Cake Test Numero Uno brought us back to the basics. Our assignment was to make the first cake we had learned in this unit: a plain genoise and buttercream layer cake.

That may sound simple, especially compared to all the other snazzy, chocolatey, meringuey, fruity, moussey cakes we've tackled since, but I still wouldn't call it a walk in the park. There was sugar to be heated to soft-ball stage, pâte à bomb to be whisked, batter to be carefully folded, and, of course, decorating. Not so easy when the pressure's on.

My classmates and I handled the pressure well, despite a few of us having to make our genoise two, even three, times. (Many of the cakes fell during baking. One oven chose today—test day, of all days—to be moody.)

When evaluations were complete and clean-up had begun it was time to discard our cakes, which had been poked-at, cut-up, and sampled by the chef-instructors. "Wait," said my classmate Helen to Sue, just as Sue was about to toss the goods. "There's something I've always wanted to do."

We all watched as Helen smashed the cake between her hands, icing oozing out from between her fingers. Jaws dropped, we were in a state of disbelief—until we realized that what we were really feeling was envy. It looked like incredible fun.

Judging by the smile on Helen's face, it was. What a great way to celebrate the end of test day.

Uh-oh. It's time for me to get serious. During this week and next, Chef Tina (the director of the pastry program at the school) will be meeting with each of us students—just a quick little chat for her to get to know us better, discuss our progress, consider our goals, and introduce the subject of internships.

It's nothing to get worked up about, really, but still I find myself feeling flustered—not about the meeting itself, but more about the big kahuna question that it brings to light: What do I want to do with myself after life at The FCI?

Some of my fellow students can answer this query with ease: A few are headed straight to restaurant kitchens; others have wedding cake dreams. Still some say "bakery, bakery, bakery" and nothing else. But me? Well, the problem is that I want to do everything: It all sounds great!

Looks like I've got some serious thinking to do—but first I must devote my brainpower to brioche and baguettes. Our bread exam is just around the corner!

I remember the first day we made croissants. We learned the folding, the spreading of the butter over the dough, and the shaping, and when my first batch emerged from the oven I was psyched. Browned, flaky, sort of crescent shaped—to me they were a complete success.

I look at that first batch much differently now: they were an awesome first batch, yes, but hardly the complete success I deemed them. Several batches later, I get the nuances of croissant-making in a way I couldn't before, and my bar for measuring "awesome" croissants has moved much higher. I've got…(big words coming up) Experience! Know-how! Wisdom!

I know now that dry spots in the dough need not be written off as mistakes, but can instead be easily incorporated into the moister sections. I know now not only to roll the croissants, but how much pressure to apply, in what direction, and why. I know now what happens when bits of bench flour are left on the dough instead of being brushed off. And I know now how to tell when a croissant is properly proofed—not by the clock, but by how the dough feels on my fingertips. (Check out the pics of my first batch and my last. I know I've got miles to go before croissant perfection is reached, but there's definite improvement there, no?)

Just imagine what I'll know in 10 years, with several hundred batches under my belt. And how good my croissants will be. Now that feels awesome.

It's petit four time, folks, and it is great. Lots of piping… little metal molds… results so cute you just want to, well, eat them up.

Besides the delicious pop-them-in-your-mouth creations that we're leaving class with each day, the petit four section appeals to me in other ways. First, it introduces us to some funky new concepts: the use of pectin (fruit jellies!), importance of shapes (tuiles!), and the world of mass production. (With 22 people in our class, just imagine how many macaroons we have by the end of the day.) Second, making petit fours brings together so many of the techniques we've been taught—a review of sorts, which I think we all appreciate, and a chance to see how much we've really absorbed over the past few weeks.

Third, and why I love petit fours most, is that it's exacting: When your product measures only one inch by one inch, mistakes have no place to hide. I'm the first to admit that I often get carried away with excitement and have a tendency to rush—but this unit's emphasis on artistry, attention to detail, and precision forces me to slow down and focus. It's a lesson in patience—a tasty one, at that.

Here's a pic of my new partner, Ana, working on some truly decadent Sarah Bernhardts and another of my first petit four tray-up. Think I can do better? Patience, dear readers. Patience.

Today was petit four test day—a big event in the lives of we pastry students. Not just another exam, the petit four test was our first opportunity to show our stuff: It was time to flex our creative muscles for everyone in the class to see.

Chef Dianne announced last week that we'd have to present four petit fours of our own choosing. They could be based on family recipes, things we'd learned in class, or completely new ideas altogether—we were limited only by our skills and imaginations. We eagerly began planning our menus and collaborating with our partners (we'd be traying up together, so we needed a theme), hitting the cookbooks in the library, and practicing at home. We were electrified with excitement.

We were also petrified. Were our game plans too ambitious for the five hours we'd be allotted? And would we end up with four tasty desserts—or unrecognizable, inedible results. Anxiety was the word of the week.

After much build up, this morning finally arrived—and when Chef Dianne gave us the go-ahead we raced to the flour bins like racehorses following a rabbit. As for what happened after that, well, it's hard to say—it feels like the day was a dream (nightmarish at times), and I have random recollections of today's events swirling around in my head. Diminished brainpower aside, I do know this: For me, it was a day like none other—an insane adrenaline rush, a multi-tasking bonanza, a constant sugar high—and the ultimate self challenge. At the end of it all, one of my classmates said she felt like we were on Iron Chef. She hit the nail on the head—except, thank goodness, there'd be no winners or losers.

Though post-test delirium is currently impairing my memory, luckily that of my trusty digital camera is still working quite well. And according to the photos it has stored, the day was a complete success. The class's petit fours look fantastic, and I am really proud.

Take a look at what some of us made, and three of my classmates enjoying Song and Bea's English Tea Party-inspired petit fours.

And now, I nap.