With our first test behind us, Exam #2 didn't seem so daunting. This morning we were all noticeably more relaxed in the locker room than we were before Exam #1, and a good number of students breezed through the written section in just a few minutes. When Chef Dianne handed out the assignments for our practicals—coffee and chocolate éclairs, plus a Paris-Brest—we didn't even flinch. After a few weeks in the kitchen, we knew the drill: Some of us prepped for pâte a choux while our partners made the move towards the stoves to start their pastry creams—then we'd switch tasks. It felt like beautiful choreography, knowing when and where to move so that we didn't get in one another's way and each of us had our own time with the shared stand mixers.

I was feeling calm, cool, collected… ready for any minor glitch. Or so I thought. After scrubbing my first pile of mixing bowls at the sink, I turned around to see… television cameras… at my station!

Chef André Soltner, a dean of the school, stood next to my partner Annie while she added the eggs for her dough. Lights shining from the camera and a director finding just the right angle for the shot, Annie had morphed from test taker into television star in the few minutes I had turned my back.

Funny… that's when my heart started racing. I could handle the exam, but television cameras? That's a whole new challenge. How did my toque look?

There had been buzz all week about television cameras in the school, but their visit to our classroom was an unexpected delight, despite my brief moment of fret. This month they're filming a show for PBS, called Chef's Story, in the theater, and we students were offered spots in the studio audience to see some of the world's greatest cooking professionals share their secrets on film.

Annie was exhilarated when the cameras left, but slid back into exam mode easily. Check out the show when it airs and watch for that shot of a student adding eggs into her stand mixer bowl—that's my partner!

These past few years I've fiddled around in my kitchen quite a bit, and pulled off some decent looking—and tasting—desserts. But there was one thing that always seemed out of my league: the mighty puff pastry.

Oh, I'd heard much about it. Heard about some wacky, multi-step folding technique. Heard some menacing things about temperature—did you have to roll out the dough in a freezer or what? And heard much about that pre-made stuff they sell in grocery stores—there were even strict defrosting rules for that! Was puff pastry really that hard to make?

Enter week five (!) of my pastry program, where the daunting rumors about puff pastry were confirmed. This is, indeed, one demanding dough—but, as I happily learned, a pure pleasure to make.

Chef Dianne and Chef Tom have been counting down until puff pastry time since our program began, both touting puff as their ultimate, definite, this-is-why-we're-pastry-chefs, favorite dough. I wondered about their obsession—how good could good puff pastry really be?—but now I get their fascination.

With each roll out, fold over, and hour in the fridge, you can really see the dough develop from a buttery, gooey mess to velvety, layered goodness. It's like watching a chemistry experiment happen before your eyes—amazing, isn't it? Call me the dork of the group, but that's my favorite part of the program: learning the why's and how's behind the development of dough. And puff pastry illustrates that oh so well.

So here it is, drumroll please. Pictures of my—yes MY—first puff pastry dough on its way to becoming a melt-in-your-mouth treat. Enjoy!

You would not believe how many people have used this exact (well, near exact) phrase when talking to me about my enrollment in The FCI's pastry program: "If you every need someone to test your goodies out on, I'm happy to volunteer."

I'll bet I'm not alone: You've heard it, too, no? Many, many, m-a-n-y times.

I don't blame them: Quite honestly, if I was in their position—meeting a current or soon-to-be culinary pro—I'd probably say the same. But it still makes me laugh every time. I hear it at least once a week, and each person seems to think they're the first to make that offer.

I kid, but of course I'm happy to put my creations in a mouth other than mine; I am my biggest critic, but they're my future customers. Fortunately, we're allowed to take home quite a bit of the stuff we make in class, and each afternoon I plot a new course around the city to make deliveries to friends and family. Some people in my class even barter their baked goods: One got a free beer at a bar near the school when she handed the waitress a bag of éclairs.

I think I'll give that a shot, but I'm setting my sights higher. Saks Fifth Avenue… do you think they'd be into it?

And now for a quick chat about diets: Not that I'm on one, per se, but in pastry school, that word has no place. Oh, the temptations!

I've always been one to watch-what-I-eat, but here, it's more like watching-what-I-eat-on-it's-way-into-my-mouth. Of course, we really have to taste our creations—how else to analyze our results?—but, boy, is it tough to limit oneself to one bite, or even one piece!

Don't get me wrong: I'm loving it. How lucky I feel to regularly be in the presence of warm-from-the-oven scones, the tenderest I've ever tasted. And croissants, golden and buttery and melt in your mouth. (Can you believe that we've been introduced to yeast, and made croissants this same week? And Danishes! So fantastic, but way more difficult to master than I ever imagined…)

But, dear waistline of mine, here's where you may really be stretched to your limits: Bread, bread, bread. I can't resist chowing down on Challah (I finally learned the six strand braid!) and Brioche (…and how to make those cute ball-topped brioche rolls!). I am living a dream.

And that's just the beginning. Tomorrow we're making stollen, a favorite of mine. I was in Germany last year in late December, and making this traditional German holiday treat will bring back all the memories of that trip. Mmmm...I can't wait.

As the pace of the kitchen picks up, and each day's itinerary grows in length, it's pretty amazing to see what happens to the classroom dynamic. During some of our more frenzied moments—of which there are, uh, er, well, many—if I stop to take in the scene, I see the best and worst of all of us emerge. The worst—we're messy, pushy, moody, snappy—is disheartening, but the best—class collaboration, support, and encouragement—is plain lovely.

By the end of those crazier days, we're wasted: sore, tired, and—I can only speak for myself here—even delirious. (You should see the more advanced students; seems the imminent chocolate lessons will really send us into a stupor.)

I do love the pedal-to-the-metal approach taken by the school, though. Besides the fact that we're gaining fast-paced kitchen experience and learning an insane amount every day, such an environment really forces us students to bond. Lots of friendships have already formed, and now we regularly unwind together after class. Moreover, never before have I met so many people with such a passion for food as I. (Some of my non-school friends think I'm borderline crazy, able to talk about a single scoop of ice cream for 45 minutes). It's almost like I've found my tribe.

And so we've begun to explore NYC's culinary world together. Tonight, Suna, a woman from Turkey in our class, introduced us to her native foods with an outing to a favorite restaurant in Midtown. Nine of us enjoyed fantastic grilled lamb, creamy yogurt sauce, fluffy pita-like bread, Turkish coffee, and a few bottles of Turkish wine (work hard, play hard, right?).

There was even dessert: delicious baklava. How any of us managed to consume it, which we all did, is a mystery. We'd been eating sugary goodies all day in class—you would think we'd need a break! It was divine, though, and made me wonder if we'll be learning filo dough in an upcoming unit. I'll check my textbooks—and if not, maybe Suna can give us a private lesson...