Your Chef, Torgodevil

Our "English Upgrade" conversation book had a lesson where the students were supposed to listen about two people stating the directions for a quesadilla, then put the directions in order in their book. Seeing as they had never even eaten a quesadilla, let alone know how to make one, I decided to improvise and headed to the kitchen.

Several people grabbing a snack between classes looked at me as if I was crazy when I went looking for the portable gas range cooker and a pan. I told them it was for class, and they got interested in the lesson. Since the kids didn't know how to cook something, I would show them, then have them write down the directions as I did it.

The middle school kids sort of gasped as I set up the gas range in class on a desk, then proceeded to take out eggs and oil, and ketchup as I explained the lesson. Marc got wind of what I was up to, and soon I had two classes I had to cook in front of. Displaying the limits of my cullinary talents, I scrabbled an egg and fried it, noting each thing I did. By the end of the exercise the students had a list of about 20 directions for something as simple as cooking an egg.

I then told them that all I knew how to cook was eggs. They then had to tell me how to cook something else in the same exhausting detail I showed them. I was extremely picky, making comments about how I was supposed to make a sandwich if the bread was still in the bag if that was what they had chose to describe. I remember having to give a rather similiar speech in High School in the same style, which I remember was just as sadistic.

The students responded well to the exercise, and I had a reason to snack on the payclock...not bad.