss the fine points of a woodsy California chardonnay with me anytime soon.

But I’ll love her anyway – because she’s my daughter, and because I know that she’ll never try to serve me herb-encrusted calves liver with béarnaise sauce.