Culinary School @ Paul Bocuse Lyon
Donation protected
Hello everyone! As some of you may know i've been accepted into the highly regarded 6-week culinary program at Institut Paul Bocuse in Lyon, France, starting this spring. In light of recent medical events i've decided to start this campaign in hopes to get some aid for tuition. I realize these things can be a little awkward and my goal may be a little steep but why not try, right?Any contribution would be incredibly, monumentally, and very much so appreciated. I've always had a passion for cooking and bringing people together via the dinner table so this is a huge opportunity for me. The program only accepts 10 people worldwide and i was lucky enough to make the cut. It's an all-encompassing 6 week program that includes courses in cuisine, pâtisserie, boulangerie, sommellerie, caféologie, and tea. This is a world-renowned culinary institute spearheaded by one of the most influential chefs of all time, Paul Bocuse. Some of the biggest names in chef history have started out studying under Monsieur Bocuse himself. If you'd like a more in-depth look into my passion for cooking please read below the motiviational essay that I submitted in the application process. Apparently it was one of the best they have ever received! Thank you to all who have contributed or even just taken the time to read this. Please feel free to share the link!
The smells, the sounds, the flavors. I love to cook. I suppose growing up with a French father and Iranian-French mother who both had an affinity for cooking prompted it. Maybe it was the all-consuming aroma of shallots sweating in butter that wafted through the air as I walked in from school at a young age. Perhaps it was my first time experiencing a freshly baked baguette fetched from the corner boulangerie that put the
nail in the coffin. Either way, I love to cook. My mom often recounts a story of my three-year-old-self coming down the stairs and asking “Maman, est-ce que
Papa cuisine avec du basilic?” She cites this as the predictive moment where my skill and enthusiasm towards cooking began to evolve. It’s anyone’s guess how a three year old was capable of distinguishing the smell of basil from an entire floor-level up.
Growing up, both of my parents played very distinct roles in my passion for cooking. My father was the Lyonnais predominant chef, cooking something different and incredibly delectable every night - meals that my friends to this day rave about and secretly declare incomparable to their parents’ cooking. He cooked a little bit of everything, always with rhythm, always without a recipe. When I think of my father my
mind automatically focuses in on him smiling in the kitchen with a pair of tongs in one hand, and the other hand held high in the air snapping to the beat of his favorite Queen CD. My mother maintained her own cooking style as well, specializing in the most satisfying Iranian food you’ve ever tasted. My brother and I never complained. Together, my parents equipped me with a diverse and colorful cooking background that is now an everyday stable source of inspiration.
Several family traditions left a significant impression on me, and led to my present day passion for cooking. One of my most cherished traditions was going to the
grocery store with my father and godfather, seeing what looked good and fresh, deciding the dinner menu right then and there, and returning home to craft our meal. This experience engaged all five senses, with Leonard Cohen, Charles Aznavour or the Gypsy Kings echoing through the kitchen as we washed our hands and prepped. The adults would pour themselves glasses of wine, saving a small taste for me. I’ll never forget how much I enjoyed watching them in their element. They not only taught me to appreciate cooking conceptually, but also to think creatively and acknowledge the artistic process. Another favored family tradition were the notorious Lefebvre dinner parties. Equally dinner, equally party. My parents knew how to get down. I never argued when asked to help set up. I would join my father in preparing the food and my mother with the décor and ambience. I was often tasked with preparing appetizers, the standard being smoked salmon toasts (capers tucked between the cream cheese and salmon so as not to fall out), assorted bowls of olives and nuts, and my father’s legendary cheese toasts. I helped him with the main courses too, as needed. He would ask me to plate a lot of the time, bestowing the responsibility of the first impression on me. I felt so special. Meanwhile my mom would set the table with the most beautiful, ornate details. She always put together the most perfect tablecloth to placemat to napkin combinations. Next came the delicate intricacies: the candles, the little glass garland running through the middle of the table, the napkin holders, the mini silver salt and pepper shakers. Together, preparing for a dinner party was always delightful chaos, and I relished every second of it. My love for cooking developed largely through these traditions, through my parents. Of course, my grandmothers influenced this as well. I come from a long line of chefs and artists.
My father passed away when I was 17. As I felt lost throughout the following years I continued to cook. I cooked through college. After graduation I traveled to
France and cooked with my grandparents. I returned to Washington, D.C., started my first adult job, and continued cooking. After that, and through the following years without my father, cooking started to represent something different to me. It wasn’t just a passion anymore, it was a connection to my father and our most cherished times together. I could be searing a steak rubbed with Morton’s steak seasoning and suddenly be transported back to a time where I smelled that same scent alongside him. I have such a strong visceral connection with cooking it has truly made me feel closer to him, closer to how things used to be. Cooking has enabled me to go back in time and feel the familiarity and pure joy that I have so painfully missed over the years. It’s a connection to my past, present, and certainly my future.
Along with my passion for cooking predictably comes a passion for eating. Mealtime has always been a grand event for me. While grocery shopping with my mother as a child I would poke holes through the ground beef casings in the checkout line and, to the cashier’s horror, start eating the raw meat right then and there. Once
people around us caught on to what they considered an outrageous scene, my mom would interject and reassure them that it was okay – “her father is French”. You could see the tension and judgement immediately evaporate from their faces and their shoulders relax.
I love cooking but even more so I love eating. Although I know I’m not alone, butter is my food of choice. I’ve attributed this to my father’s Normandy lineage, as Normandy is the “butter capital” of the world. It’s been said that my body is 90% comprised of butter,
meat, cheese and bread, and I will admit that’s largely accurate.
Today, I cook for personal purposes. Cooking is the common denominator in all of my most treasured times with friends and family. I host happy hours with elaborate charcuterie boards, and dinner parties with the buffet table overflowing. I cook for everyone, bringing people from different corners together. I’ve learned that food is a universal constant with the power to connect unlikely groups of people, bonding over a
sinfully delicious gratin dauphinois or slow roasted pork shoulder. I cook for my friends, family, coworkers, boyfriends, doormen, pretty much anyone that is hungry. I cook for me, I cook for my father. I plan to continue sharing my cooking with those around me but I’m also hoping to turn my passion into a career. With the knowledge and skills I acquire from Institut Paul Bocuse I hope to further develop my passion into
something more refined and beautiful. Since I was a little girl I’ve imagined myself in chef whites and I hope to have the opportunity to be in the highly regarded chef whites of Institut Paul Bocuse.
Merci beaucoup :)
The smells, the sounds, the flavors. I love to cook. I suppose growing up with a French father and Iranian-French mother who both had an affinity for cooking prompted it. Maybe it was the all-consuming aroma of shallots sweating in butter that wafted through the air as I walked in from school at a young age. Perhaps it was my first time experiencing a freshly baked baguette fetched from the corner boulangerie that put the
nail in the coffin. Either way, I love to cook. My mom often recounts a story of my three-year-old-self coming down the stairs and asking “Maman, est-ce que
Papa cuisine avec du basilic?” She cites this as the predictive moment where my skill and enthusiasm towards cooking began to evolve. It’s anyone’s guess how a three year old was capable of distinguishing the smell of basil from an entire floor-level up.
Growing up, both of my parents played very distinct roles in my passion for cooking. My father was the Lyonnais predominant chef, cooking something different and incredibly delectable every night - meals that my friends to this day rave about and secretly declare incomparable to their parents’ cooking. He cooked a little bit of everything, always with rhythm, always without a recipe. When I think of my father my
mind automatically focuses in on him smiling in the kitchen with a pair of tongs in one hand, and the other hand held high in the air snapping to the beat of his favorite Queen CD. My mother maintained her own cooking style as well, specializing in the most satisfying Iranian food you’ve ever tasted. My brother and I never complained. Together, my parents equipped me with a diverse and colorful cooking background that is now an everyday stable source of inspiration.
Several family traditions left a significant impression on me, and led to my present day passion for cooking. One of my most cherished traditions was going to the
grocery store with my father and godfather, seeing what looked good and fresh, deciding the dinner menu right then and there, and returning home to craft our meal. This experience engaged all five senses, with Leonard Cohen, Charles Aznavour or the Gypsy Kings echoing through the kitchen as we washed our hands and prepped. The adults would pour themselves glasses of wine, saving a small taste for me. I’ll never forget how much I enjoyed watching them in their element. They not only taught me to appreciate cooking conceptually, but also to think creatively and acknowledge the artistic process. Another favored family tradition were the notorious Lefebvre dinner parties. Equally dinner, equally party. My parents knew how to get down. I never argued when asked to help set up. I would join my father in preparing the food and my mother with the décor and ambience. I was often tasked with preparing appetizers, the standard being smoked salmon toasts (capers tucked between the cream cheese and salmon so as not to fall out), assorted bowls of olives and nuts, and my father’s legendary cheese toasts. I helped him with the main courses too, as needed. He would ask me to plate a lot of the time, bestowing the responsibility of the first impression on me. I felt so special. Meanwhile my mom would set the table with the most beautiful, ornate details. She always put together the most perfect tablecloth to placemat to napkin combinations. Next came the delicate intricacies: the candles, the little glass garland running through the middle of the table, the napkin holders, the mini silver salt and pepper shakers. Together, preparing for a dinner party was always delightful chaos, and I relished every second of it. My love for cooking developed largely through these traditions, through my parents. Of course, my grandmothers influenced this as well. I come from a long line of chefs and artists.
My father passed away when I was 17. As I felt lost throughout the following years I continued to cook. I cooked through college. After graduation I traveled to
France and cooked with my grandparents. I returned to Washington, D.C., started my first adult job, and continued cooking. After that, and through the following years without my father, cooking started to represent something different to me. It wasn’t just a passion anymore, it was a connection to my father and our most cherished times together. I could be searing a steak rubbed with Morton’s steak seasoning and suddenly be transported back to a time where I smelled that same scent alongside him. I have such a strong visceral connection with cooking it has truly made me feel closer to him, closer to how things used to be. Cooking has enabled me to go back in time and feel the familiarity and pure joy that I have so painfully missed over the years. It’s a connection to my past, present, and certainly my future.
Along with my passion for cooking predictably comes a passion for eating. Mealtime has always been a grand event for me. While grocery shopping with my mother as a child I would poke holes through the ground beef casings in the checkout line and, to the cashier’s horror, start eating the raw meat right then and there. Once
people around us caught on to what they considered an outrageous scene, my mom would interject and reassure them that it was okay – “her father is French”. You could see the tension and judgement immediately evaporate from their faces and their shoulders relax.
I love cooking but even more so I love eating. Although I know I’m not alone, butter is my food of choice. I’ve attributed this to my father’s Normandy lineage, as Normandy is the “butter capital” of the world. It’s been said that my body is 90% comprised of butter,
meat, cheese and bread, and I will admit that’s largely accurate.
Today, I cook for personal purposes. Cooking is the common denominator in all of my most treasured times with friends and family. I host happy hours with elaborate charcuterie boards, and dinner parties with the buffet table overflowing. I cook for everyone, bringing people from different corners together. I’ve learned that food is a universal constant with the power to connect unlikely groups of people, bonding over a
sinfully delicious gratin dauphinois or slow roasted pork shoulder. I cook for my friends, family, coworkers, boyfriends, doormen, pretty much anyone that is hungry. I cook for me, I cook for my father. I plan to continue sharing my cooking with those around me but I’m also hoping to turn my passion into a career. With the knowledge and skills I acquire from Institut Paul Bocuse I hope to further develop my passion into
something more refined and beautiful. Since I was a little girl I’ve imagined myself in chef whites and I hope to have the opportunity to be in the highly regarded chef whites of Institut Paul Bocuse.
Merci beaucoup :)
Organizer
Pauline Lefebvre
Organizer
Washington D.C., DC