On Turning Six 
Why I Love Chopping Onions
"I didn’t start cooking until I was thirty-two. Until then, I just ate." -Julia Child
This weekend, I finished a book called The Sharper Your Knife, The Less You Cry by Kathleen Flinn. It’s a memoir that chronicles her decision to make a huge life change at the age of 36. When the book begins, Kathleen is an American living in London, working in corporate middle management. The very day that she returns from a vacation, her boss asks her not to come in to the office, but to meet her at a coffee shop instead. There, the boss informs Kathleen that her job has been eliminated.
At the urging of her long-distance beau (Kathleen is in London, and her guy is living and working in Seattle), she decides to cash in her life savings, move to Paris, and pursue her lifelong dream of obtaining a diploma from the most famous cooking school in the world, Le Cordon Bleu. Did I mention that she hardly speaks French?
Kathleen is one of the oldest students enrolled in the program, but historically she’s in good company – Julia Child also attended the Cordon Bleu as a late bloomer. Julia’s autobiography, My Life in France is one of my favorite books – a must read!
Getting a diploma from Le Cordon Bleu is neither cheap nor easy. A student must take three different programs: Basic, Intermediate, and Superior Cuisine, which collectively cost about $26,500.00. Then, one must pass a grueling final exam where one is timed to the minute and judged on everything from uniform cleanliness to the presentation of the final plate. While in school, Kathleen learns things like how to de-bone a chicken without removing the skin, how to gut a squid, and how to make puff pastry.
In France, everyone is a food critic – not just the chefs who are her teachers, but even the lucky recipients of the meals she produces in class each day. One afternoon, Kathleen decides to give her food to a homeless man who regularly sits near the school’s entrance (talk about prime real estate for the homeless!). He accepts her poached fish dish, tastes it, and declares, "Needs more salt"!
Although that scene provokes laughter, Kathleen Flinn’s quest also elicits tears. The book’s title refers both to the trials and tribulations of her adventure and to a practical cooking tip offered by one of the chefs explaining why people cry when cutting onions. The chef says: "When your knife is dull, you have to apply more pressure to cut the onion. This breaks down the cells of the onion and emits a gas that makes you cry. If you have a sharp knife, you’ll slice the onion using less pressure. Et voila! – mo more tears."
Pascal has very sensitive eyes, and even when using a sharp knife, onions make him cry. I must have "eyes of steel" because I can chop mounds of onions and shed nary a tear. Although privately, Pascal is quite the romantic, he is not one to share his declarations of love publicly. One of the most romantic things he ever said while in the company of others was while cooking at a friend’s apartment in Paris. It was 1998. We were all working in the kitchen together, and naturally, I was chopping the onions. "Do you know why I love Charlene?" he asked his friend, "Because she never cries while chopping onions." I know it’s silly, but to this day, when I’m in the kitchen with Pascal, I always volunteer to chop the onions. It’s one of my little ways of reminding him how much I love him.
On Friday, my friend Kathy (a fellow entrepreneur who knows how tough it can get!) brought me a copy of Seth Godin’s book The Dip: A Little Book That Teaches You When to Quit (and When to Stick). I’m a huge 
(Is this Phyllis Diller in her Rockin’ Robin costume?)
So, wanna know what I’m up to? Watch out for my tweets! Do you Twitter? Let me know by leaving a comment here on the Bon Bon Blog. I love to keep track of my peeps…
April Fool’s Day is also celebrated in France, but instead of creating elaborate practical jokes Candid-Camera-style, French children go around taping paper cutouts shaped like fish on the backs of unsuspecting individuals. I guess it’s like a kinder, gentler (and stranger) version of the "Kick Me" sign. The French find this amusing. Then again, they also find Jerry Lewis amusing. Although I love almost all things French, I’m not a fan of Poisson d’Avril (April Fish Day, being the direct translation for their April Fool’s). I much prefer the custom "à l’américaine".
The waiters and maitre d’ executed the joke brilliantly! When Pascal asked for the bill, the waiter brought it over and quickly walked away. Instead of the usual $40 or $50 dollar dinner-for-two with a bottle of wine, the bill read $200! Pascal called the waiter over to point out the "mistake". The waiter played dumb, insisting that the bill was correct. Pascal kept repeating that this couldn’t be possible, so the waiter offered to bring his manager, the maitre d’, over to the table. The maitre d’ arrived to explain that there was a cover charge for the live musicians who were playing in the restaurant that evening, and that our bill was indeed correct. As the maitre d’ excused himself from our table, Pascal turned to me with an ashen face to ask if I’d brought a credit card along – he didn’t have enough cash. Partly because of his embarrassment, and partly because of his critical French character, he started to quietly rant and rave about the injustice of the situation and the nerve of the restaurant to implement a cover charge with no notice. "Yes", I replied, "It’s a terrible thing to do, especially considering that it’s April Fool’s Day!" But Pascal was so worked up, he just kept on ranting. I continued to respond with placating comments and the occasional reminder that it was April Fool’s Day until my words finally sunk in. Dinner: $200 fake dollars. The look on Pascal’s face: Priceless.