White Jacket Required by Jenna Weber Page A

what I will do. It was perfect! I could combine my passions for food, writing, and history all in one. But first, I would need to know how to rewrite the recipes.
    The whole thing seemed like an answered prayer. I no longer stressed about my decision to go to culinary school, and instead prepared to tell my parents about my new decision: to switch over to the Baking and Pastry Program. It was perfect, really. I could swap my hours at the restaurant for a day shift and then go to school at night, when the B&P program took place. I would learn everything possible about baking, and then when I graduated, I would work on Great-Grandma’s recipe collection. I couldn’t wait.
    Come to think of it, I didn’t love to carve pork. I didn’t even really love to chop carrots. What did I love to do more than anything? Bake. It’s been said that most people can cook but not everyone can bake, and I had always found solace and comfort in reading recipes and watching bread rise. I loved the fact that if you followed the recipe’s instructions, the final product would turn out as expected. In a world with no real guarantees, the fact that I was promised sugar cookies in one hour if I read the fine print in my big yellow Gourmet bible was an unmitigated joy. I was sure that switching to the B&P program was the answer to my prayers and, that night, I prepared to tell my parents the news over dinner.
    My mom was serving up slices of perfectly cooked roast pork when I piped up.
    â€œI have an announcement to make!” I said. “I’ve decided that I want to switch over from the Culinary Program to the Baking and Pastry Program at school.”
    Mom and Dad raised their eyebrows while John stuffed a large piece of pork in his mouth. “Honey?” Dad said. “What brought this on? I thought things were going well at school.”
    I sighed. “It’s been . . . fine. I just haven’t been one hundred percent happy, and with the kind of money I’m spending to go, I want to actually enjoy my time there.”
    I chewed on a piece of pork and instantly memories of Meat Fab came flooding back, leaving an almost bitter taste in my mouth. I had been so looking forward to my mom’s cooking during this break, but this was not what I’d expected. After dealing solely with chopping up animals for the past month, I had simply lost my appetite for meat. I couldn’t help but notice, though, the color of the pork and wonder if it had been cooked to a proper 160 degrees. I just couldn’t seem to escape meat, no matter where I was.
    â€œBut are you sure you want to do this?” Mom asked, a look of worry in her eyes. “I thought you said getting a general degree in culinary arts was looked at with higher regard in the actual job market . . . . You don’t want to transfer now just because it’s easier and then have a harder time later getting a job!”
    â€œMom, you know I don’t want to be a restaurant chef anyway!” I said. “My passion isn’t for cooking chicken, it’s for baking. Finding Great-Grandma’s recipe box solidified that. I want to learn everything possible about baking and desserts so that I know enough to rewrite her recipes.” I didn’t add that I had already found out that some of my credits would transfer over, so I’d still be able to graduate at the same time. I gingerly sliced through my pork again, seeing visions of the whole animals that I had just broken down a few days before.
    â€œWell, you’re right. It is your money and your time. If you think switching programs is best, we trust you,” Dad said with a smile.
    Later, my mom came up to my room and lightly knocked on the door. I was sitting in my pajamas on my bed, with Great-Grandma’s recipes spread out all over my comforter.
    â€œJenny Ren?” Mom called softly. “Can I come in?”
    Jenny Ren was her pet name for me, a name she had