A day at Le Cordon Bleu: is there any point in classical culinary training?

With this in mind, I took myself off to Le Cordon Bleu – the home of classical culinary training – to experience a day in the kitchens. I wanted to find out what the use of training was. It may seem obvious, but in an age where food bloggers sell best-selling cookbooks and become successful restaurateurs, is there actually any point in classically training?

Le Cordon Bleu offers rigorous and comprehensive programmes in classic French techniques. Why is French cooking in particular so highly revered? As Chef Anthony Boyd – my teacher for the day – revealed, it's because the French were the first to document their methods of cooking. Therefore they have the monopoly and generally, 'classical training' implies knowledge of their methods.

One of the dishes I knew we were going to make was 'Salade d'Asperges, Oeuf Poche, Vinaigrette a l'Estragon', or rather, 'Poached Eggs on Asparagus with a Salad Dressing'. I was initially disappointed by this as I've only been poaching eggs and making dressings my whole life (self-taught). But on second inspection, it was actually the perfect test: would 'classical training' improve this dish?

Turns out, yes. Yes it did very much. There is an art to poaching an egg I'd never realised. There's no hectic whirlpool - it's a gentle process. How to poach an egg the classical way, is to decant it first into a dish – this so that when you pour it into your pan of simmering (not boiling) water, it's in a swift motion so the yolk doesn't flop in first and remains encased in its whites. The water (with a dash of vinegar) need only be stirred briefly to obtain the required circular motion. 3 minutes 15 seconds later, perfect eggs; as in, the best eggs I've eaten for a long time.

That was one of many things I learnt that day. Another was how to make vinaigrette. I thought I knew already, but somehow, the one I made that day was better than any I've made before. Maybe it was the vinegar to oil ratio, or the sharp aniseed hit of tarragon we were encouraged to add. Whatever it was, it was so good I almost drank it.

I also learnt how to butcher a chicken. Indeed that was my first task at 8:30am. I turned it into fricassee – formerly that dish rustled up at Christmas to finish off the turkey, but there, a masterpiece. A leg resting next to succulent breast, dressed in a rich sauce made from chicken wings, cream and mirepoix (or chopped up onions, carrots, leeks and celery). The depth of flavour was beyond compare (though I say so myself).

A few days later I took a tour around the school to see it properly at work. Le Cordon Bleu, as one would imagine, is an impressive operation. Made-up of a series of kitchens – from cuisine to patisserie – there are students dressing crab in one and others making cardamom buns in another. There are demo rooms, a library, function rooms and a café. The coffee is quite exceptional.

Founded in 1895 in Paris, Le Cordon Bleu ('The Blue Ribbon') was originally designed as a school where French journalist Marthe Distel could offer subscribers to her culinary magazine, 'Le Cuisiniere Le Cordon Bleu', lessons with professional chefs. It gained popularity quickly, and in 1931, former pupils Rosemary Hume and Dione Lucas decided to open a London location. In fact, it was Rosemary and her students who came up with a dish to serve on Coronation Day in 1953 – 'Poulet Reine Elizabeth' or 'Coronation Chicken' as it became known. Since then, the London school has trained the likes of cake designer Peggy Porschen, food writer Tessa Ward and 'Great British Bake Off' winner John Whaite (post-Bake Off, to be clear).

So, what is the point of classical training? Well, from this amateur's perspective, it not only teaches you how to cook, but how to cook better. We should care that chefs trained this way are in decline. Because once such skills are lost, they're lost forever. And eating out would be the poorer for it.

Do you have to be 'classically trained' to be a chef? No, you don't. But if you want to produce damn good food, it's a good place to start.