When people ask me what I’ve gotten out of spending the past five months in a natural foods chef program at Berkeley’s Bauman College, I tend to get really excited about beets and Brussel sprouts. That question has been coming up a lot lately, as I prepare to graduate in about three weeks.

When we first began, I liked neither of the above-mentioned vegetables, and probably wouldn’t have believed that I would like them five months later. I am of Russian stock, after all. I grew up with some form of borscht on our table all the time, first made by my Russian grandmother, and then my mother, both winter and summer versions. The summer one, especially, looked radioactive to me. Even though it was so colorful, with its dollop of sour cream making such a beautiful contrast, and a sprinkle of lively dill, I could never bring myself to eat it. And this followed me into adulthood.

Same with the little guys that look like stunted cabbages. While I certainly came to appreciate all forms of the Brassica family, those little guys remained on the “do not eat list.”

And then there’s celery. Amazingly, both my parents never liked it either, so that one was in my DNA. I have come to tolerate it cooked, and even buy it now, for my soup stocks and such. But I will not use it in anything raw. Even with peanut butter.

The first day of Bauman scared me a little. Our instructor spoke of our society’s addiction to white sugar, and said that in some ways, it is as dangerous as cocaine. While I certainly would agree that we live in a sugar-addicted society, that analogy sounded a bit extreme. But once I got used to the school’s dogma, I began to like it. After all, its emphasis on whole foods cooking and lack of white sugar and white flour is what appealed to me about it in the first place. I never would have attended a place like the Culinary Institute of America (though I certainly envy those who do, just a little).

I don’t need to learn how to make decadent desserts; I will continue to enjoy making them and eating them on occasion. The point was to learn how to cook and eat better most of the time, and that certainly has happened.

Anyhow, as I prepare myself to launch my own business as a personal chef, I wonder how much of a better chef I really became. In a way, I can compare it to journalism school. I don’t think J-school made me a better writer, really. It just gave me the confidence to market myself and call myself a journalist. I was a pretty good cook before Bauman College, and except for learning how to do a Brunoise or a matchstick (both knife skills), I don’t think I learned all that much. But now I do have the confidence to call myself a chef, when I certainly didn’t before. And that feels good.

I certainly widened my food horizons though. In addition to those veggies already mentioned, there were many that I may have had before, but never thought to buy myself. Things like parsnips, kohlrabi, Jerusalem artichokes. Now I buy them, and better yet, I know exactly what to do with them. That feels good, as I do believe that the wider expanse of nutrients we have in our diet, the better off we are.

I will certainly miss the food, too. After cooking for several hours, we always ate the fruits of our labors, and sometimes, even got to bring some home. My husband fears that I’m going to be so busy cooking for my clients, I won’t feel like cooking for us. Actually, I fear that, too.

One friend asked recently if I missed the intellectual stimulation of journalism. So far, no. I have been writing in bits and pieces, but the truth is, I was so burnt out, I needed to do something totally different. But what my program has lacked in intellectual content I have been learning on my own. For the past five years, I have thrown all my spare interest and energy into efforts at Israeli-Palestinian dialogue. While I cannot leave that issue entirely, my new career path has me now putting some of those energies toward the politics of food.