I should have known better than to ignore my paranoia when Chef said that he’d announce last week’s Chef of the Day first thing in the morning. I could have even seen it coming when the bus arrived late, and I was subsequently running even later just from being held up by getting changed and throwing stuff into a locker. Chef casually swung past in the corridor, no doubt on his way to the office to get something, and called out as if to remind me, that I was Chef of the Day.
This is kinda like what happened to me in boot camp when I was chosen to be the first course orderly. I didn’t think I gave any impression that I would actually have a clue what to do when given responsibility over a group of people, but maybe there’s just something written down in my record somewhere (or perhaps it’s just on my face in ink that’s invisible to me) that I turned down the prospect of Officer training because I baulk at the idea of being in charge of things, let alone people. For some reason, despite me thinking I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time, and believing that I don’t begin to exude confidence until I’m really comfortable with something, people seem to think that I know what I’m doing.
Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from boot camp, it’s this: bullshit baffles brains. There’s a possibility that I’ve known this for a long time, but it just hadn’t been put so concisely before. I had all the paperwork on hand to know what was going on in my section, and had glanced at the restaurant menu the night before to get a wider picture of what was going on overall in the whole kitchen, but a handful of paper does not a head chef make! Chef later told me that he chose me to be the blow-in CotD because he thought I was the only person in the class that could handle it, and use my voice. I pointed out that we were constantly getting into trouble as a class for using our voices way too much, but he countered that by saying I knew when to use mine. Touche.
I tried to look on the bright side. At least I could put off being in patisserie for another day, which was what I spent most of the night before worrying about. It’s good to get my worst section over and done with early in the piece, but on the other hand, everyone’s a critic and I know there’s enough bakers around the joint that if the bread turned out badly, I wouldn’t be able to forget it easily. No matter, a temporary reprieve from the boundaries of bread land! I also suddenly realised that despite the bits of paperwork I had to fill in over the course of the day, and having to come up with constructive criticism for the class at the end of it, I had it pretty easy. I could treat it as a practice version instead of bunging things up on my rostered CotD shift!
With all this in mind, it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, but we only had a handful of customers to deal with in the restaurant, and I think if we had any more than twenty or so, we would have struggled. Remember that we are far from a team of professionals, and for most people it was only day two or three with their particular menu items, and only day one working in the restaurant kitchen. All things considered, we pulled through remarkably well. The dishes looked good, didn’t get held up too long, and for the most part were satisfactory.
I think the class has a lot to learn about working together as a team, and how the sections of the restaurant kitchen can work best together in order to get ADF lunches as well as the restaurant menu out in a timely and efficient manner. I was pleasantly surprised at how the dishes turned out, although I’m sure more effort will go into the presentation of each dish and associated garnishes/sides once people get the hang of what they’re making and what’s expected of them in general.
I still think I aged about six years in the process. Sometimes it’s really frustrating to be ultimately responsible for the output of a group of people, when you’re technically not allowed to get in there and help them, or take on any of the components of work yourself. I always thought I was better at organising other people more than my own mess, but when I’m a lone ranger I know exactly what I need to do and how to do it. As CotD, I felt like a bit of a gofer, fielding all sorts of questions and buzzing about finding ingredients and equipment for people, when I thought that a lot of my stress could have been avoided if people were a little more organised.
I’ll practice what I preach, too. I’ve come to realise that you can’t always get away with figuring out what you need to do preparation-wise in the first five minutes of the morning. You never know when you’re going to get held up by something like a chase for ingredients, or a talking to by Ma’am, or answering a bunch of questions from random passersby. I always feel better when I have the mental and physical space to get through my work in peace. Anything I can do to make things easier for myself should be obvious, but I guess this is a classic case when a tiny bit of laziness or overconfidence comes back to bite me.
I’m thankful for the taste of CotD, and I’m sure I’ll feel less trepidation the day before my real turn comes around. In the meantime, I’m going to try and see how other people go about it, and learn from their strengths and weaknesses. It’s a pretty awesome feeling, being in charge of the kitchen brigade, and it’s only a couple of weeks until I get another try at it again!
Tuesday, February 12
Wednesday, February 6
prelude to the big smoke
While I was getting my uniform inspected on parade this morning, the Petty Officer asked me how I was. I replied my typical, ‘Well thanks, PO!’ but he actually remarked that I sounded chirpier than usual. I never considered myself to be the kind of person that could be described as chirpy in the mornings (although I’m becoming a heck of a lot better at the whole AM thing), so I was surprised to hear this. I said that our class was a day off getting into the restaurant, so I was excited to be there. Which is true, yet it’s odd that my tone could reveal so much during such a trite exchange.
It’s been almost a year since I was last working in anything remotely resembling a commercial kitchen. I don’t really count my four tastes of galley duty at Cerberus, because about as exotic as it got there was frying off more than four square metres of pork bits that looked like popcorn chicken. The sheer numbers of food our little crew managed to produce over a smattering of hours was somewhat impressive in terms of volume, but when it came to feeling the familiar pump of hospitality, the energy just wasn’t there.
It didn’t help that most of what we were prepping was for more than the next meal ahead, so the sense of urgency wasn’t anything like rolling hundreds of mini arancini by hand a mere hour before a finger food function was about to begin. Or pressing out multitudes of churros in the fifteen minutes of overtime as the shopping centre was closing its doors. Or willing the conveyor oven to move faster, or fit more pizzas, one manic 40 degree New Year’s Eve when the exhaust fans in the kitchen died at the casino. Or cooking for 40 covers as the ‘head chef’ in a kitchen containing a waiter’s boyfriend, a work-experience kid, and the occasional waiter and bartender to assist.
I can’t remember if I’ve actually kept any of my old writing on the beauty and the terror of hospitality, both front and back of house, but I do recall that as much as I loathed the anticipation of the rush, and sweated it out during the middle of it despite maintaining what I hoped was a Zen-like demeanour, I became addicted. That’s pretty much why I’m here though, I’m a sucker for the adrenalin, the pressure to perform constantly, and never quite knowing for sure whether you’re going to actually pull through.
It seems to have taken such a short time, yet in other ways an age, for our class to make it to the fabled K1 – Restaurant Kitchen. That’s right folks, as of tomorrow we’re going to be subjecting our food to the general public – paying customers, no less! We’ve had a bit of a warm-up with bulk cookery skills by feeding the other ADF trainees on the TAFE campus, and preparing a couple of takeaway menus, but the real deal is about to happen. I’m scared and excited in a way that reminds me of when I first starting waiting tables, or even working in larder after switching from floor work.
Deep down, I know I’m capable of doing what I need to. It’s just that sometimes added pressure can make me perform to my maximum capacity, and other times it actually makes me so damned nervous I’ll stuff up minor things that would be autonomous skills if I knew people weren’t watching or focusing on my output. It’s like one time I performed at an Eisteddfod, and even though I had my sheet music right in front of me in case I hadn’t memorised it correctly, I forgot where I was up to because I wasn’t really following on the page, and totally improvised a new ending to the song, because I couldn’t think straight enough to finish playing it properly.
It also thrills and bewilders me that I’m about a month and a bit off from being qualified to actually cook for a living. Sometimes I still feel like I’m playing dress-ups, and that the times my dishes actually work out, it’s been more by fluke than by design. I’ve had a teensy bit more experience in the real world than some of my classmates, but that still doesn’t mean I’m going to do any better than them at organising the kitchen brigade.
There’s a latent engineer in me that wants to refine the processes that exist in our little production line, to the point where I’m sure I’m irritating even my friends when I try to work backwards through the day to see where and how things didn’t go as smoothly. I’m all about efficiency… but it’s hard to emphasise the necessity for shortcuts when some people don’t understand that the easiest way to do things doesn’t necessarily mean a compromise in quality or standards.
I can’t wait until I get my go at Chef of the Day, where I won’t be cooking anything, but I’ll basically be overseeing the kitchen operations as they produce food for the TAFE restaurant, takeaway menu, and ADF lunches from my own menu. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll actually make it as far as Corporal (equivalent of Kitchen Manager/Supervisor in civvie street), considering my inherent fascination with logistics and secret obsession with quality control systems. Here’s hoping the power won’t all go to my head.
I’m starting off quite humbly, working in Patisserie tomorrow, which is my Kryptonite. Our two-person section has somehow got to bake bread for the restaurant and possibly prep pizza dough for ADF lunches, as well as pull three desserts and accompaniments together for the restaurant. I’ve always claimed to be a better eater of baked goods than maker of them, but I guess there’s only one way to learn!
I might not be a pusser, but I've certainly reached the deep end.
It’s been almost a year since I was last working in anything remotely resembling a commercial kitchen. I don’t really count my four tastes of galley duty at Cerberus, because about as exotic as it got there was frying off more than four square metres of pork bits that looked like popcorn chicken. The sheer numbers of food our little crew managed to produce over a smattering of hours was somewhat impressive in terms of volume, but when it came to feeling the familiar pump of hospitality, the energy just wasn’t there.
It didn’t help that most of what we were prepping was for more than the next meal ahead, so the sense of urgency wasn’t anything like rolling hundreds of mini arancini by hand a mere hour before a finger food function was about to begin. Or pressing out multitudes of churros in the fifteen minutes of overtime as the shopping centre was closing its doors. Or willing the conveyor oven to move faster, or fit more pizzas, one manic 40 degree New Year’s Eve when the exhaust fans in the kitchen died at the casino. Or cooking for 40 covers as the ‘head chef’ in a kitchen containing a waiter’s boyfriend, a work-experience kid, and the occasional waiter and bartender to assist.
I can’t remember if I’ve actually kept any of my old writing on the beauty and the terror of hospitality, both front and back of house, but I do recall that as much as I loathed the anticipation of the rush, and sweated it out during the middle of it despite maintaining what I hoped was a Zen-like demeanour, I became addicted. That’s pretty much why I’m here though, I’m a sucker for the adrenalin, the pressure to perform constantly, and never quite knowing for sure whether you’re going to actually pull through.
It seems to have taken such a short time, yet in other ways an age, for our class to make it to the fabled K1 – Restaurant Kitchen. That’s right folks, as of tomorrow we’re going to be subjecting our food to the general public – paying customers, no less! We’ve had a bit of a warm-up with bulk cookery skills by feeding the other ADF trainees on the TAFE campus, and preparing a couple of takeaway menus, but the real deal is about to happen. I’m scared and excited in a way that reminds me of when I first starting waiting tables, or even working in larder after switching from floor work.
Deep down, I know I’m capable of doing what I need to. It’s just that sometimes added pressure can make me perform to my maximum capacity, and other times it actually makes me so damned nervous I’ll stuff up minor things that would be autonomous skills if I knew people weren’t watching or focusing on my output. It’s like one time I performed at an Eisteddfod, and even though I had my sheet music right in front of me in case I hadn’t memorised it correctly, I forgot where I was up to because I wasn’t really following on the page, and totally improvised a new ending to the song, because I couldn’t think straight enough to finish playing it properly.
It also thrills and bewilders me that I’m about a month and a bit off from being qualified to actually cook for a living. Sometimes I still feel like I’m playing dress-ups, and that the times my dishes actually work out, it’s been more by fluke than by design. I’ve had a teensy bit more experience in the real world than some of my classmates, but that still doesn’t mean I’m going to do any better than them at organising the kitchen brigade.
There’s a latent engineer in me that wants to refine the processes that exist in our little production line, to the point where I’m sure I’m irritating even my friends when I try to work backwards through the day to see where and how things didn’t go as smoothly. I’m all about efficiency… but it’s hard to emphasise the necessity for shortcuts when some people don’t understand that the easiest way to do things doesn’t necessarily mean a compromise in quality or standards.
I can’t wait until I get my go at Chef of the Day, where I won’t be cooking anything, but I’ll basically be overseeing the kitchen operations as they produce food for the TAFE restaurant, takeaway menu, and ADF lunches from my own menu. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll actually make it as far as Corporal (equivalent of Kitchen Manager/Supervisor in civvie street), considering my inherent fascination with logistics and secret obsession with quality control systems. Here’s hoping the power won’t all go to my head.
I’m starting off quite humbly, working in Patisserie tomorrow, which is my Kryptonite. Our two-person section has somehow got to bake bread for the restaurant and possibly prep pizza dough for ADF lunches, as well as pull three desserts and accompaniments together for the restaurant. I’ve always claimed to be a better eater of baked goods than maker of them, but I guess there’s only one way to learn!
I might not be a pusser, but I've certainly reached the deep end.
Monday, February 4
ode to PT
It seethes with aches and strains.
The toxins from the weekend
Still raging through my veins.
The urge for some punishment
Can be seen in my eyes
It comes from deep within me,
Despite my plaintive cries.
I love a PT session,
A smashing pure and plain,
Of cardio and circuit,
Of crawling through the rain.
I love pushing false limits,
I love just running free,
The horror of the sandpit –
Forever haunting me!
A dusty red-dirt track
Mocks the grips on my feet,
The blue sky of Cerberus,
Tempts me to join the fleet.
Swimming doesn’t seem so bad,
Compared to land’s toil,
And at the rate I’m running
I’ll never leave the soil.
Soft to the core, dear Leader!
I slow down with a sigh,
We’ve only got one lap done,
We’re dropping just like flies –
But if we come together,
And all get up again
Our feet might just keep moving,
We’re forging through the pain.
Push-up position ready!
On ground so hard and cold,
My abs begin complaining,
Tales better left untold –
Upon the grassy oval,
I dream of better days,
I long for boot camp fitness
My body now, it pays.
A good old-fashioned caning,
Not so lovingly planned –
Nought to it but to do it,
Some just won’t understand –
Though it’s all in a day’s work,
Some just can’t believe why,
I’m addicted to feeling
Like I’m about to die.
(with apologies to Dorothea Mackellar)
Saturday, February 2
mind the gap
I'm going to have to get used to the fact that I won't ever be able to update this as often as I would like to! In a way, I can't believe I was so optimistic way back in October, about keeping up with the writing. I've had enough access to the internet, but I guess there's been a bit of a shuffle in priorities over the past couple of months. For example, when I'm in Melbourne on the weekends, I'd rather be catching up with people face to face, than updating them on my life via this place. Oh, and while I'm on base with a bit of spare change and time up my sleeve, I've discovered the simple joys of reading magazines, or books from the library, and using Defence resources to write letters back home.
Yep, I'm still scribbling out or typing the odd bit of correspondence, if only to keep up good habits. It's way too easy to just talk myself into believing that the odd phone call or barrage of SMSes can make up for a good ol' fashioned letter. Much like trying to convince myself that a handful of paragraphs here and there on a blog will be enough to jog my memory whenever I get around to writing the book about my life and times in le militoire!
So, where do I begin? I might start at now, and work my way backwards. My Melbourne man's currently at work, which is why I'm madly catching up on Internet related chores of sorts. I've actually remembered how to do email posts to this blog, so I might give that a go during the week to see if it works, and more importantly, if someone, somewhere gets angry about me doing so. I figure that technically speaking, if I'm writing about cooking for the Defence Force, I actually am doing something work related, even if it's just expressing my opinions on what I do.
Procrastination as an art
What I'm meant to be doing is either cruising back to home proper to pick up mail, stash some more clothes and books in the boot (I'm trying to get as much of my things onto base before my posting, when I get a free removal of my cabin's inventory), or going back to base to celebrate a coursemate's birthday at the superlocal or perhaps a not so local, or heading further south to Sorrento for a school friend's hen's night gathering of sorts. If anything, the past few months have taught me more elaborate forms of procrastination, which are getting more and more honed as the days go on.
My typical cycle goes a little something like this: do washing to avoid ironing, do ironing to avoid running, do running to avoid washing. Lather, rinse, repeat if necessary. I usually have a mental list of tasks to tackle, and I'm definitely getting better at tearing my way through the list, but it's almost like there's some part of me that has to put at least one thing off until the next day, or the last minute. So that sort of explains why right now I'm attempting to catch up on months of gossip on the pus, rather than get ready for a trip back to base (and beyond).
Ever learning; never burning
This week we've actually finished the last of our cookbooks, winding up with a theory and practical test on hot and cold desserts. I'm a bit torn about desserts, moreso than with our unit on pastry, cakes, and yeast goods. These are the things I've always wanted to master, if only from enjoying looking at and eating them so much, but because I have an iota of baking talent in my blood, I've found it a bit of a struggle. There's also a lot of precision work involved, measuring ingredients and being meticulous with technique, especially when it comes to under-mixing, over-whipping, and all manner of skills that only come with practice.
Actually, the class as a whole was coming along quite nicely until we came to the baking unit. Of course, tempers were bound to flare once ovens started being opened at the wrong times (I'm still paranoid about using shared deck/baker's ovens), and instead of solid results, suddenly things weren't turning out as planned, despite recipes being followed to the letter. It's a little disheartening when you start off being able to get away with a little gung ho here, a bit of improvised rescue tactic there, and then you realise you can't mess with the rules of bakery too much, or things just don't work.
We're about to be launched into yet another learning curve, despite the immediate relief of not having to learn any more cooking. Now comes the commercial aspect. As of next week, we're going to be providing lunch to all the ADF trainees at TAFE (around 80 people), cooking a la carte for paying customers in the TAFE restaurant, and preparing a full takeaway menu for civilians as well (including mains, salads, and desserts). We're about a week off from getting into K1, which is the proper restaurant kitchen that's sectioned like a real commercial kitchen, as opposed to K2's setup of a stove/oven, access to a deep fryer, and a sink/bench space each.
Sure, we've done the theory on menu planning, and quality control in the kitchen, but more than half of us have never actually been in charge of an entire kitchen brigade before. We each get a turn at being Chef Of The Day, where we run the kitchen while the rest of the class produces our own menu for ADF lunches, as well as restaurant and takeaway items as needed. Towards the end of our time at TAFE, we also get to organise and execute four themed buffets that paying customers will attend. Then it's off to single service training for a couple weeks; for the Army and RAAF that means heading north near the VIC/NSW border to do some field training.
Performing without norming
I only found out recently that the forming-storming-norming-performing group development model was tested on the US Air Force. It seems fitting really, that research into group dynamics could be done on members of the military. I actually thought that people in a military kitchen would find it easier to gel because of all the brainwashing we get in recruit school about how there's no room for individuals here, we're all about working together as a team.
Sure, the inter-force rivalry has pretty much died down, but now it seems all the bickering that goes on is just random personal stuff. One would think that once you step into the commercial kitchen environment, all that should matter is getting a good product out to the customer on time, every time. One would like to believe that mere weeks away from being posted out to serve the nation, having an argument about turning an ice cream machine off at the wrong time would seem petty, and immature. I don't like using high-school as a metaphor or simile often, but that's pretty much how it's been when things get nasty in Session 85.
There was a long period of storming last year, when the battle of the alpha males (possibly myself included) culminated in an enforced group pow-wow after TAFE one day, in a small room of the School of Catering building on base. I'm not at liberty to say what went on in that room, but I did think that once we'd had it out in there, said what we wanted and needed to say (and maybe a little bit on top of that), our Sergeant learnt a heck of a lot more about us (our chefs know more about us as people than he does, really), and we also learned a lot more about each other. Did it do any good? I'd say so. But after weeks of being cooped up in the same living and working space, it's no surprise that most of us were hanging for a month's break from each other over summer.
The real question is, did the norming ever happen? I believe there was a truce of sorts, or perhaps it was just the calm before the storm. It makes me wonder if anything really gets through to the class, after all the talks we've had with the Course Implementation Officer, our Sergeant, Ma'am in charge of ADF at TAFE, and our various chefs. I'm hoping that once we get into K1, people will realise how important it is to work well individually as well as part of a team, and the way we pump food out of that kitchen will show everyone that we can pull together.
What I do worry about is if we don't manage to get it together in the end, and I know from my old hospitality days that seeing a kitchen fall apart at the seams is an ugly, and in a way, heartwrenching sight to behold. So these coming weeks are ultra important, in a moment of truth kind of way. It's our chance to prove ourselves, and I know we're capable, it's just a matter of whether we can use our skills for good, not evil. Only time will tell.
Yep, I'm still scribbling out or typing the odd bit of correspondence, if only to keep up good habits. It's way too easy to just talk myself into believing that the odd phone call or barrage of SMSes can make up for a good ol' fashioned letter. Much like trying to convince myself that a handful of paragraphs here and there on a blog will be enough to jog my memory whenever I get around to writing the book about my life and times in le militoire!
So, where do I begin? I might start at now, and work my way backwards. My Melbourne man's currently at work, which is why I'm madly catching up on Internet related chores of sorts. I've actually remembered how to do email posts to this blog, so I might give that a go during the week to see if it works, and more importantly, if someone, somewhere gets angry about me doing so. I figure that technically speaking, if I'm writing about cooking for the Defence Force, I actually am doing something work related, even if it's just expressing my opinions on what I do.
Procrastination as an art
What I'm meant to be doing is either cruising back to home proper to pick up mail, stash some more clothes and books in the boot (I'm trying to get as much of my things onto base before my posting, when I get a free removal of my cabin's inventory), or going back to base to celebrate a coursemate's birthday at the superlocal or perhaps a not so local, or heading further south to Sorrento for a school friend's hen's night gathering of sorts. If anything, the past few months have taught me more elaborate forms of procrastination, which are getting more and more honed as the days go on.
My typical cycle goes a little something like this: do washing to avoid ironing, do ironing to avoid running, do running to avoid washing. Lather, rinse, repeat if necessary. I usually have a mental list of tasks to tackle, and I'm definitely getting better at tearing my way through the list, but it's almost like there's some part of me that has to put at least one thing off until the next day, or the last minute. So that sort of explains why right now I'm attempting to catch up on months of gossip on the pus, rather than get ready for a trip back to base (and beyond).
Ever learning; never burning
This week we've actually finished the last of our cookbooks, winding up with a theory and practical test on hot and cold desserts. I'm a bit torn about desserts, moreso than with our unit on pastry, cakes, and yeast goods. These are the things I've always wanted to master, if only from enjoying looking at and eating them so much, but because I have an iota of baking talent in my blood, I've found it a bit of a struggle. There's also a lot of precision work involved, measuring ingredients and being meticulous with technique, especially when it comes to under-mixing, over-whipping, and all manner of skills that only come with practice.
Actually, the class as a whole was coming along quite nicely until we came to the baking unit. Of course, tempers were bound to flare once ovens started being opened at the wrong times (I'm still paranoid about using shared deck/baker's ovens), and instead of solid results, suddenly things weren't turning out as planned, despite recipes being followed to the letter. It's a little disheartening when you start off being able to get away with a little gung ho here, a bit of improvised rescue tactic there, and then you realise you can't mess with the rules of bakery too much, or things just don't work.
We're about to be launched into yet another learning curve, despite the immediate relief of not having to learn any more cooking. Now comes the commercial aspect. As of next week, we're going to be providing lunch to all the ADF trainees at TAFE (around 80 people), cooking a la carte for paying customers in the TAFE restaurant, and preparing a full takeaway menu for civilians as well (including mains, salads, and desserts). We're about a week off from getting into K1, which is the proper restaurant kitchen that's sectioned like a real commercial kitchen, as opposed to K2's setup of a stove/oven, access to a deep fryer, and a sink/bench space each.
Sure, we've done the theory on menu planning, and quality control in the kitchen, but more than half of us have never actually been in charge of an entire kitchen brigade before. We each get a turn at being Chef Of The Day, where we run the kitchen while the rest of the class produces our own menu for ADF lunches, as well as restaurant and takeaway items as needed. Towards the end of our time at TAFE, we also get to organise and execute four themed buffets that paying customers will attend. Then it's off to single service training for a couple weeks; for the Army and RAAF that means heading north near the VIC/NSW border to do some field training.
Performing without norming
I only found out recently that the forming-storming-norming-performing group development model was tested on the US Air Force. It seems fitting really, that research into group dynamics could be done on members of the military. I actually thought that people in a military kitchen would find it easier to gel because of all the brainwashing we get in recruit school about how there's no room for individuals here, we're all about working together as a team.
Sure, the inter-force rivalry has pretty much died down, but now it seems all the bickering that goes on is just random personal stuff. One would think that once you step into the commercial kitchen environment, all that should matter is getting a good product out to the customer on time, every time. One would like to believe that mere weeks away from being posted out to serve the nation, having an argument about turning an ice cream machine off at the wrong time would seem petty, and immature. I don't like using high-school as a metaphor or simile often, but that's pretty much how it's been when things get nasty in Session 85.
There was a long period of storming last year, when the battle of the alpha males (possibly myself included) culminated in an enforced group pow-wow after TAFE one day, in a small room of the School of Catering building on base. I'm not at liberty to say what went on in that room, but I did think that once we'd had it out in there, said what we wanted and needed to say (and maybe a little bit on top of that), our Sergeant learnt a heck of a lot more about us (our chefs know more about us as people than he does, really), and we also learned a lot more about each other. Did it do any good? I'd say so. But after weeks of being cooped up in the same living and working space, it's no surprise that most of us were hanging for a month's break from each other over summer.
The real question is, did the norming ever happen? I believe there was a truce of sorts, or perhaps it was just the calm before the storm. It makes me wonder if anything really gets through to the class, after all the talks we've had with the Course Implementation Officer, our Sergeant, Ma'am in charge of ADF at TAFE, and our various chefs. I'm hoping that once we get into K1, people will realise how important it is to work well individually as well as part of a team, and the way we pump food out of that kitchen will show everyone that we can pull together.
What I do worry about is if we don't manage to get it together in the end, and I know from my old hospitality days that seeing a kitchen fall apart at the seams is an ugly, and in a way, heartwrenching sight to behold. So these coming weeks are ultra important, in a moment of truth kind of way. It's our chance to prove ourselves, and I know we're capable, it's just a matter of whether we can use our skills for good, not evil. Only time will tell.
Thursday, October 18
all aboard the gravy boat
It's been a while! I've been meaning to write up a brief summary of my adventures during recruit school, but the further away it gets, the more of a chore it seems to sit down and nut out what actually happened over those magical 10.4 weeks. So I'll put off doing the boot camp chapter until another day.
So, what's been happening since July? I managed to survive basic training, and after a few days' break after graduation, I flew back to Melbourne and hauled a minimal amount of gear to the good ship HMAS Cerberus. The Australian Defence Force School of Catering is located on a Navy base, which isn't actually a ship, although it is still regarded as such. Cerberus is also home to the Navy recruit school, and is also a tri-service training base for a handful of musterings, including Physical Training Instructors, Communications, Medics, and Dental Assistants.
Even though I do come across other RAAFies, it's very much a pusser's world here. The lingo doesn't make much sense to me, seeing as it's slang for 'purser', the person in charge of money/pay on a ship... and 'pusser' is used to refer to all Navy people here. There's talk of cabins, decks and rescrubs, and our duties are divided into watches. The trainee cooks get to work in the galley (it's not a mess any more, that's crazy landlubber talk) one in three weekends. Apparently we get it pretty easy, seeing as we don't have any other duties like shifts at the gangway in the middle of the night. I'm just glad that the duties we have are actually relevant to the work we're learning to do.
The cooks' training itself is quite intense, but so far I've found it manageable. Our course material is supposedly meant to take about 18 months to comfortably cover in the civvie world, but what we do is basically a crash course version of it over 21 weeks. I'm actually glad we're not doing the slow version, even though I can imagine some people struggling to read up on the theory notes and references in their own time, and I'm old enough to almost resent having my hand held with regards to such things. One of the great things about cooking in general is that I can pretty much learn by seeing something done, and then trying it for myself. It's taken me a good few years to realise that although I've winged it for most of my life academically by showing minimal interest and having a good memory, I can really consolidate things if there's some kind of practical element.
Much like my experiences during boot, we're at the tail end of week five and I've found that the difficulty I have with being part of this game isn't really to do with the course work. It's a people thing. I know how they say that if you think the problem is with everyone else, it's more likely to do with you, but I believe I've seen enough of the military training environment to draw some pretty solid conclusions. There's just far too many people that somehow manage to get through the interviews, the enlistment, and even recruit training, that still hang on to attitudes that ultimately bring themselves and the rest of the team down. Rumour has it that our course is one of the most troublesome that has come through in three or so years, in terms of behaviour and group dynamics.
We've been given a few weeks to get through the 'storming' stage, you know how it goes in any pack, where there's a battle for the position of top dog. No one really knows who's on top as yet, but it just seems to be getting cattier and cattier. Or doggier, perhaps? Our chefs and course manager have been waiting for the 'norming' to happen, but I don't think it's going to happen of its own accord. I thought at the beginning that the loudness, the immaturity, the random acts of carelessness and/or selfishness would die down once we all got to know and respect each other a bit more, but to no avail. Not that I went to school with teenage boys, but I am suddenly incredibly grateful that I was sent to a single sex secondary school, if this is any indication of how ridiculous it is to try and learn anything with a bunch of testosterone-fuelled beings.
The theory is that if there are more females in the class, the maturity level will naturally rise to match the average. Unfortunately, I'm the only female in our course, and I must admit that being surrounded by boys for most of my week only turns me into one of them. In fact, I'm almost positive that some of the things I've got away with saying and doing in class have been solely because I'm female. I had the temporary honour of earning enough manliness equivalent to one testicle, but then had to drop in my pants for dry-cleaning, so I lost my manhood when I turned up to morning parade wearing my skirt. D'oh! But in all honesty, I actually feel more comfortable being a woman amongst men, than I ever did in recruit school living amongst a hive of females.
If anything, the thing that most sets me apart in this place is being a RAAFie on a Navy base. Although I'm relatively comfortable with the goings on of my own service, being treated like a recruit (restricted privileges, continued cabin inspections, not knowing yet being expected to know the 'rules') all over again is a bit draining. It's like just when I was fresh from marching out and gaining the rank of Aircraftwoman, it doesn't really count when I have no idea about how the Navy works, and I'm not quite being treated like a person of rank (albeit the lowest).
Thankfully, home isn't too far away. So for the next handful of months it doesn't really matter how gruelling or draining my week may feel, I actually get a chance to blow off steam and temporarily escape le militoire on the weekends, or any other opportunity I'm given. I have rekindled my love for the ordinary, and somewhat romanticise the idea of civiliandom like it's something I'll never have again. As much as I want to go crazy Broadway style on the weekends, I usually just eat, sleep, and hang out with civvies. Nothing newsworthy, but it means the world to me. Maybe I'm having trouble completely letting go of my former life, and it's something I might need to do in order to adequately embrace this new one, but I'm still not sure that I want to live and breathe the military.
Now that I'm at a base where there's internet access, I'll try my best to keep updating! When I get more of a chance to sit down and write something a little more structured, I'll get stuck into my thoughts on boot camp, and military culture, which is one thing that fascinates me about this place, if only from an anthropological amateur's point of view.
So, what's been happening since July? I managed to survive basic training, and after a few days' break after graduation, I flew back to Melbourne and hauled a minimal amount of gear to the good ship HMAS Cerberus. The Australian Defence Force School of Catering is located on a Navy base, which isn't actually a ship, although it is still regarded as such. Cerberus is also home to the Navy recruit school, and is also a tri-service training base for a handful of musterings, including Physical Training Instructors, Communications, Medics, and Dental Assistants.
Even though I do come across other RAAFies, it's very much a pusser's world here. The lingo doesn't make much sense to me, seeing as it's slang for 'purser', the person in charge of money/pay on a ship... and 'pusser' is used to refer to all Navy people here. There's talk of cabins, decks and rescrubs, and our duties are divided into watches. The trainee cooks get to work in the galley (it's not a mess any more, that's crazy landlubber talk) one in three weekends. Apparently we get it pretty easy, seeing as we don't have any other duties like shifts at the gangway in the middle of the night. I'm just glad that the duties we have are actually relevant to the work we're learning to do.
The cooks' training itself is quite intense, but so far I've found it manageable. Our course material is supposedly meant to take about 18 months to comfortably cover in the civvie world, but what we do is basically a crash course version of it over 21 weeks. I'm actually glad we're not doing the slow version, even though I can imagine some people struggling to read up on the theory notes and references in their own time, and I'm old enough to almost resent having my hand held with regards to such things. One of the great things about cooking in general is that I can pretty much learn by seeing something done, and then trying it for myself. It's taken me a good few years to realise that although I've winged it for most of my life academically by showing minimal interest and having a good memory, I can really consolidate things if there's some kind of practical element.
Much like my experiences during boot, we're at the tail end of week five and I've found that the difficulty I have with being part of this game isn't really to do with the course work. It's a people thing. I know how they say that if you think the problem is with everyone else, it's more likely to do with you, but I believe I've seen enough of the military training environment to draw some pretty solid conclusions. There's just far too many people that somehow manage to get through the interviews, the enlistment, and even recruit training, that still hang on to attitudes that ultimately bring themselves and the rest of the team down. Rumour has it that our course is one of the most troublesome that has come through in three or so years, in terms of behaviour and group dynamics.
We've been given a few weeks to get through the 'storming' stage, you know how it goes in any pack, where there's a battle for the position of top dog. No one really knows who's on top as yet, but it just seems to be getting cattier and cattier. Or doggier, perhaps? Our chefs and course manager have been waiting for the 'norming' to happen, but I don't think it's going to happen of its own accord. I thought at the beginning that the loudness, the immaturity, the random acts of carelessness and/or selfishness would die down once we all got to know and respect each other a bit more, but to no avail. Not that I went to school with teenage boys, but I am suddenly incredibly grateful that I was sent to a single sex secondary school, if this is any indication of how ridiculous it is to try and learn anything with a bunch of testosterone-fuelled beings.
The theory is that if there are more females in the class, the maturity level will naturally rise to match the average. Unfortunately, I'm the only female in our course, and I must admit that being surrounded by boys for most of my week only turns me into one of them. In fact, I'm almost positive that some of the things I've got away with saying and doing in class have been solely because I'm female. I had the temporary honour of earning enough manliness equivalent to one testicle, but then had to drop in my pants for dry-cleaning, so I lost my manhood when I turned up to morning parade wearing my skirt. D'oh! But in all honesty, I actually feel more comfortable being a woman amongst men, than I ever did in recruit school living amongst a hive of females.
If anything, the thing that most sets me apart in this place is being a RAAFie on a Navy base. Although I'm relatively comfortable with the goings on of my own service, being treated like a recruit (restricted privileges, continued cabin inspections, not knowing yet being expected to know the 'rules') all over again is a bit draining. It's like just when I was fresh from marching out and gaining the rank of Aircraftwoman, it doesn't really count when I have no idea about how the Navy works, and I'm not quite being treated like a person of rank (albeit the lowest).
Thankfully, home isn't too far away. So for the next handful of months it doesn't really matter how gruelling or draining my week may feel, I actually get a chance to blow off steam and temporarily escape le militoire on the weekends, or any other opportunity I'm given. I have rekindled my love for the ordinary, and somewhat romanticise the idea of civiliandom like it's something I'll never have again. As much as I want to go crazy Broadway style on the weekends, I usually just eat, sleep, and hang out with civvies. Nothing newsworthy, but it means the world to me. Maybe I'm having trouble completely letting go of my former life, and it's something I might need to do in order to adequately embrace this new one, but I'm still not sure that I want to live and breathe the military.
Now that I'm at a base where there's internet access, I'll try my best to keep updating! When I get more of a chance to sit down and write something a little more structured, I'll get stuck into my thoughts on boot camp, and military culture, which is one thing that fascinates me about this place, if only from an anthropological amateur's point of view.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)