At the CIA, food enthusiasts learn from the pros

By Dana Bowen
For the Poughkeepsie Journal

Let's face it: There are good cooks, and then there are chefs.

Good cooks are the kind of folks who wow friends and family with their culinary inspirations. They have recipe boxes full of reliable dishes, larders stocked with quality ingredients and decent pots and pans. They're Food TV junkies, cookbook collectors and they rarely cook for a living.

Chefs, on the other hand, can whip up fancy foods such as chocolate mousse and osso buco on demand. They can tell you -- without hesitation -- the temperature when pork shoulder is ready to eat, the metric conversion for ounces of butter in a pie crust and the smoking point of peanut oil.

Their brains are hard-wired with the kind of kitchen wisdom good cooks covet. But since most chefs work in professional kitchens (or in classrooms teaching other aspiring chefs), they're rarely in a position to share this knowledge with home cooks.

At the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, however, chefs and cooks have been crossing paths. A few Saturdays each semester, when most of the 2,300 culinary-degree students have the day off, CIA chef-instructors reveal tricks of the trade to food enthusiasts of all skill levels, all interests and all ages.

"Many students have done five, six, seven classes," says Bob Briggs, a CIA instructor and director of the Food Enthusiast program. He's seen a surge of interest in the one-day, hands-on classes held in the CIA's kitchens, which feature everything from Cuban cuisine to kid's party food. The two-day programs and week-long "boot camps" are sell-outs as well, but, as Briggs puts it, "A lot of folks make a weekend out of the day classes. They'll come up on Friday, have a nice dinner in the area, and cook the next day."

On the Saturday when we arrived, 288 toque-toting enthusiasts were enrolled in 18 adult classes and two "kids culinary" programs. We tied on our aprons (which come with the $160 admission), sharpened our knives and found out just how much we could learn in a single day at the CIA.

8:45 a.m.

Kathy McLaughlin/Poughkeepsie Journal Students in a Polish cooking class at the Culinary Institute of America watch as chef instructor John Kowalski dishes out the soup they made.

The halls of the continuing education building are buzzing like the first day of school. Returning students recognize each other and chat with newbies in the cafeteria.

Some are running late. Barbara Zulkiewicz, a paralegal who drove all the way from Exeter, N.H., sprints up the stairs.

"I signed up for the Polish Cooking Class last June," she says. "I've been trying to get in for two years."

Kids Italian, 9 a.m.

Nine young students sit at their desks, copying chef David Kamen's sketch of the Italian Peninsula into their notebooks. When he asks, "Can anyone tell me what pesto is?" one hand shoots up in the air.

"Green stuff," says a boy with a been-there, done-that assurance. This is his fifth class with Kamen, he told us before we settled into our seats.

"Sort of," says the chef, who then explains, "You can almost see the word "paste" in "pesto," can't you?"

He points to Liguria, on the upper west-hand side of the boot, where this basil, garlic, and olive oil sauce is a specialty. Today, these kids will be cooking regional recipes from across Italy's entire boot: pizza, meatballs, fried dough -- and green stuff.

Polish Cuisine, 9:30 a.m.

All eyes are on chef John Kowalski as he demonstrates how to use a food mill. Before they get to work on the nine-course Polish feast outlined on the white board, he's demystifying some techniques for novices.

Meanwhile, cooks peruse the hefty course pamphlet, which includes Polish culinary history and recipes they can try at home.

"This brings back a lot of childhood memories," says Barbara Zulkiewicz, pointing out the blueberry pierogi recipe. Indeed, there are many second and third generation Poles here, hoping to reconnect with their native cuisine.

Lisa Innarella met up with her mother, aunt and two cousins, who drove in from all across the tri-sate area.

"If you don't keep it up, these traditions and recipes die," she says.

Classical Cuisine, 10 a.m.

David Viviano, a tattooed twenty-something from Westchester, is weighing sugar on a scale. He tells his teammates: "French classical is something every decent chef has to learn, and I never have."

Chef Gérard Coyac, an instructor at the CIA for 15 years, leads one of the Food Enthusiasts' most popular classes. He groups students into four-person teams to tackle the kind of dishes most home cooks have never dared, such as filet of sole in a fish veloute.

Since Coyac's kitchen assistants prepare dark roux and more difficult recipes, students can focus on the basics.

"These aren't easy recipes, but when they cook together, they learn together," he says in his soft, French accent. He walks over to a woman struggling with a paring knife, wraps his hand around hers and adjusts her fingers to the proper grip. The mood is serious, almost reverent -- not unlike that of an esteemed French restaurant kitchen.

Secrets of Southwest Cuisine, 10:30 a.m.

It's a very different scene down the hall: Students bounce with the beat of blaring samba music as they roll out tortillas. John Cline and Butch Rosetti, two middle-aged food enthusiasts who've taken classes from chef-instructor Gloria Mann-Craft before, are pouring shots of tequila.

"We don't drink before 10:30 --it's a hard rule," they joke. Though they're learning a lot in this new class, such as marinating with tequila, cooking with pozole (soft corm hominy) and mashing guacamole, they're obviously here to have fun. None of the tasks required is too daunting.

"Believe me, I don't want to be a chef," says Klein, an IBM employee who's taken close to 50 food enthusiast classes since 1992, "They're under-paid and they work strange hours, including weekends and holidays."

Kids Party Food, 11 a.m.

Some of the younger chefs seem more optimistic about career cooking. "I already decided that this is where I want to go to college," says Trevor Volpe, a 12-year-old from Marlboro. Along with his partner, Matt Friedland -- a 10-year-old from Poughkeepsie -- he's gingerly rolling out dough for pigs in blankets.

"I'm a vegetarian," he adds, "but I don't mind cooking with meat."

Instructor Leana Kastel, a CIA-alum who developed the popular kid party food class, is impressed with her students, who start as young as 8 years old.

"They listen a lot better than the adults. They made the dough all by themselves -- and no one messed it up."

Regional Breads of Europe, noon

You can smell Chef Thomas Gumpel' s class work throughout the entire building -- the yeasty warmth of bread baking wafts down the hall and into the other rooms.

"All you have to work with is flour, water, salt and yeast, so how do you develop variety?" he asks his students, who peer down at a dozen or so baguettes.

The answer: "You create different shapes," which he demonstrates by pinching "epi" or points into baguettes.

One by one, students come up to practice. A few snap digital photos. Others munch on skolbrod, the cream-filled Swedish pastry that just came out of one of the massive ovens. Still others punch down focaccia.

Like most of the one-day classes, it's a crash course that's designed to walk students through the essentials so they can practice at home. This class moves fast and novice bakers learn quickly.

Lunch time, 2 p.m.

Back in Chef Kowalski's class, the students are in pre-feast frenzy. One woman sprinkles powdered sugar over fried dough. Another ladles sauerkraut soup into bowls.

The chef slices kielbasa-stuffed pork loin onto a platter between sweet-sour cabbage and mashed potatoes. He yells "smacznego!"--Polish for bon appetit -- and the students head out of the kitchen with their plates piled high.

In the cafeteria, students wind down with Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from a Millbrook winery. They mingle with the instructors, exchange addresses with new friends and sample dishes made in the other classes.

One woman compares her cooking burns with class assistant Molly Riggs', a second-year CIA student. "That one doesn't count," she says, pointing to one of a few on her arm. "I got it from ironing my chef's jacket."

When Chef Coyac's group enters, parading gorgeous platters of veal chops and fall vegetables, the whole room oohs and aahs.