I've got six months of intense schooling ahead of me, and then where will I be? Headed towards the world of chocolate—or the land of catering? Assisting in a restaurant—or developing dessert recipes in a test-kitchen? Bakery gal—or ice cream guru? Oh, the possibilities!

Please join me on my journey towards pastry greatness (well, at least pastry graduation) here on PastryScoop.com, where I'll keep a "Diary of a Pastry Student" of sorts. I'll document the making of my first fruit tart... my first fallen soufflé and the successful one that follows... tempering chocolate and the challenges of yeast... distinguishing between pâte sucrée and pâte sablée... and so much more. I'll learn to balance wedding cake tiers, my diet (good thing for elastic-waist uniforms), and a thrilling, but busy schedule of classes, exams, visiting-chef demos, potential internships, and exploring NYC's pastry world with newly trained eyes.

No one promised that this year was going to be easy, but I'm ready for the challenge. Let the whisking begin!

Today my future classmates and I gathered at The FCI for our afternoon orientation. There was the expected—paperwork, a run down of school rules, and awkward first meetings, yes—but, oh, there was so much more.

There were brief introductions; I have classmates from South Korea, Puerto Rico, New Orleans, Turkey (... I'm from New Jersey, slightly less exotic).

There was the distribution of uniforms. I got jackets embroidered with my name... how chic! (That's me trying on the whole shebang for the first time, minus the toque, or paper hat. It took my husband and me about fifteen minutes to get the kerchief just right!)

There was a meet and greet, complete with trays of chocolates and mini pastries. That's where we students finally started to get to know one another.

And there was the handing out of textbooks; Part One alone is 2.5 inches thick (I measured.) Despite its heft, it was thrilling to receive, and I cracked it open during my subway ride home. Chocolate Bavarian tart! Austrian cherry dumplings! Napoleons! Profiteroles! (Oh, also conversion charts, more information on eggs than you ever knew existed, and weekly cleaning assignments... not nearly as craving-inducing but also a welcome and equally exciting part of the learning experience.)

Class starts in five days, so it's time I buckled down and got serious. In fact, Chef Jürgen already gave us a reading assignment: The Introduction to the Professional Kitchen. I'd better get started; I've never even set foot in one...

There really was no point in setting my alarm clock this morning. I was up most of the night anyway, my mind spinning with excitement and anticipation (and admittedly, nerves) for my first day of pastry class. I felt like a kindergartner again, minus the plastic lunch box.

Uniform pressed and assignment read, I arrived at school to find a big welcome and lots of whirlwind. After stashing our street clothes in the locker room and attempting to pull ourselves together, my classmates and I headed to the pastry kitchen, where we were each greeted by a big red box of brand-new shiny tools—I was still feeling quite like a five-year-old, wanting to rip it open, birthday-gift style.

Our chef instructors, Chef Diane and Chef Tom, wore the tall hats in the kitchen. Their zeal for baking, even after several years of teaching at The FCI, was palpable from the moment they introduced themselves. They managed to make the run-through of task lists, classroom protocol, and kitchen layout much more enjoyable than, well, a run-through of task lists, classroom protocol, and kitchen layout.

Hours later, and now back at home, I'm still a giddy school girl, even more excited for tomorrow than I was for today: That's when we'll each finish assembling our first apple tart. Oh yes, I said "finish"—as in we've already gotten our hands dirty with dough! How's that for starting with a bang?

There's pâte sucrée and apple compote, prepped by my partner and me, chilling out in the classroom fridge overnight and eagerly awaiting their rendezvous in the tart pan tomorrow morning. Just a few more steps and—voila!—by tomorrow afternoon I'll have my tart and (hopefully) eat it, too.

I'm off to review today's lesson, study tomorrow's, and organize (read: play with) my big red toolbox. And also try to get some sleep... I'm exhausted!

Day 2 ends and I'm beaming with pride. Here it is, my first completed project: A tarte aux pommes, or traditional French apple tart. Check out those snazzy spirals! Oh, yeah! Even more amazing, though, is thinking about how much I've already learned, from how to avoid dough shrinkage in the oven to how to achieve better knifing posture. I'm hardly a rock star yet, but it's truly incredible how much progress I've already made in just two days.

While I'd love to sit at my kitchen table and simply admire my creation all night, I'm quickly learning that the life of a pastry student doesn't always allow for such peaceful ponderings. First, I'll have to hit the laundry room—there's flour all over my chef jacket—

and then I've got to prep for tomorrow. I'm struggling to remember all of the French vocabulary, and a quick review is in order before our next lesson.

I think after that, though, I will take a few minutes enjoy the beauty—and, yes, taste—of that tarte aux pommes.

It's a good thing for adrenaline: If the first few lessons left me completely wasted by day's end, then today may leave me in a weekend-long coma. For the first time since our program started, we baked and stirred and whisked from the moment we walked in the door this morning to the moment we left mid-afternoon—there were no lengthy introductions or the like during which we could rest our feet and take a breather.

It was a blast.

The day flew by in what seemed like five minutes. Before I knew it, we'd made the ever-so-fragrant crème d'amandes... poached pears and completed our tarte Bourdaloue... filled ramekins with pots de crème au chocolat (which we devoured as a post-lunch dessert)... baked yesterday's gingersnap dough into crackly, sugary, tender cookies... assembled some show stopping tarte aux fruits fraiches (my favorite!)... practiced conversions... and still managed to prep some chocolate heaven cookie dough (We'll see next week if they live up to the name. I'm predicting: "yes").

I'm dizzy just recalling it all, but also elated. The work, though difficult, is extremely rewarding, and my enthusiasm skyrockets after each successfully completed task—and even those that are less than successful. (We have those, too... we're beginners, remember?) So guess where I'll be tomorrow? In my small apartment kitchen, improving my orange-segment separating, apple and kiwi peeling, and whipped-cream whisking (by hand!)... that is, if I don't sleep right through 'til Monday.

Future employers please close your web browsers now; it's time for a have-no-shame confession of what might not be a high point on my job application.

After dumping my sifted flour into the creamed butter mixture for my Viennese vanilla crescents today, I turned on the Hobart mixer—without first adjusting the speed from three (the fastest) to the smarter choice of speed one. As you might expect, a cloud of flour enveloped the room—and from it I emerged, fully coated. Not spared from the blow were the counter, the floor, and my very forgiving partner, Annie.

Embarrassed? I was. But discouraged? Not at all. These six months are, indeed, a time for learning, and because of today's incident, I've learned this: Always double-check the setting on your stand mixer before you flip the power switch. (Annie told me I'm not the only one who makes such a flub: In the bakery she once worked at, even the most experienced chefs occasionally sent a batch of dough flying. Call me cruel, but that did help bring back my smile.)

Chock this day up to trial-by-error, for many of us in the class. Several students' tarte Alsaciennes oozed custard from every which way while in the oven... a few logs of Fig Newtons were crackly and, well, not very pretty... and one or two blind-baked pâte sucrée shells died an early death, too paper-thin to survive even the trip from the cooling rack to the counter.

Frankly, I'm glad today happened. It reminded me that, despite class being incredibly fun, baking is work. How easy it can be to get caught up in the excitement of it all and lose the focus and concentration needed to make a successful dessert—instead of a flour storm.