Meeting, in Seattle, the French from California

It's an odd feeling to go on a week-long training course with 25 other strangers. We were to be spending a considerable amount of time together - from 8am to 11pm everyday, and living in close proximity in the hotel together.

Of course, I was nervous of the wierdos there were bound to be in the course. All it takes, as you know, is one oddball with a loose screw in his head, and that's enough to throw a spanner in the works for everyone else around. And history and precedent had taught me that if there was an oddball in the crowds, he would inevitably be placed right next to me. Sod's law innit.

I was intrigued by the group behaviour on that first morning - somewhat akin to when dogs run into other unknown dogs on the street. A lot of tentative circling around eachother and sniffing one another out, trying to ascertain vibes and currents, each person subjecting the others to magnified scrutiny and stringent filtering.

But let's not forget that these are, after all, a pack of consultants. By late morning it was apparent that the ices had been broken, and by early afternoon there were already rudimentary signs of developing friendships. I, of course, aligned myself quickly to the French foursome, who had instinctively gravitated towards eachother and formed a sub-clique.

Partially so I could speak French again. But mostly so I could have one of them as my culinary partners for the cooking-school team working event. Can't go wrong with a French chef on your team, right?

Wrong.

Jo-Jo, JM and I started in chagrin at our globs of pasta which were meant to be ravioli. The dough was thick and stretchy exactly like they'd shown us how not to do. Conspirationally, we tried to disguise our raviolis amonst all the others', with the hope that ours would get lost in the mix and we'd be able to eat someone else's. When the judge lifted a glob of ravioli from the large common pot and said, "See this is how you should never make them," Jo-Jo, JM and I took an instinctive step back to try and merge into the shadows.

Our chocolate souffle followed much a similar story.

Nevertheless, by the end of the evening, much time had been spent laughing together, conspiring together, and toasting to each others' culinary expertise.

On the last evening, as we sat together over a shared Moroccan dinner which, to our mortification, had to be eaten by our hands from a large common bowl, we beamed at eachother in delight.

It felt nice to make some new friends. Even if they're - you know - all the way in California.