Cooking with the Militant Chef

Vietnam, I praise you extensively for your use of the night bus. Its time efficient and saves me the cost of a night's lodging. But it does leave me with the odd space of a day on my hands without the refuge of a grubby hotel room. Thus, it was decided that a day-long cooking course would be perfect before embarking on a night-long bus journey. And it was perfect, and involved the wonderful character of the Militant Chef. This is his story.

The Militant Chef works at a cooking school about 4 km down river from Hoi An proper. His minions take care of the shopping and cleaning and shuttling of customers, the welcome drinks and market tours and herb sampling that are required for an up-market foodie extravaganza. The Militant Chef stays in the demonstration area with his personal knife and his clipboards full of recipes. The Militant Chef has terrible teeth.



After his class has been assembled and properly pampered by people that smile and crack terrible jokes, the Militant Chef approaches his counter, checking his reflection in the angled mirror above him. His smock and apron are spotless; his prep bowls have been laid out with spices and sauces. The Militant Chef does not introduce himself or smile. His tone is somewhere between aggressive and bored. He chops and slices and assembles, using only the number of words required to describe exactly what he is doing. He finishes each dish with the phrase, "Now Get up! Leave everything!" His pupils frantically place their clipboards and cameras on their chairs before scurrying to their cooking stations. "Oil, now! Chop finely! More finely!" He stalks up and down the row of burners, shaking his head. Under their breath, people refer to the Militant Chef as Gordon Raimsey of reality television's Hell's Kithcen. The Militant Chef is not amused.

One pretty little blond student thinks that 2 cloves of garlic might be enough for her eggplant dish, and it had been a mistake to place 3 cloves on her prep plate. The Militant Chef stalks over and points a long finger at the remaining clove, staring the student accusingly in the eye. He looks at the clove. He looks at the student. No words need be exchanged - the student chops the garlic without protest, being sure to chop it very finely indeed.

When all dishes have been cooked, the class adjourns to the dining area to feast on their creations. The students mingle and chatter, complementing their food with local La Rue beer. The Militant Chef does not join them. The Militant Chef does not wish them bon appetite. The Militant Chef polishes his chopping knife in anticipation of his afternoon class.