Thank you, Dean Mittens. Thank you, faculty. Thank you, families, and thank you to the person who brought the tuna.
I would like to begin by saying that I did not expect to be here. When I started at Kitty Kitchen, I could not tell a whisk from a ladle. I could not poach an egg. I once set fire to a bowl of cereal. I would like to say that I have changed. In fact, I have only learned to put it out.
What I learned
I learned that cooking is a form of love, expressed by making a mess and then looking at it. I learned that every dish deserves a second chance, and every apron deserves a wash. I learned that a spatula, once lost, can be found.
I learned the following, among other things:
- Fish is the answer, even when the question is not fish
- A pinch of salt is a matter of faith
- A clean counter is a rare and temporary joy
- A sauce will always separate at the moment you are being watched
To my classmates
Tarragon, thank you for the omelette in the ceiling. It will be remembered. Pancake, thank you for falling in the stock pot, and for being so gracious on the way out. And to all the others, thank you for the late nights, the early mornings and the smell of burnt toast that now hangs in our hearts.
To the faculty
Professor Simmers, your lecture on stock changed my life, and also took most of it. Dean Mittens, you taught us that discipline is the highest form of cooking, and you taught us this by eating the evidence.
“We came as cats. We leave as cooks. We are still, essentially, cats.”
To the future
As we leave this kitchen, I would like to ask you all to remember three things. Stay curious. Stay hungry. And never, ever, trust a cucumber.
The world is full of ovens. Some of them will be warm. Some of them will be cold. Some will contain a spatula. Walk toward all of them with courage, and with a small spoon.
Congratulations, class. Now let us eat.
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