tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60788106011099749722024-03-08T03:55:50.227-08:00flour, sugar, water, bloodon baking, life and the spaces in-betweenReluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-45247834933368503892010-01-30T20:14:00.000-08:002010-01-30T20:17:21.677-08:00On CleaningI've had a real urge to purge lately. On the surface I think I seem somewhat organized; I have a small apartment and it really makes it necessary to put things away. But I know there is lots of crap hidden in closets and corners in nice Ikea patterned boxes that I need to get to.<br />
<br />
I always have the same problem when I deep clean-where to start? I like to use the "economy of movement" approach to everything (probably from spending so much time in a kitchen) but in this case, with so many goals I want to accomplish I'm getting bogged down in the details. No surprise.<br />
<br />
In my planning of the big purge, I've also decided to rearrange my furniture. This will require me to unload my china cabinet. I don't know why I have the damn thing. Well, I do, its an antique and was my first purchase at an auction. Its a Hepplewhite style, and its great for compact spaces. I guess what I really mean is I don't know why I keep what's in it.<br />
<br />
I have a large collection of china and crystal that I never use, and probably never will. Back in my early twenties when I was nurturing a deep urge to nest, I bought all these pieces in hopes to be ready for the "big day". I had visions of living in an old two and a half story house that still had a creaky dumbwaiter. I would throw fabulous dinner parties and use my simple, but elegant white ware to serve on.<br />
<br />
Ha.<br />
<br />
Many years later, I often toy with parting with all of it (but for the wine glasses, which are necessary to life). Then a friend will come over and I will pull out the teapot, and she will gasp at its beauty, and I will feel all Martha Stewartlike and competent. So, I guess I have to keep that. And the soup terrine is so lovely-a shame to let it go. Lets not mention how the service all fits together so when you look down at you see a subtly blooming flower. Sigh. I'm never going to get rid of it. I know it. I'll be 80 living in my apartment with all my books and china looming around me. But it will all look fabulous!<br />
<br />
So there is art to hang, furniture to move, silk pillows to lay out in carefully orchestrated patterns. I must get to it. It's important to complete this constructed reality so I feel ready to face all the crap yet to come.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-77070578944920705622010-01-30T15:46:00.000-08:002010-01-30T15:46:32.191-08:00On Squirrelsan anonymous person once told me that men are like squirrels.<br />
sometimes, when they find the best nuts<br />
the most perfect nuts<br />
they decide they are too lovely to eat<br />
and hide them away for a later day.<br />
<br />
but keeping them hidden becomes diffiicult<br />
and they wonder, is the nut still as lovely?<br />
so they go back, dig it up, inspect it<br />
savour its presence for a short while<br />
and then bury it again.<br />
<br />
for knowing the nut is there<br />
and exists<br />
even buried deep in the earth<br />
is comfort enough.<br />
<br />
I have two squirrels. Two men who have buried me away.<br />
Occassionally they return and dig me up<br />
tell me how much i was (am) loved<br />
how they wished they had enjoyed me when they could<br />
<br />
but now, its just too difficult<br />
complicated<br />
the twists and turns of life has left the consumption of nuts<br />
from long ago<br />
impossible.<br />
<br />
but, because i have a weakness for squirrels<br />
when the earth above me starts to move<br />
and i know they have come to dig me up<br />
i always<br />
<br />
seem to answer them<br />
to show them what they missed<br />
to let them taste the sweet meat of me.<br />
<br />
and so the earth above me rustles now<br />
and i feel the anticipation of<br />
getting only the best of someone<br />
for a short time<br />
but<br />
but<br />
i think i'm getting to the point<br />
where being alone<br />
is better than a short time<br />
with even the best of the squirrels<br />
<br />
I write this today to remind myself later. I write this today to remind myself later.<br />
We are in the midst of change my girl.<br />
And someone out there wants you forever.<br />
And the short term is not a long term solution.<br />
I just want to be aware this time.<br />
I just want to be awake<br />
not in a sleepy fog of a long rest under a deep soil.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-23870105141273881272010-01-24T10:09:00.000-08:002010-01-24T10:19:02.646-08:00BloodI've been silent for a long while now<br />rejecting the need to speak<br /><br />but theres more to say<br /><br />and I feel weak<br /><br />the stuffing motion<br />the avoidance<br />i guess i've become immune to it<br /><br />somehow, somewhere<br /><br />the voice inside me has pushed up<br />out<br />bursting pores with want to be heard<br /><br />this will be difficult<br /><br />i'm not sure how to approach it<br /><br />this will be difficult<br /><br /><br />This is the sixth year of blood. I promised myself this would be all. This year I would go back and recapture everything I had lost.<br /><br />I lied.<br /><br />I think I have lied a lot for a long time. and as every piece of me, of that lie gets rooted away i come to the realization that some work has to be done here.<br /><br />i say I don't know who I am anymore, but I wonder if I ever knew?<br /><br />Like she said: I learned to cope at eight. Eight. And that coping has become and intricate web of illusion reflecting light from places too dark to explore.<br /><br />Did I ever really have a chance Susan? Can I fix this now?Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-13767499266791392282009-09-20T10:36:00.000-07:002010-01-24T10:41:03.780-08:00Revelation 1And then I realized:<br /><br />The snake charmer was just a man.<br /><br />He sought their adoration-<br />and revelled in their wonderment<br />of his charm<br />and its power.<br /><br />When needed<br />He collected followers-<br />whom, entranced<br />would justify Him<br /><br />all wide-eyed,<br />mystified,<br />They would be charmed by his old tune-<br /><br />Together, they could share regurgitations of old thoughts-<br />brought forth by new tongues<br />couched "just so" by an old master<br />who hides his book with<br />well worn pages.<br /><br />Yes, with his broken down flute<br />he could play his same old tune,<br />weave tales of woe and misunderstanding<br />always being heard,<br />never having to listen.<br /><br />And the song would repeat-<br />and the song would repeat<br />and the hips of men and women alike<br />would sway to the beat-<br />and their hands and hearts would open<br />pouring forth the gifts of feeling<br />he lived on-<br />he needed to live-<br /><br />and all would be good<br />and all would be well<br />and all would be new<br />and all would be fresh<br />and all would be fraught with skin tingling emotion-<br /><br /><br />Until of course,<br />one figured out the illusion.<br /><br />One would always figure out the illusion.<br /><br />And,<br />when deciphering the trick and its workings-<br />Perhaps pushing back at the push forward-<br />White skin turning slightly jaundiced in the questioning light-<br /><br />Once perfect imperfection<br />becoming tight,<br />stretched,<br />and slightly more<br />visible-<br /><br />When the one in the crowd became too close<br />to seeing the truth of it all-<br />The fallible, weak, unromantic,<br />vulnerable, ugly, stinking<br />normalcy-<br />yes, normalcy,<br />of it all-<br /><br />The snake charmer would perform his final act.<br /><br />He unleashed the poisons of self doubt upon their skin,<br />Charm turning to acid and vitriol-<br />as unverbalized weaknesses spewed forth in an evidential manner,<br />each perceived betrayal documented.<br />Each "perfect" imperfection catalogued.<br /><br />Once whispered words-<br />hissed.<br />Introspections-<br />refracted, reflected-<br />in the dulling shine of his instrument-<br />and twisted into righteousness.<br /><br />And those who remain?<br />They'd become altered versions of his same drawing need.<br />Scattered-<br />some far into the distance, some just on the periphery-<br />most lost to the charms forever.<br /><br />So now,<br />all torn down.<br />He sets up for a new crowd.<br />Those becoming too close<br />well pushed away,<br />and-<br />eventually, fresh pink skin basks in the light.<br /><br />And it becomes of Him again-<br />and<br />He feels new again<br />and<br />All is well again<br />Until unwell-<br />again.<br /><br />Yes, those who have seen it<br />now have older eyes-<br />are not surprised-<br />and temper all with vision<br />that gets astoundingly better each day.<br /><br />The snake charmer is just a man.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-37806028162080372572009-08-03T10:55:00.000-07:002010-01-24T10:56:26.316-08:00CheckJust for this moment<br />i will follow the point of my compass<br />North-<br /><br />Though the wind whispers West-<br />(West?...)<br />and that crack in the path-<br />it breaks Easterly...<br /><br />And what of the South?<br />well,<br />Well......<br />the South is what He always was,<br />(just with a better disguise....)<br /><br />yes,<br />for now,<br />I think<br />I'll just go north.<br /><br />Ignore the wind..<br /><br />Step o'er the crack-<br /><br />close my eyes-<br />and...Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-25004717773766853722009-02-20T10:49:00.000-08:002010-01-25T18:31:09.424-08:00remember thisremember this moment<br />
and those words<br />
bitter on the tongue.<br />
<br />
remember the disadvantage<br />
wonder if you should have<br />
seen it coming.<br />
<br />
remember how you picked up<br />
the scattered remnants of your<br />
feelings put bare<br />
over there<br />
spread out in pieces on the floor now<br />
<br />
a puzzle abandoned<br />
left undone<br />
<br />
wonder if it was by design<br />
a false kindness<br />
a beingtakenadvantageof<br />
a convenientyouwereherethanks<br />
<div><wbr></wbr><br />
a laughbehindthebackofsorts<br />
<br />
what was the meaning?<br />
<br />
did Kenneth have the frequency?<br />
<br />
where were you when it happened?<br />
<br />
And why are you blamed for it now?<br />
</div>Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-73202289163262774712009-01-16T10:46:00.000-08:002010-01-24T10:48:20.270-08:00the answer to your questionI guess,<br />I guess I thought<br />there would be real conversation<br />not a badly hidden tease or a<br />taunt with twisted tongue<br /><br />but a genuine interest<br />a care what i thought of<br />you know, some genuine interest<br />like it was before<br /><br />and I suppose, naively,<br />I thought there was a basis<br />for a real and meaningful feeling-<br />and a hope for something more...<br /><br />ah, but i'm a little flawed, aren't I?<br />a little not perfect<br />but a really good subject<br />for this game of cat a mouse we're in.<br /><br />a little too tangible<br />a mite unconventionally conventional<br />couldn't sit me at the cool kids table<br />you know, where all the cut outs live?<br /><br />but you can pull me out when you need me,<br />yeah, i'll be here when you need me...<br />and I won't dare call attention<br />to our one sided arrangement.<br /><br />I will be your convenient inconvenience<br />your puppet; pull my string<br />I will do the dance for you<br />and do it with a smile.<br /><br />for awhile.<br /><br />but in the end, there will be nothing left.<br />i will say this now, because i see it<br />there will be nothing left<br />and i suspect you won't even miss it.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-72279368400120790042009-01-11T10:57:00.000-08:002010-01-24T11:02:43.715-08:00The more you know about someone......the stranger they seem.<br /><br />My answers to this stupid facebook questionnaire.<br /><br />Here are the rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 20 random things, facts, habits or goals about you. At the end choose 20 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you (and I have to fill the 20 person quota):<br /><br /><br />1. I've lived two lives. In the one before I was younger, prettier and constantly worried about meeting convention. In the one after I am changed and obstinate, but happier.<br /><br />2.Crust, in my world is any substance that I will not eat that surrounds something I enjoy eating. For example I won't eat pie crust, pizza crust or bread crust. Simple definition, yes? Well, it gets more complicated. I also will not eat the <b>tops</b> of buns because they are too fluffy so technically,in my universe they are crust ( In fact, I have been known to demand that my hamburgers be made with two bun bottoms). I do like the <b> INSIDE</b> of the tops of buns, so I will pick them out to avoid the crust but that only really works with Kaisers. Now, before you think you have it figured out I have to tell you that Swiss Chalet buns are completely crust, so I can only eat the inside, dipped in Chalet sauce, but <b> NOT</b> gravy, because Swiss Chalet gravy is crust, although I enjoy their fries. And yes, I will eat bread ends, but only lightly toasted with jam or Cheeze Wiz, because they, although crust-like, are not crusty. Of course, Cheeze Wiz on anything else is nasty because then it is fake (I have a strong opinion as to what is real and what is fake as well, but I won't confuse you). Yes, I have a very defined idea of what crust is, and feel strongly about not eating it, but I will admit what falls into the category of "crust" is usually only evident to me. Hamburger bun tops? Crust. Hot dog buns? Only the last inch. Get it?? Good.<br /><br />3. I took anger management classes. I needed them. If you see me mad, don't worry, I'll get over it. If you see me calm when I should be mad, run.<br /><br />4. I once tried to sew the leg back on a dead frog, thinking it would bring it back to life.<br /><br />5. I have an addictive personality. I do my best to control it, but I am hedonistic by nature. I live by my senses. Appeal to them and you will appeal to me.<br /><br />6. I've never had chicken pox, or any childhood disease. But I did have a big stinkin' brain tumour. Go figure.<br /><br />7. Buffy St. Marie is one cool chick. Deal with it.<br /><br />8. Schadenfrude is my favourite word, and I like everything it stands for. Snickering is my favourite hobby. That said, I hate to be teased.<br /><br />9. I met the man I should have married. I screwed it up. I don't know if I will ever meet anyone else I want as much. That scares me.<br /><br />10. I want four children, but can have none.<br /><br />11. I realized I believed in the soul the first time I saw a dead body.<br /><br />12. Given the choice of any dessert I would pick sweet pineapple, Concord Grapes, fresh ripe figs, a juicy Crispin apple and a big chunk of stinky cheese. I also believe in the power of chocolate covered pretzels.<br /><br />13. I love the smell of black permanent markers.<br /><br />14. My father is my hero. My mother and I are just becoming friends after years of being opponents.<br /><br />15. If I met my sister out there in the world, I wouldn't like her much. But I do love her--so you'd best never mess with her.<br /><br />16. I struggle with my belief in God, but I'm not quite ready to give up on Him.<br /><br />17. Music died in 1990. Yes, thats right. Died. I mean, yeah, there is some good stuff, but on the whole? Suckage.<br /><br />18. I am ferociously loyal, to a fault. Once I have decided you are worthy I will always have your back. Twenty years, disagreements and leagues of sea can part us, and if you pick up the phone and need me, I will be there. Membership has its benefits. That said, once you've broken our bond you are not worth it, you are dead to me.<br /><br />19. I love libraries and old bookstores. The smell is heavenly.<br /><br />20. The best gift I could ever receive is a something someone loved and discarded or a replacement for something I already have. I am a creature of habit and I love everything old and antiquated.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-57919249885518550242009-01-06T10:53:00.000-08:002010-01-24T10:54:30.891-08:00TwistAnd<br /><br />I pull the roots out.<br />With a crack and a twist-<br />With a<br />Crack-<br />And a<br />Twist-<br />I turn back over myself.<br /><br />I turn back over.<br /><br />Deep,<br />So fucking deep<br />Am I,<br />In this established earth-<br /> I am<br />Twisted.<br />I am<br />Mired.<br />In it.<br /><br />I am the product of the years set in,<br />Your thoughts set in,<br />My needs set in-<br /><br />Set.<br /><br />Yes, I am the product.<br />I am the product<br />of this falsehood.<br />False-<br />And I must break free of it<br /><br />I must<br />Break.<br /><br />And<br /><br />As I tire-<br />As my hands and fingers ache<br />From the effort of<br />Digging<br /><br />my way<br /><br />away<br /><br />from you-<br /><br />I rest my head upon my knees<br />Buckling-<br />Tuck into myself<br />Alone-<br /><br />And wait.<br />Wait.<br /><br />Catch my breath-<br />Wait.<br /><br />Breathe...<br /><br />And dig again.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-85393636725579695052008-09-22T16:27:00.000-07:002008-09-22T16:29:12.690-07:00Overheard in the kitchen...We're Chinese, we don't have time to be polite!!<br />We got shit to do, like procreate and take over the world dammit!Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-33263593783582624092008-09-17T21:30:00.001-07:002008-09-17T21:50:12.943-07:00confidenceToday was the first test.<br /><br />In true black box fashion, we walked into the lab<br />and he stood at his table smiling.<br /><br />We had a choice of only what<br />was available<br />an hour and a half to create in<br /><br />and a large mark to achieve.<br /><br />I've never been good at these tests-<br />my friend<br />who knows me well<br />too well-<br />would tell you the evenings before them i would transform<br />become all thorny and bristled<br />stress<br /><br />so today, without time for that-<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">preparation</span><br />i was left to scour the pantry<br />and try to think of something<br />that would portray to him<br />the art i knew i was capable<br />of creating.<br /><br />i tempered the dark chocolate<br />not as he had taught<br />but as my grandmother had taught me<br />so many summers ago<br /><br />hot dark lava<br />on cold stone<br />stirred, manipulated<br />until that moment that it firms<br /><br />"you can <span style="font-style: italic;">feel</span> the change"<br />she would say<br />her gold bangles slipping<br />over her delicate wrist<br /><br />"and when the change comes child,<br />when it comes it must go back to the pot"<br />in her lilt<br />that patois that fascinated me so<br /><br />as i stirred and and smoothed<br />i felt that moment<br />and for a second<br />just a second<br />i reached for my thermometer-<br />my safety.<br /><br />but no.<br />i just "put it in the pot child"<br />and "made it all so"<br />as she would say<br />make it all so<br />just so<br />and it will be ready.<br /><br />and as the rest of the class<br />took their pristine palate knives<br />to test their temper<br />i dipped my finger<br />just as she had<br />into the bowl and<br />smeared it on the marble<br /><br />as it set almost instantly<br />i felt an inner glow<br />success<br />on my terms dammit<br />that old woman knew<br />just as much as you do<br />in your white uniform<br />with your tall paper hat<br /><br />and i made the ganache<br />with melted chocolate and<br />warm cream<br />just as she had-<br />"it must be two likes, child"<br />she said-<br />"why put warm cream<br />to cold chocolate?"<br /><br />and so i put two likes together<br /><br />and i added the sour apples<br />that I "brought down"<br />just so-<br />and the liquor<br />and the pepper that you would taste last<br />much later<br />after you had judged me<br />the taste that I hoped<br />would make you think<br />wait-<br />what is that-<br />was that-<br />did she-<br /><br />and i painted the molds with my brush<br />with greens and golds<br />and made that chocolate<br />shine<br /><br />and put it on the tray<br />offering<br />offering<br /><br />and in silence he ate it<br />and i cast my spell<br />and his eyes closed<br />and he thought about it a second<br /><br />and then he said<br /><br />perfect.<br />absolutely<br />perfect.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-38672998519842370282008-09-16T18:32:00.000-07:002008-09-16T18:57:19.842-07:00burnif only for a moment I<br />closed my eyes<br />to think of you-<br /><br />the blue flame<br />warm,<br />inviting-<br /><br />if only for a moment<br />I closed my eyes...<br /><br />and felt the burn.<br /><br />not on my skin<br />(that was only physical)<br />not on my skin...<br />it is only where it appeared-<br /><br />but<br />from the pit of my gut<br />stretching-<br />up to my throat<br />the burn-<br />holding,<br />blistering,<br />breaking off<br />the<br />air.<br /><br />if only for a moment<br />the air was gone-<br />and I was left<br />gasping...<br />dizzy,<br />bewildered-<br /><br />as I held<br />it under,<br />under the rushing water<br /><br />i forced breath<br />in-<br />and out-<br /><br />as I held<br />it<br />under<br /><br />the silence was louder<br />than any thought of you-<br /><br />ringing,<br /><br />the white light<br />tearing through my eyes,<br /><br />blinding-<br /><br />falling to my knees i thought-<br /><br />so this is how it feels<br /><br />finally<br /><br />to have the burn on your skin.<br /><br />so this is how it feels<br /><br />finally-<br /><br />to have<br />a physical reminder<br />of what is<br />in<br />my<br />heart.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-66896429395070139212008-09-16T15:30:00.000-07:002010-01-24T10:49:02.414-08:00Sheelaghshe told me that i lost my voice.<br /><br />i laughed at her,<br />she was always a strange chick-<br />all lace and beads and dandelion petals...<br /><br />she said<br />you'll see, you lost it-<br />somewhere between the meadow<br />and the back gate<br /><br />somewhere in the stampede<br />of moving bodies<br />and stomping feet<br /><br />somewhere along the way<br />you let it slip free from your lips-<br />perhaps when you were trying to be<br />all things<br />to all men?<br /><br />perhaps when you were trying to fit in amongst the fleet?<br />perhaps when you decided that<br />being you<br />was just too hard<br />and being them<br />looked easier?<br /><br />I realize its lost now-<br />as i stand blinded in the storms<br />as my good turns against me<br />and i wait for each approaching wind-<br /><br />i try to roar against it-<br />and nothing comes<br />nothing comes<br />now I bear the damage<br />of its lashing tongue;<br /><br />And so i comb the meadow<br />get trampled by the stomping feet<br />overturning this<br />upsetting that-<br />hoping i will find it.<br /><br />I need to find it.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-16403160762100330292008-09-15T10:46:00.000-07:002008-09-15T11:39:12.131-07:00So the question that has been posed to me is:<br /><br />What does the name of this blog mean?<br /><br />The name came to me in a moment of reflection and boredom; I was sitting in the basement of the library at school between the stacks, participating in a frosh activity against my better judgement.<br /><br />The faculty head, in her wisdom, decided that the members of the baking school needed to bond and arranged a scavenger hunt of sorts. I was chosen to hide out at the library, fittingly, and had taken a chair and perched in the two small sections of ancient baking books that are supposed to inspire us and guide our careers.<br /><br />I had a pocket full of clues, a head full of confusion and a heart full of anger.<br /><br />While there, bored, with no cell reception, trapped in my starched uniform I began to browse.<br /><br />Amongst the ancient tomes my mind began to spin, as it usually does-forming thoughts and pondering my feelings.<br /><br />As I flipped through the meagre selection I reflected on what the base of baking is...what gives baking life.<br /><br />Why I am so passionate about it.<br /><br />Simply put, flour and sugar are the bases for most everything. One could argue there are five elements I suppose- flour, sugar, eggs, butter and cream. A bread baker would tell you he could live with only flour, salt, water and yeast. A purist would tell you there is no life without vanilla and salt.<br /><br />As I pondered the basis of baking, I thought about the base elements that give life.<br /><br />We can live a long time without food-but can survive only a short time without water.<br /><br />Without blood, there is nothing.<br /><br />And so, as I sat and thought about how crazy it was that at 35 I was in my second year of college, my third career and as confused about everything as I was at 17, I decided I needed to write again. I had to express some of the parallels I had noted over the last year between baking and life.<br /><br />It is all one big metaphor.<br /><br />Baking is a solitary venture. We bakers are often stuck in corners or basements, trusted to make the bread and pastry that everyone desires. We are considered the neurosurgeons of the kitchen-cautious, rigid, picky...crazy-and not in the romantic way people adore chefs.<br /><br />Our lives are dictated by rules, tradition and lists.<br /><br />Not many people think about where they would be without the bread we make every day. They don't understand that unlike cooking we spend hours nursing "the bitch", (bread starter) talking to her, assessing her health, murmuring nurturing words.<br /><br />It is not about throwing things together to make beautiful taste, its not a quickfire line with a screaming Chef and a service that ends with a fag and a beer.<br /><br />It is hours of thought,<br />a deep understanding of chemistry,<br />a steady hand<br />and a passionate heart.<br /><br />Bakers are loners.<br />Bakers are thinkers.<br />Bakers are defective.<br /><br />Even the craziest of cooks works in a brigade-no matter how <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">dysfunctional</span> the relationships are, they need relationships, partnership, teamwork to succeed.<br /><br />A team of bakers can work independently and only meet to assemble the final product.<br /><br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">chocolatier</span> works alone in the cool room. The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">patisserie</span> works near the fridge where the icing is kept. The bread baker is over by the oven, watching the racks rotate, flipping hot bread out of the pans. The Chef is in the back hall, under the stairs making a sugar piece. Some of us work in silence, others have the radio playing softly.<br /><br />We spend hours not speaking.<br /><br />An apprentice cook in a kitchen I work in told me that he could never be a baker because he could never be so alone, so silent.<br /><br />But,<br /><br />He loved to come to the bakery to enjoy the silence-and watch all the things he just didn't understand.<br /><br />Funny enough, it is to the bakery that the desperate cooks wander...tired, tearful, wanting. I have observed that the bakers tend to be the bartenders of the kitchen: our space is quiet, warm and smells like love. The sad, the angry and the frustrated find our corners under stairs, in the basement, in the back room and come to talk, rest, get away.<br /><br />You'll find many a Chef crying in the bakery, poor laundry workers and dishwashers come daily knowing we have saved bags of day old bread and croissant for their families, the servers come for cookies and a chance to air frustrations. In all of this we knead the bread, bake the cake, make the chocolate and listen.<br /><br />I find it comforting, that on a Sunday morning the stock boy will come to see if I'm <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ok</span> if he doesn't smell chocolate chip cookies by 6am.<br /><br />I know that the delivery drivers will arrive at 7 for muffins.<br /><br />The Executive Chef likes a little whipped cream in his coffee. I also give him a few pieces of chocolate. He always eats them in silence and watches me ice cakes.<br /><br />The dishwasher doesn't speak <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">English</span>, but loves a fresh bun with butter.<br /><br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">maintenance</span> men wait patiently at the door for napkins full of warm bread sticks.<br /><br />I've been writing for years, on scraps of paper, in long lost diaries--in my head...this medium is an effort to push out the things that are building inside of me, see them written and real and:<br /><br />move on.<br /><br />Its not chronological, it doesn't always make sense, its just the things I think about that need to be sorted. I seriously considered turning off comments, because visits and comments are not the goal. Of course, I left them, because I always want to know what you think.<br /><br />Flaw #1.<br /><br />So again, I find myself at the precipice of change and rather than let it drive me crazy perhaps this will allow me the time and space to reflect rather than obsess.<br /><br />Who knows.<br /><br />So as I work amid the flour and the sugar I will reflect on my days: the water and the blood.<br /><br />I thank you for your interest.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-16655707138607234612008-09-13T16:05:00.000-07:002008-09-13T16:27:30.657-07:00My day in a nutshell...a true storyChef:<br />Ok in the fridge there are berries.<br />They are round and red, they in box- I forget what you call them<br />No matter! Just get them, cut them in quarters. Hurry up!!!<br /><br />Me:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yes Chef!)</span><br /><br />Chef:<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /></span>But only cut the big ones in quarters-<br />cut the small ones in half..understand?<br /><br />Me:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yes Chef!)</span><br /><br />Chef:<br />Wait! but not the really small ones<br />those you should not cut..they wrinkly and so ugly, bleck!!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yes Chef!)<br /><br /></span>Wait! Wait!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(I stop in my tracks again)</span><br />The really big ones are ugly too... all thorny with the things like knobs on them...maybe don't cut those either...<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yes Chef- waiting)</span><br />And when you cut them with the knife, you cut them with LOVE, you are its LOVER<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yes... Chef)</span><br />They deeeserve love, when you cut them nice, they loooook like love...they OPEN like love, they<br />SHINE like love...<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(yes Chef)</span><br />You know when you cut them right because they look like <span style="font-style: italic;">vaginas!!! </span>What is more like love than VAGINAS???<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(silence)<br /><br />ugh....<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><br /></span>Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-85157121948309101252008-09-13T05:31:00.000-07:002008-09-13T15:25:25.675-07:00i have to remember<br />all the things that<br />were bad<br />are bad<br />i need strength to<br />move on from here<br />i have to consider<br />that i am not in<br />your thoughts<br />in any way<br />i need to be resolute<br />to sit on my hands<br />to bite my tongue<br />i have to decide<br />to accept the fact that<br />you will continue to use me<br />if i let youReluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-66270995351330646412008-09-12T17:28:00.000-07:002008-09-12T17:33:51.228-07:00On sympathetic friendsHim:<br />URGENT!!! HE'S STILL HERE!! HOW DO I GET RID OF HIM?? HELP!!<br /><br />Me:<br />Tell him you have the AIDS<br /><br />Him:<br />WHAT??<br /><br />Me:<br />Ok, ok, crabs then<br /><br />Him:<br />That's not funny.<br /><br />Me:<br />I dunno, I'm laughing....Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-26286274061002154332008-09-12T17:23:00.000-07:002008-09-12T17:25:43.276-07:00OutgoingMe:<br />I think I peed on my sweater.<br /><br />Her:<br />As opposed to...?<br /><br />Me:<br />The toilet??<br /><br />Her:<br />Well. It's absorbent, right??Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-9692230449008356482008-09-12T17:18:00.000-07:002008-09-12T17:26:28.166-07:00Yogging, anyone?Her:<br /><span class="status_body">I'm thinking of trying this new fad called jogging. I believe it's jogging or yogging. It might be a soft j, I'm not sure<br /><br />Me:<br /></span>THAT I have to see. Do you jog in heels with a fag in your mouth???<br /><br />Her:<br />I actually haven't picked my outfit out yet....Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-87623417322410590302008-09-12T17:03:00.000-07:002008-09-12T17:27:08.236-07:00The Electoral Disease...Me:<br />It's kind of like a bad rash...<br /><br />Him:<br />like the Quebec Nationalists<br /><br />Me:<br />no, thats like herpes. You think it's gone then IT COMES BACKReluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-90082591648468699972008-09-12T14:56:00.000-07:002008-09-12T15:11:34.788-07:00MorningI wake.<br /><br />It's a quarter before the alarm<br />breaks fitful sleep.<br /><br />I stretch-<br />then remember that<br />I'm not alone here.<br /><br />Quietly<br />softly<br />I wriggle from tether<br />and creep to the bathroom...<br /><br />this floor creaks.<br /><br />I laid it all out there<br />the blubber<br />the penchant for<br />unmatched socks-<br />the scars<br />the lined up vials on the counter...<br /><br />the space mask<br />the unwashed dishes<br />the magazines under the chair...<br /><br />the book was found and unmentioned even.<br /><br />I stood with arms crossed-defiant<br />door slightly ajar-waiting<br /><br />and yet...<br /><br />I declined to talk about it-<br />tired of talk-<br />of introspection-<br /><br />so instead we laughed<br />and ate the ice cream I made<br />and listened to that awful crackle<br />his shoulder makes when he turns it just so--<br /><br />and the light turned to dark<br />and the dark turned to light<br />and I remembered all the things I thought I forgot...<br /><br />and the note was scribbled on a scrap of paper<br />and I went out into the morning without a thought<br />of....Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-57979586748189017842008-09-12T13:47:00.000-07:002008-09-12T14:32:43.539-07:0032 Celcius<span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA">Other than the occasional jostle of the cooks</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA">as they reach around my legs for tools,<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA">I stand in my corner alone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Melted </span>chocolate pools shiny on my cold marble. I massage and stir it with my palette, watching it firm, be controlled into temper.<span lang="EN-CA"></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p><br />I can tell now</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">(without my thermometer)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">that it has given up-</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">been tamed</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">is ready.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"> We speak the same language.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">It goes back to the bowl to rewarm, in anticipation of what it will become.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p><br /><br /></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></p>Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-77697180220811447742008-09-12T13:41:00.000-07:002008-09-12T14:29:27.469-07:00RookieNote to self:<br /><br />Check the speed on the mixer<br />before<br />you<br />turn<br />it<br />on.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-45874524088096568352008-09-12T13:39:00.000-07:002008-09-12T14:30:40.905-07:00Fig<p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA">I can smell the fig before I even touch it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA"> A dusky purple blue.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA">Not too soft.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA">Full of fertile seed.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA">I am pleased and he knows so.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I split it into quarters so we can share.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">He’s never had one before. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">He wants praise.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span lang="EN-CA">I don’t want to talk while I eat it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I suspect the offering.</span></p>Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6078810601109974972.post-56707815901036125722008-09-12T03:19:00.000-07:002008-09-12T14:32:06.266-07:00EmulsificationI should know better, than to pour the melted butter to the cream-<br />though through trickery<br />I have made them change their state...<br /><br />the cream- like butter was-<br />is now cold cold and unyielding,<br />the butter as cream,<br />warm and wanting-<br /><br />I should know better....<br /><br />Yes it is possible<br />to make these two unlikes meet--<br />mix<br /><br />and with the right amount of variables<br />create beauty.<br /><br />smoothness<br />perfection...<br /><br />but it is oh so brief<br />and the process<br />it tires you-<br /><br />all the stirring-<br />agitation.<br /><br />It needs so much attention.<br /><br />And the cream can only tame the butter for so long-<br />butter always pulls away-<br /><br />and is true to its original form.Reluctant Onehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07148563233173322154noreply@blogger.com0