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“Is anyone in this room a Vegetarian?”, Chef Ted shouted from the back sink. “If you eat meat, you have to do it.”
The room was silent and tense as Chef Ted cleaned off his twelve inch chef knife. No one had an answer for him as we contemplated our fate.  I couldn’t even reason my way out of this one.  It was only the second week of culinary school, and I was not prepared to have to kill something today.
Chef Ted looked up to no verbal objections. “Well what are you all waiting for then? Reach into the bucket and grab your own. Be careful please.”
Walking over to the bucket, I felt my heart jump out of my chest.  I tried to slow down my breathing as I could hear my heartbeat.  In anticipating poultry day (which was the day after on the syllabus), I was too focused on mentally preparing myself to handle birds since I have an innate phobia for them, but not seafood.  I stared at the dirty white bucket sitting on top of the stainless steel prep table in anticipation as everyone else rushed to it.  Boasting the fact that I grew up frequenting Chinese fish markets with my grandfather as a child, I was used to the sight and smell of seafood being killed by the monger.  But today, I was completely caught off guard.
My eight other comrades were all standing around the bucket nervously picking out their own victim.  Half excited, half weary and nervous. We were all squirming none the less but I tried to stand tall in my pristine chef whites, waiting for everyone else to pick first.
Closing my eyes and letting out a shrilling “Eee” sound, I reached in to grab the last one.  I felt the weight of the creature drop into my hands and poked at the thick purple rubber band around its claw.
Poor thing. All wrapped up and no where fancy to go. I thought.
I placed my little guy onto my white cutting board, next to my sheet pan full of shiny new tools.  I decided not to name him as to keep this professional.
“Gather round my cutting board please” as Chef Ted demonstrated that driving a knife through the head, between the eyes in one clean sweep, to cleave the brain, was the most humane way of killing the animal.  Though with much screaming from all parties involved, this did not seem very humane.  We returned to our own stations as JD asked, “Can we just boiled it alive instead?” from across the room.  “How would you feel if I boiled you alive?” answered Chef Ted in his monotone voice.  “But…Ok I heard people put them in the freezer to die first too, can we do that?” Again with his dry humor, “How would you feel if I left you in the freezer to die JD?”  I giggled nervously for a moment, and then grimaced at the thought of my own kill.
I looked up at Vicki for support.  She was set up across the table, and we had become best friends in the first week. She nodded in my direction and gestured towards Tommy.  We both looked at him, and then rolled our eyes.  With a smug look on his face, Tommy pompously grabbed the handle of his knife with his fist, sharp side pointing down like he was on a survivor reality tv show, and proclaimed, “This is easy! Watch this ladies…” and went for the kill.  He missed.  Failing to pierce the creature with his knife, it jumped off the table, and he hopped back too while screaming like a girl.  Tommy’s ego dissipated with his embarrassment as his face turned red while he tried to pull his knife out of the cutting board. Chef Ted walked by, shook his head at Tommy, and said, “Let’s go Vicki, its your turn.”
Happy that the attention was still off of me, I watched Vicki frown and reached for her knife. She let out a big exhale of a scream and jabbed the knife straight into the head of the crustacean, and then left it there.  Surprised by her own inaction, she let go of the handle and just screamed starring at the poor creature wiggling in agony with a knife through its head.  Chef Ted reached over her to pull the knife down to finish it off.  “You can’t do that! One clean sweep next time okay?”  Vicki stood there frozen with her mouth wide open, unsure of what had just happened.
And then, it was my turn.  Beads of sweat and tears rolled down my cheek as I picked up my knife, which had barely bruised a tomato the day before.  I took a deep breath, looked down at my cutting board, and beady black eyes stared back at me.  Crying through my actions and just shy of hyperventilation, I proceeded.  Kill.  Separate and portion off into pieces.  Clean and place into boiling water to blanch until it turns bright red.  Remove from heat, drain, and hold.  Mise en Place the rest of the recipe, including the ingredients for the Cognac butter sauce.  Mmm, Cognac butter sauce…
Mechanically I had finished my task to Chef Ted’s approval.  He even licked his fingers.  I was beyond delighted to impress my Chef instructor, but my heart was still beating through my chest with adrenaline.
This is what it means to kill for your own food.  How primal, but enlightening. How stressful yet exhilarating.  My little guy had transformed from a living being on my cutting board into components that resembled food.  I have killed twelve more since then and each time that I keep count, I am also counting my blessings.  My real culinary journey had begun.  That was the day I killed my first lobster.