Not a Teaching Blog, but a Food Rant

I grew up in downtown Victoria. I have fond memories of stopping at the Dutch Bakery as a child to get a treat with my parents. But, especially recently, my memories are better than the actual product. My main complaint is with their whipped cream and butter cream icing. These are both inferior. The whipped cream is not very creamy, and the butter cream, I'm pretty sure, isn't made with butter, but lard, and this makes it too thick. So, my family has a story that we refer to as the un-tellable story. We have memories of delcious black forest cakes from the Dutch Bakery. For my parents birthday, they purchased one of the $20 smallish cakes. It was hideous and disappointing. The cake was so dry. There was no whipped cream. And, to top it all off, the 2nd day, the box was FILLED with fruit flies. My mom, being abrasive when upset, called and complained. She was told, "That's how we make it and have always made it. Don't order it again." Now, we know this isn't how they always made it. I called back, sucked up all the sweetest I could muster, and told the women I think they forgot to put the whipped cream in. She invited me to bring it back it. I did, but was informed that it was fine, and I would not be getting full refund (despite the fruit flies and the fact that she had already thrown it out). They gave me a $10 store credit, which I figured was better than nothing. Here's my point. A blackforest cake has a formula. The formula includes whipped cream, chocolate cake, and cherries. When I buy a black forest cake, I expect these things. The rude manager told us that using the butter cream/lard combo instead of whipped cream is just how they do theirs. If you ask me to make you chocolate chip cookies, and I make oatmeal raisin, and then you complain, I can't tell you, "Well, that's how I make my chocolate chip cookies!" That is ridiculous! Give it a different name. Now, let's never speak this story again. This all being said, I still will stop in here for a treat. The Porcupines are my favorite since the Eclairs have gone down hill.

My Favorites

Whoever said that teachers don't have favorites is full of s***.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAT?" your eyes bug as you stumble back a few steps.

Sorry. I realize that was blunt.  However, I hope my bluntness has shocked you into seeing my truth.

All teachers have favorite students.  If a teacher tells you they don't, they are liars.  Or, failing that they are liars, they are around students who are NOT their favorites and feel uncomfortable and rude naming others as numero uno in front of numero whomp-whomp.

I don't have a favorite. "Boo, hiss, your a liar!" Did you really just say that to me?  You are not paying attention! I don't have A favorite.  I have many favorites!

Generally, I think that my favorite students are kids who I think that if I were also a student, I would be friends with.  Or, sometimes, my favorites are kids who are so quirky, funny, sarcastic, talented, smart etc beyond their years that they don't exactly fit the "norm", sometimes to the point of being an outcast from the peer group.  Now, maybe I would have also been friends with these kids, but, let me not fool myself, I wouldn't have understood these kids at that age either.

I have a few fav kids in grade 9.  These are kids who can talk to an adult, joke around, like interesting books, and are down-and-out fantastic people.  I have a couple favs in grade 10.  They are energetic, friendly, and kind.  I have a few favorites in grade 11.  They are creative, passionate, and witty.

But...sadly...most of my favorites are in grade 12.

Why does this get the big ol' suck-sticker?  Because they are graduating in about a week.  This means they wont be around anymore!

These boys and girls have been my greatest teaching pride, joy, and learning experience.  When I taught grade 8, I had a serious tight-knotted bond with a few of my students.  We were a honest and caring family.  But, until I taught last years grade 11s, I had never had the same type of respect and bond with an entire class of kids.

Now, not all of my fav kids were in the one class.  For example, one of my Japanese TAs is graduating this year.  However, the vast majority were from ONE wonderful class.  The smartest, kindest, wonderfullest girls I have ever met, hands down. (Hey girls, stay single a few more years.  I have a brother. We could be family?) The most thoughtful, courageous, talented, funny boys ever born (to the point where I have asked a mother to adopt me on multiple occasions). These kids had work-ethic second to none, abilities beyond my own, and a future so full they might need to skip lunch.  This isn't to say there weren't a few snafus (water-bottle anyone?) and times I yelled at them, but I am still lucky to have worked with them.

At last years graduation ceremony, I was proud. I had helped (I hope!) many struggling boys get their English credit to walk across that stage.  This year, I felt more than simple pride.  Sadness, for seeing these guys go.  Hope, knowing what they will do for the world.  Glee, the future is exciting for them. A million more emotions.

Congratulation to all my favorites! To the rest of you, you did go too I guess...

Odd Duck

I am not a racist person.  If you think that by being a wee bit politically incorrect (which I will be in the following post) is a be-all end-all that you can judge a person's character by, please stop reading this post now.

So, no, this post is not about people eating dog.  Although, as a follow-up to that, my lovely Japanese assistant did ask me if it is true that Chinese people eat fetuses.  How sick is that?  I promptly told her that what other's do is none of our business and that maybe fetuses taste good.  Who is she to judge?

Ew. Totally kidding.  I used it as a teaching moment to discuss how groups of people who have disagreements sometimes say things about each other that are meant o make the other group look bad or are meant to be hurtful.

This story is about French-Canadians.  Well, not all Frenchies, but specifically one odd duck.

I have met many wonderful French-Canadians in my life.  However, a large number of these individuals were the type of person one could describe as slightly strange, although not to the point where they cannot function in polite society.

Back to my story of today...

I am great friends with the amazing teachers who sponsored me on my practicum.  I worked my buns off for them--well, not literally since I gained 20 pounds in the 5 months--and they reciprocated my hard work by essentially employing me as their substitute for a year.

At the end of the year that I was a sub, there was a teacher barbeque that I attended with all the teachers from the school.  We were all sitting around, enjoying some finely crafted beef dips out of paper plates and bowls.  I was seated beside my former sponsor teacher whom I will refer to as Mama.  She was seated beside a teacher from the French immersion program, Odd Duck.

Mama: Um, that was very nice food.


Odd Duck: Oui, that was delicious.


Mama: Let's clear some room for dessert.  Can I put my bowl in your bowl?


Clearly, everyone else around understands that she is trying to clear the garbage from the table by stacking the paper bowls.

Odd Duck: I do not understand.  Bowl in my bowl?


Mama: You know. Like ***puts her hands one on top of the other**** bowl smoochie.


Odd Duck: (in a huff) Uhg, I am a happily married man.


With that, Odd Duck got up, stormed off, and left Mama with her jaw hanging open.  She turned to me, speechless.   Please keep in mind, this is after the teacher had worked with Mama for a year.

How weird is that?  I say, the Odd Duck is swimming in his own pond.

Cultural Stereotypes

Setting: A couple weeks ago, ESL class

Context: As an ESL teacher, I get special leveled ESL materials. One of these is a magazine/newspaper written for adults but at a low level. I like to let my kids spend some time reading the articles that interest them like you and I would with an average newspaper.  However, I also make them choose one article that they would like to read to the class and discuss.  This generally goes off without a hitch: practice reading and decoding, work on pronunciation, and engage with a multi-cultural class in discussion where everyone is expected to form opinions.

Cast: This class is very small.  I have an assistant who is a spectacular grade 12 girl from Japan.  There is a boy and a girl from Mexico, a boy from Thailand, three boys from China, and two boys from Korea.  One of these Korean boys is new to Canada but adjusting rapidly as he adopts a pithy attitude and a rebellious streak.  I'll call him Korean Jim.  His name isn't Jim, but the name he selected is equally as staunch.

Ms. B: So, let's look at one final article. My favourite article was this one on page three that discusses the documentary The Cove.  *insert discussion on the article, what this movie is about etc* Did anyone see this movie?

The class begins to discuss practices of their cultures that are not common world-wide.  We decide we should watch this film, as long as our TA is okay with it, which she is.  We discuss Canadian practices that are frowned upon and/or debated.  We talk about seal hunting and whaling.  As we put away our newspaper, Korean Jim pipes up.

Korean Jim: Mrs. B? In Korea, we eat dog.

Now, because of his thick accent, it sounded more like this: Een KOR-E-A, we. eat. DAWG.

Ms. B, naturally curious, having heard this but never having been to Korean, asks: What kind of dog?

Now, I too am a dog lover.  Many of you after my own heart may wonder how I could bring myself to talk about this.  I would never engage in eating a dog, but my mind is open enough to understand and respect cultural differences.  I know that few animals are as loyal, loving, and wonderful as a dog, but I have seen people with pet pigs who are just as spectacular.  It is a cultural practice to keep animals as pets, just like it is to eat them. Who are we to judge? 

The Dutch eat horses; Canadians eat narwhal; Koreans eat dogs. 

I am not one to judge the practices, especially culinarily, of other groups of people.  I think I am just as unlikely to ever eat tripe or cockroaches as I am dog.  However, despite not doing it myself, I am still curious.  If you told me you ate a cockroach, my first question would be, "What did it taste like?" Even if you told me it tasted like sunshine and rainbows, I STILL wouldn't try it BUT I would then be able to tell people that cockroaches taste like sunshine and rainbows if it ever came up in conversation.

So, naturally, I wanted to learn more from Korean Jim. He is in Canada learning about our culture (even if all he is adopting is a piss-poor attitude), an I can also engage in this cultural exchange.

Ms B.: What kind of dog?

The answer I am looking for is like pug (please no!), retriever, etc.  I would settle for big, small, old, anything that hints at what type of dog is eaten.

Korean Jim: Male dog. Female dog.

He narrowed it down to all dogs.  Not very helpful.  I decided to move on and never bring pug Norm to visit me.   

Things Out of Context

Again, I am way to tired to write anything comprehension AND comprehensible.  So, again, as more of a musing than a blog, I thought I should I would share a couple of statement that I made.  These were both heard by other teachers.  Of course, the entire conversation wasn't heard, just the one line that, taken out of context could get me in a lot of trouble.

#1: "Good work, but there was a little too much nipple for me."

#2: "Does this mean I get to beat you now?"

I don't think I will elaborate. It is much more interesting to keep you guessing as to how these statement were completely appropriate in everyday teacher-student talk, but trust, both were :)

Quickie

Hi, everyone!  I've been having writers block lately, but I experienced this quick little gem I thought I'd share.  A student said, "Ms. B, you would totally be my favorite teacher...if you didn't assign so many essays."

La Vie Boheme!

So, the following story is not actually a teaching story.  Rather, it is a story about a teacher: my husband, who, for various reasons, will be referred to as "The Butler".  This story takes place about...3 and a half minutes ago.

I was singing.  You may be asking, Why were you singing? Well, you see, for those of you who don't know me outside of my secret identity, I sing constantly.  I sing about what I am doing (i.e. a little ditty I like to call "Getting Dressed"), things I see (i.e. "Waaaaaamart"), random things (i.e. "Epic Ballad on Types of Sauce"), and I also make up parodies (i.e. "Butter Face", although I am pretty sure I got the tag line from Video on Trial, and then added the "She's got no legs or body").

Anyway, tonight I was not singing anything I invented.  I was singing the amazing track from Rent that goes, "500, 25 thousand, 600 minutes.  500, 25 thousand, moments so dear" etc.  Why was I singing this? Well, I had just heard a character on Moulin Rouge yell, "La Vie Boheme".  This reminded me of Rent because of the song "La Vie Boheme".

To back track, and to give The Butler credit, we were watching Moulin Rouge because the other night he took me to see the ballet version, which was awesome.  Thanks, love!

So, here I am singing.  The Butler scoffs, "I bet that isn't even the right calculation."

"Let's see," I respond and keep singing as I open the calculator on my laptop.

"Do 60 times..."

"I know how to calculate this..."

I punch in the numbers.  60 x 24 x 365.

I am a math wiz.

The answer comes up.

"Ha, I knew it wouldn't be right!"

"Um, it says 525, 600."

"Oh.  Right," The Butler blushes.

The point of this story is, ladies and gentlemen, my husband is a world renowned math teacher. He has a degree in astro-physics.  He cannot read six digit numbers. Unconventional? Yes. Non-traditional? Oui. What question does this lead us to? Is this bohemianism or is this bohemianism?

La Vie Boheme!