Some people go 3,000 miles for a quarter of life-changing experience off campus. I went three blocks.

With two quarters left to take one class, I opted to ditch Northwestern for a few months during the winter and enroll at Kendall College for a quarter of culinary school before coming back to finish up. And as quickly as you can change the channel from CNN to the Food Network, my notion of what school was all about went out the window.

My classmates called me “Northwestern;” I got yelled at when my batonnets looked like juliennes and when my white roux was blond; I burned my hand fairly badly on a 450-degree roasting pan and sliced up a couple of fingers; my feet hurt after hours of standing up without a break; and I had to do laundry every few days to keep my jacket (name embroidered, of course) as white as possible.

But I now make one hell of a mayonnaise.

I got thrown into the fire for Kendall’s first block, which meant six-and-a-half hours of class a day, four times a week. Add an elective called “Chocolates and Confectionaries” — got an A in that one — and I was in the kitchen for 32 hours a week.

In four 10-day classes, my 12 classmates and I learned everything from basic knife skills to the steps for making a good split pea soup. We fried, roasted and sauteed in the kitchen — and sometimes on the daily quizzes.

If nothing else, culinary school teaches you to check your ego at the door. The chef instructor is the judge, jury and executioner. My chef for the first eight weeks was born and bred in France before coming across the pond to run kitchens such as the Ritz-Carlton’s in Chicago. Very quickly it became obvious that his word was the law. Cross him and you’ll be kicked out of class. One girl got banished for a few hours because she was wearing nail polish — a sanitation no-no.

All the horror stories aside, however, going to Kendall was one of the best things I have ever done. I’ll probably remember more from the kitchen classroom than I will from 95 percent of the classes I’ve taken at NU. And I get to keep the uniform. I made some great friends, tasted some wonderful food and even managed to pass the final qualifying me for the school’s second block.

Eating at a restaurant will never be the same for me. Now if only my friends would stop bugging me to make them dinner.