inspiration

It’s All Energy- Personal, Physical, Financial, and Deciding Where It All Goes

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If there is one rule I’ve learned that has radically transformed my life, it’s the Ten Words that form the heart of my book “Blood, Sweat, and Butter-“

“You Always Have Time For The Things You Make Time For.”

The collary and counterpart to this best expressed with the phrase, “Where attention goes, energy flows.”

That doesn’t just mean your personal energy… and your bank account will tell you it’s not just some freaky woo-woo stuff. The sooner you learn about where you are putting your time, your attention, your money- in other words, your energy, the sooner you start making wiser decisions about it.

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com
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Baking 101: The First Lecture

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If you were to teach a semester of classes on something you do for a living, what would Day 1 consist of?

For the last year or so, especially as I’ve started doing Live Bake-along videos on Facebook, I’ve played with the idea that the next step in my culinary career might be teaching- and if the last two years of training and mentoring apprentices at the bakery has shown me anything, it’s that I’m apparently not bad at it.

The other day while chatting on my lunch break, my manager mentioned that she had taught baking at a community college for a semester as adjunct faculty. While she didn’t necessarily enjoy it (my manager confesses that she does not have the patience for teaching,) the $4000/semester paycheck made it quite a lucrative side hustle for one six-hour class a week in addition to a full-time income baking professionally.

After she brought it up, I found myself wondering what I would say on the first day to a class of new, inexperienced students. You can consider this a companion to my open letters to new culinary students and graduates.

Here we go:

An empty college lecture hall
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Some Thoughts While Loafing

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If you ever start to wonder just how important having. a routine is,, just wait till something comes along and messes it up.

I’ve been out of work for only one and a half weeks, but it feels so much longer. As my energy/pain levels vary from day to day (but slowly doing better!) I find myself easily losing track of time.

I’m learning, though, that’s not always a terrible thing- and maybe I was due.

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Finding Your Culinary Voice

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Food is a form of communication. If you learn the history of cuisine, a plate can tell you its origin story, how its cooking methods were devised and why. Fried rice can tell you about the need to feed a lot of hungry field workers quickly and making their bland starchy staple taste good. Corned Beef and Cabbage will remind you of the poverty of new Irish and Jewish immigrants, crammed cheek-by-jowl in the slums of American cities, sharing what they had and knew to get by.

Food is communication. It’s a history lesson. It’s storytelling.

So how, exactly, does one become a good storyteller with food? The answer takes a bit more effort than “learn to cook”- as if that wasn’t enough.

Animated GIF of Jake from Adventure Time serenely frying bacon pancakes
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Layers of Wisdom

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I turned 34 yesterday. 33 was a busy year for me, and I’m doing my best to be okay with that.

I really started trying to deal with issues that’d been stalking me most of my life, and finally named my demons- Depression and Anxiety.

Lately, my body has been complaining about the tolls I exact from it. Working long, busy hours, and relying on exercise as a stress reliever without truly resting is a lot for anyone to ask of the meat robot they’re piloting. Mine has been more than patient, but lately my back and shoulders have been asking me to lay off for a while.

I published my first book at age 32. I have three other manuscripts in progress, and frankly haven’t advanced as much on them in a year as I might have- much less advertised or placed faith in the book I finished that it deserves.

Yes, the world is in the middle of a fucking pandemic that my government is not managing very well. The omnipresent background anxiety has been playing havoc with my own, and what I will tactfully refer to as the recent “appropriate social unrest” makes the act of writing a fraught experience- but pretending it isn’t happening or that it somehow isn’t appropriate would be against my sense of self.

So, on the first full day into my 34th year of life, coinciding with the 244th “birthday” of my country in crisis, I chose one of the most contemplative activities I know.


I made pie.

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