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So I know it’s Labor Day, the day that officially puts the kibosh on summer, and I suppose that’s just fine by me (I like sweaters, boots, cider and squash just as much as the next person, you see), but can someone please explain to me why, when I stopped in my local drugstore this weekend, I was met not by your usual September stock of back-to-school Hannah Montana/Jonas Brothers notebooks and pencils and pens, but rather by a hoard of witches hats and plastic orange pumpkins and shelves upon shelves of Halloween candy?

…Halloween candy! On September seventh! I mean, I’m not usually one to turn down a peanut butter cup (pumpkin-shaped or otherwise), but come on! Halloween candy on Labor Day is just downright ridiculous. Honestly, what’s the big rush? These days it seems like we only get about a week of real fall weather anyway (thanks, global warming), so why try and whisk us all into an orange and black, pointy-hatted, chocolate-stained frenzy during the first week of September?

Just simmer down there, people. Slo-o-o-wly eat the last of your fragrant yellow peaches and juicy heirloom tomatoes – there’s really no need to hurry. Savor the last few bites of summer, because pretty soon, it’s on to buttery squash and sweet, tart apples and, apparently, miniature Snickers bars shaped like ghosts. Which, incidentally, are delicious. For now, though, I think I’ll take my sweet time saying so long to a wonderful summer.

Goodbye, summer! Thanks for everything. See you in a few.

I know it’s sort of (ahem, um, definitely) dorky to post twice in one day, but I can’t help it – I’m too excited. You know how earlier I mentioned that my status as a student wasn’t official until this afternoon? Well, this afternoon happened and I am officially a student at The French Culinary Institute. Yaaaay! I mean, uh, whatever man, that’s cool.

This afternoon kicked off the experience with orientation, and I must say I’m feeling quite happily orientated. At around 2:30pm, the new culinary and pastry students gathered by the bar at L’Ecole (the FCI student-run restaurant below the school itself), everyone glancing around nervously and making awkward small talk with their neighbors. Just as we were all starting to run out of shallow banter (And your name is? It’s nice to meet you! Where are you from? Oh, Dallas! Neat! I’ve, uh, never been there), we were herded upstairs to get our “Hello my name is” nametags and materials and watch a presentation on what we can expect from the next six months.

Below is a list of things I learned:

1. Class starts at 9:00 am sharp.
2. Missing class is a bad, bad thing to do.
3. People steal things from the locker room, so buy a lock if you want to keep your stuff.
4. Nail polish, perfume and jewelry are strictly prohibited while in class. Crap.
5. The uniform is, uh, not cute. They make us wear hats. And neckerchiefs (whatever those are). The coat, however, is sort of awesome.

After the presentation, we were shuffled towards a long table gleaming with glasses of wine and gorgeous appetizers and told to please mingle. More awkward conversation ensued, but the wine definitely helped, and I happily drank my wine and ate smoked salmon puffs and chocolate apricot cake bites and even managed to make a friend or two. General success! I consider myself (and you, now, fine reader) officially orientated. Class begins on Tuesday, so stay tuned. For now, check out my very official-looking chef’s coat:

Eh? Eh? How cool is that? It says my name and everything! It almost makes up for the neckerchief. Almost.

Whew. It’s been quite a week, dear reader(s)… and apparently it’s only Wednesday. Actually, some not great things have happened this week. Firstly, I managed to get so many paper cuts at work today you’d think I tried to craft a small origami village, when really all I was doing was a mail merge. Then there was yesterday, when I seem to have (gracefully) tripped down a flight of stairs and landed squarely on my right ankle. (Turns out my ankle is fine, though the jury is still out on my self-esteem and personal dignity.) And, worst of all, there’s the fact that five of my colleagues, two of whom I consider my friends, were laid off yesterday. Which just really stinks.

A sign of the times, I suppose, though it doesn’t make their departure any easier to swallow. It makes me feel guilty, and also a little bit ashamed. I mean, up until yesterday, all the recession meant to me was that everything was on sale. And that the term “recessionista” had been invented. The various national and international crises hadn’t yet reached my doorstep, and I sort of just assumed everything would be fine. It’s nice living in a bubble… until it bursts. At any rate, I hope that M & P land on their respective feet. I’m going to miss them.

But, the show must go on. Literally. I’m performing in a play that opens this weekend, and our crazy rehearsal schedule hasn’t given me much time to dwell on layoffs and bubbles and stock market crashes. Or food, for that matter. Mostly, my non-working hours for the past two weeks have been filled with high-pitched singing, flouncy Spanish senorita skirts, set change assignments and fake eyelashes. I’ve barely cooked all week, and I was in such a rush to get to rehearsal last night that I actually skipped dinner. (…I know! Blasphemy. That must be why I fell down the stairs.) Tonight was my one night off from rehearsal, but after catching up on all the grocery shopping, laundry and apartment cleaning to do, I was too tired to even turn on the oven. Instead, I opted for some crusty bread, a few smeared slices of sharp cheese, some plump medjool dates and a crispy apple. YUM. Added bonus: I saved money by not turning on the gas stove. I mean, we are in a recession afterall.

I hope you’ll forgive me for not posting a recipe this week – it’s been a crazy one. I did manage to bake this cake last weekend. The recipe is for a blood orange olive oil cake, but I used meyer lemons instead, and I think it worked beautifully. I expect it would work with any type of citrus, really, and be delicious. Be warned, though: if you’re the type to stick by the conventional notion that cake should taste purely sweet, you may not like this one. It’s sweet enough, but you can really taste the olive oil – it gives the cake a subtle earthy, fruity flavor and a sturdy, moist crumb. Be sure to use good olive oil – if you’re not sure what “good olive oil” really means, just give the oil a taste to make sure you like the flavor before you use it to make citrus olive oil cake.

That’s all for now. Here’s to a better week ahead (with some recipes, for goodness’ sake!) Until then, keep on plugging away, and try not to forget to eat dinner.

Um, hi.

So, uh, I’d like to introduce you to my, um, my blog. You know, like, officially. Olivejuiced, meet readers (ahem, mom and dad), readers, meet olivejuiced.

…Great! Now that all the introductions are out of the way, this is much less awkward.

So, in honor of my new relationship with the interwebs (I blog!), I’d like to discuss some other new things:

1. My future as a culinary student. (Yay!)

Starting June 9th, I become a newly clogged and elastic-panted student at The French Culinary Institute in New York City. (Yaaay!) I imagine there will be a lot of yelling and burning and slicing and sore feet – it will be intense and tiring and delicious. I can’t wait.

2. My beautiful, large, inexpensive apartment in New York City.

…Hah. Whatever, I know it’s out there somewhere.

3. My silk printed dress from Anthropologie.

It has pockets! And a lovely scoop neck. And pockets!

4. Casey’s status as a legal drinker.

Congrats, little Casels! Here’s a commemorative photo of the momentous occasion, just for you.

I’d forgotten how much I love Madison – even in February. It smells like lingering smoke, stale beer, cold air and fried food. I’ve heard that just standing on State Street makes your arteries clog.

But, it was fun. We chomped on beer-boiled brats, Gritty burgers (with Gritty sauce), and fried cheese curds. We slurped fresh ice cream from Babcock, and we drank beer from a boot (toe up). We also jogged around the Capitol, ice-walked on Lake Mendota and did hot yoga. Needless to say, it was quite a trip. And, best of all, I got to see my very favorite Badgers.

At any rate, dear reader(s), it’s been an exciting couple of months, and I imagine things will only get more interesting, what with a move to the big apple and freshly pressed chef pants on the horizon. I will do my best to keep you posted.