Tuesday, April 26, 2011

For the Record...


I love cooking.  Cooking for me must be what writing a song is like to a musician, painting a picture is like for an artist, what dancing is like for a dancer.  It's exhilarating.  It's frustrating.  It's hard.  It's fun.  It makes me smile, and it makes me wanna throw shit across the kitchen.  I get to use my hands and have many different instruments to choose from.  I get to get down and dirty, sticking my hands in squishy, soppy things.  I get to create.  I get to manipulate.  I get to saute, puree, flambe.  I get to indulge.  I get to smack things, beat things, roll things, cut things, flour things, bake things, stick my hand inside things.  It's absolutely amazing and I love it.   

Do I want it to be my job?  Not in a million years.  I am often asked, "Why don't you go to culinary school?" and I quickly reply, "Because I'm already $80,000 in debt from Undergrad and Grad school."  Then I'm asked, "Well why don't you just get a job in a kitchen and go from there?"  And my response is, "Because I have no real experience in a formal kitchen, besides the occasional make-a-platter-look-pretty move, or make a cheese river for a buffet table (I gotta thank my buddy Julien for teaching me that one), or garnishing things, so why would any chef hire me?"  Or, "I'm only experienced to work in a place like Chili's or Applebee's...both places I despise, so no thank you."  The other one I usually hear is, "You missed your calling."  Hey thanks...that's exactly what I need to hear.  My life is now wasted because my calling has been missed.  I guess I should just wait for my demise, and throw in the towel, because I have already missed my purpose in life.  

Here's how I feel about cooking.  It's therapeutic.  Smashing a clove of garlic or pounding out a piece of chicken is good for the soul.  Turning something I've never even heard of into a surprisingly delicious dish makes me proud.  I love to cook.  The more you cook, the better you become at cooking.  I used to never stray from a recipe.  Now, I whip up my own creations all the time and they are GOOD!!  I find that I love my food so much, that eating out has become less attractive to me because I am uber-critical about the food I encounter in restaurants.  I find that often, I can do it better.  I can taste the difference between fresh and frozen.  I can tell if you opened up a bag, poured its contents into a bowl, melted cheese over it and passed it off as $9 French Onion Soup.  I can tell if the woman or man in the white uniform and funny hat in the back loves or hates their job just by taking that first bite.   

I love to try new things.  I can't eat the same piece of chicken everyday.  I hate leftovers.  I just want to create things.  Things that I'm not responsible for for the rest of my life.  Things that I can eat after I create them, or throw away if I don't like them.  Cooking is my hobby.  The minute I turn it into a job that consumes me and makes me hate it, is the minute I'm no longer interested.  Capish??

3 comments:

ashley said...

Amen sister. You took the words right out of my brain and put them on paper. We should start a cooking show.....Now that would be fun.

Jessica said...

That would be fun!

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