Like so many of us, I’m working hard to enjoy these last few weekends of summer. As I struggle to hold onto each minute and savor every precious day, I am also trying to imagine how the Fall is going to feel, knowing that the end of bread class next week will bring an entirely new lifestyle for me, as I plunge into my first job in a bakery and my evening pastry class schedule.

A lot of people may not understand the sacrifices that people who cook for a living make in exchange for the satisfaction of having a job that they love. Cooks, chefs, and bakers are all hard at work during the times that other people reserve for relaxing, eating out, partying, and sleeping. It makes sense – their income relies on having people who are not working there to patronize their establishments and eat their food.

What this means for a career changer like me, is that my cherished weekend routine of sleep-in mornings, leisurely walks with a cup of coffee around the Thompson Square dog run, making the Saturday haul at the farmer’s market, leaving the apartment to spend agenda-free afternoons walking around the city with my beloved… these are all things that I will be giving up to pursue my dream of becoming a baker.

I’m feeling very conflicted about this loss. On the one had, I’ve never been more motivated to work in my entire life. I can’t wait to start working as a baker, which usually means starting work at 4 AM and getting Tuesdays off. On the other hand, I’m having a hard time saying goodbye to only part of my corporate self that I liked – the woman who had her weekends off.

I fear losing my friends, driving a wedge into my relationship, missing out on all the good stuff that goes on. I hope that everyone will understand that I may be disappearing for a few years to accomplish some very big goals, but that doesn’t mean I will be gone forever.

I got a little taste of a baker’s schedule this Saturday, when I went in to school to make up a class in the bread kitchen. It was a bit of a treat because it was the first time I got to work completely on my own, without the aid of teammates. I got to make my own breads, from scaling the ingredients to pulling the bread out of the oven, and how the bread turned out was completely on me.

I also got to experience how it feels to work in a silent kitchen. It was meditative, like baking at home, except I was producing at a much larger volume, so everything was that much more repetitive and intense. I was moving around all day, I can’t remember the physical labor of baking ever being more challenging. I paused for a moment sometime in the early afternoon and thought to myself, “Yes, this is what I love about baking”.

At the end of that very busy Saturday, I returned home to Brian, who had spent the day pulling together a meal from things he’d found on his solo trip to the market. We drank cocktails and I told him about my day, and it was lovely. On Sunday we enjoyed a day of leisure, and not wanting to spend all my time in the kitchen, I pulled this salad together with some local beans and we sat outside and talked about the changes ahead. He tells me to stop warning him that he needs to be prepared for me not being around so much, but I keep saying it anyway. I think I do it to hear myself say it, because I’m feeling a little lost these days.

Green Bean and Hazelnut Salad
Adapted from Gourmet, May 2008

This salad has a few fancy oils as ingredients (hazelnut oil, flaxseed oil) that I did not have. I substituted a little sesame oil along with the olive oil. I think next time I’d like to try it with the hazelnut oil at least, although it was still very good without it. I recommend using a mustard that has whole mustard seeds.

1 ounce hazelnuts (2 tablespoons)
3/4 pound green and or yellow beans, trimmed
2 1/4 teaspoons grainy mustard
1 1/2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar
1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt
4 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon sesame oil (the original recipe calls for both hazelnut and flaxseed oils)
1/4 cup finely chopped shallot

Preheat oven to 325°F with rack in middle.

Toast nuts in a small baking pan until centers are golden, 15 to 20 minutes (cut one open to test for doneness). Cool to warm, then rub off any loose skins in a kitchen towel. Coarsely chop nuts.

Cook beans in a 6-quart pot of boiling salted water (1 1/2 tablespoons salt for 4 quarts water) until just tender, 4 to 6 minutes. Transfer to an ice bath to stop cooking. Drain and pat dry.

Whisk together mustard, vinegar, and sea salt in a bowl, then add the oils, whisking. Add beans and nuts and toss well. Season with salt and pepper.

At first glance, there’s nothing on this plate worthy of getting all emotional about. Indeed, it’s a delicious, satisfying green bean salad, made hearty by smoky, meaty prosciutto di parma and accented by just a tiny bite of mustard and radish. Delicious yes. Tear worthy? With drama and violins? Nope.

And even so, I found myself tearing up as I prepared it tonight – as part of our last ditch supper,  with us begging to stretch out every last second out of what turned out to be a delightful, lazy weekend. There’s nothing here to cry about, nary an onion in sight, and yet, there I was, counterside, snapping beans over the sink, bawling like a baby.

People who know that I love to cook often ask me if I learned how from my mother, which is pretty laughable, because my mother wouldn’t let me near her kitchen for a single second longer than the time it took to pour a bowl of cereal. you see, my sister and I were a walking mess, veritable Tazmanian devils of slovenly behavior, and my mother was fed up with restoring order in our path (our father’s too) as she did her best to minimize the damage we left in our wake.

Growing up on a few healthy acres in Northern New England, I took for granted the tremendous bounty of fresh, seasonal produce we had coming from our very own backyard. Only now, as I join the crowds at my local urban greenmarkets, can I appreciate my mother’s commitment to growing fresh vegetables for our family. She was part of a food movement before that movement even existed. And as I was snapping green beans for the salad this evening, I couldn’t help be be transported back to my childhood, when my mother delegated such menial jobs to my sister and me. They made us part of the cooking, and yet, moved us out of the kitchen, safely onto the back porch, where we were sure to do little damage. I remember resenting tasks like this – snapping beans and peas, shucking corn… but now they make me tear up thinking about how much I miss my mommy.

Yeah, how perfect, on Mother’s Day, of all days. My mother is the type of woman who would be mortified by such a display. She’d be telling me to get a grip, that my life is easy compared to so may others. And this is the affirmation that I rely on during our weekly (or, if it’s a hard week, daily) phone calls, because this city can take you far from Earth, and sometimes all I need to get through is tough love, Mom style.

Green Bean Salad with Radishes and Prosciutto
Adapted from  Bon Appétit, June 2009

1 1/2 pounds green beans, trimmed

8 radishes, sliced paper-thin

1 3-ounce package thinly sliced prosciutto, cut crosswise into thin strips

3 tablespoons aged Sherry

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1 tablespoon minced fresh chives

1/4 cup olive oil

1 2- to 3-ounce wedge parmagiano reggiano

Cook beans in large pot of boiling salted water until crisp-tender, 4 to 5 minutes. Drain well; cool. Toss beans, radishes, and prosciutto in large bowl. Whisk Sherry, mustard, and chives in small bowl. Gradually whisk in oil. Season dressing to taste with salt and pepper. Toss salad with enough dressing to coat. Using vegetable peeler, shave cheese in thin strips over salad