On Cooking and Life

a soliloquy.

From the greatest sadness often comes the greatest joy. A door closed is just another chance at infinite wonder. How should we judge beauty if there is no ugliness in the world? Joy without sorrow? Laughter without tears? I am a believer in sadness. I am also a believer in happiness. They are not mutually exclusive lovers.

People say that sadness causes pain, but I don’t agree.

Today, I lost something dear to me. Something I did not expect to loose.

Heartbreak is not a cliché. It’s like the breaking of a fresh loaf of bread. One moment it’s whole, beautiful and strong. Protected by a hard crust. But it doesn’t take much to break it open. It will never be the same again. The pieces can be fit back together, and if left alone on a table, they may look whole, but something was lost. From that tear comes the aroma. The warm, steamy comfort of safety. No matter how close you hold the pieces together, that steam will disperse now.

But isn’t that what breaking bread is all about. It’s sharing that love with the people around you. What more noble a reason to destroy?

I don’t think the pain of sadness comes form the breaking of the bread, but from the smell. It reminds us of the full potential of what was. The very best of it. And it was great. It still is. It’s just not as it was. Pieces, not a loaf.

Cooking is the perfect way of loving. It’s completely unselfish, selfless almost. What does a plate of food demand but to be enjoyed? Hours can be spent making everything perfect, seasoning every element until together they glow, sometimes even crying into the soup, if that’s what it takes. Then the plates get taken out and you’re left alone in the kitchen.

Maybe you tear a chunk out of a piece of bread.

It doesn’t matter how much you loved your food, how much energy and pain went into it. It will be gone within the hour.

A cook does not leave anything behind. A piece of art can last hundreds of years, it takes maintenance, attention. A plate of food is gone. It does not even have performing art’s trick of being recorded. A picture doesn’t taste all that good.

At least, when the breads all gone, we can always bake another loaf.

It’s beautiful, but sometimes the constant change hurts.

I’ve tried to live my life the way I cook. I’m always searching for new ingredients, new spices. I experiment, and sometimes those experiments are inedible. Sometimes they are delicious, but I can’t remember how I got there. I like to keep things fresh, not overcook anything. I stick by a schedule, but adjust for the unforeseen. I follow the rules because no matter how much black tea I have burns still hurt like hell. It’s important to compartmentalize when cooking. Raw over there, cooked over here. This in the oven, this on the stove. And no mixing utensils or double dipping. Most of all though, I try to love like food does. I usually get this part wrong.

So I bake a new loaf.

And another one.

I was never much of a baker. Cooks almost never are.

But damn it, I can make a great smile. And I’m not half-bad at laughter ether. Sometimes I have trouble measuring all the ingredients for optimism, a bit too much pepper usually gets in, and I’m rubbish at faith and trust. Comfort is a specialty of mine and goes well with a side of insanity.

No matter what your main course is though, dessert is always darker. Granted, it’s richer, and best eaten slowly with a candle on the table and dimmed lights, but there is always something melancholic about dessert. I think it’s because it’s the end of something.

As I said, I was never that good of a baker.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Bill]

This is pretty great. I have to tell you, I was very skeptical when I started. I thought it was going to be standard Good Housekeeping fare or some such.

There are a handful of hallmarks that good writers possess, in different combinations. Even if a writer doesn't have all of them, the appearance of one of them is a clue to the reader that this is a good writer. One of those hallmarks is the ability to close, wrapping up multiple meanings in one fell swoop. Your paragraph on dessert is a fantastic thematic close, and the last line is a phenomenal, catchy way to bring us full circle.

I visited your blog based on this, and was bummed to see zero content. I know you have some content, because your bio alludes to 10 years' worth. I hope you remember this message and reach out to me if you ever release that content.

[Tori]

Wow this is beautiful. So well written.

[Hannah Olivia]

Ugh, this was just so wonderful. I love to cook and bake so this for me was especially special! I love how you say 'I can make a great smile.' I thought this was sweet and read I read it I actually smiled. And that's a good thing to get people to do when you read something of theirs! So great job and keep this up.

[Sujash I. Purna]

One read is not enough! Great stuff you've put in here! Sagacious!

[Rasputin]

This was great. I mean it.
Right off the bat, I want to thank you for writing coherently. Really. I know that sounds like something that should be automatic, but I've read so many poems/stories/etc. on this site by writers who don't bother to construct actual sentences, or who literally write like they're sending a goddamn text message. So, thank you for putting some honest-to-goodness effort into this.
Concerning the piece itself, I loved all the parallels between cooking and life management (I think that's what they call it these days). Your word choice was great- poetic, but not pretentious. And like I said earlier, coherent. I really got the impression that you put a lot of feeling into this one. And it shows- the whole thing is clever and at times light-hearted, but with enough gravity to make the reader take it seriously.
All in all, excellent job. Rock on.
(I'm s**t when it comes to cooking, which is probably why my life is so bizarre.)

[emmajoy]

What an absolutely WONDERFUL piece of writing .. how i agree with you on so much of what you've included here!!! In the rush of life, people have forgotten that cooking and caring for the inner man is what matters .. there's something near spiritual in preparing food for the people you love, for anyone. Marrying ingredients is a form of creation at its best; in preparing and baking a loaf of bread, both sadness and happiness become invisible but vital guests .. the scent of its proving lies in the air, moves around the house, remains long after the bread's eaten. And that's only one food!

So much of what goes on in the kitchen is - as you put it, a glorious example of what makes person what or who he or she is. Iif we put as much planning, preparing and working into ourselves as we do into cooking, maybe there'd be more happy faces and better, kinder people!

This is one of the best pieces of writing I've read in the years I've been in the CAfe.

[M.E.Lyle]

What a fantastic analogy. It's always more difficult baking up good frienships than a good loaf of bread...I think, but I'm not too sure. My wife is the greatest cook in all of cookdom. Our kitchen looks like a disaster zone after she puts all her love and ability to work. I, on the other hand, get to clean up that mess. I love it. Thanks for sharing, and I bet you're a great cook too.

[SkinlessFrank]

You oughta meet my wife Allegra. I think the two of you have a lot in common.

[Ed Hart]

here's a gal that carries her humor with her, and pushed it through whatever opening she can find...what a pleasantly keen intelligence you have...

[Samuel Dickens]

My bread-making is getting better, but only because I'm working at it. As someone who cooks, paints pictures and writes, you've served me up a number of interesting things to ponder. Us creative types are always obliged to pour ourselves into most anything we do, I think.