The Numbs

I wandered into the living room and sat cross-legged on the floor, my back against the filing cabinet with our TV on it. We had gotten the TV for free, but neither of us watched it much, except for in-home movie nights. Em was crashed out on our couch, listening to podcasts and booping at a game on her phone.

“It’s been so weird,” I said, as Cleo wandered up and batted curiously at the strings on my hoodie. “Ever since last Thursday, I’ve just felt so numb. Like I’m stuck in a bubble and floating through the world.”

Em paused for a minute and thought. “You know how the Stages of Grief can apply to more than just people dying? Like they can apply to any sudden change in life? It sounds like you’re in the denial stage.”

Cleo has given up trying to eat my clothing and instead curls up in my lap, presenting her chin for scratches. I oblige and raise an eyebrow toward Em. “Okay… What am I grieving over then?”

”The fact that, as healthy as you have lived, and as much care as you’ve taken of your body- all the effort to get healthy and fit- you can still get sick from something you never saw coming.”

Young man on a park bench   Seated with his head in his hands, face down.
Continue reading

Phase 1- The Uncanny Valley of Restauranting

The day was already cooler for a Portland summer- way cooler than the oppressive heat wave we were promised for later in the week- and as the sun goes down behind the buildings and hills of the Willamette Valley, it’s starting to just get slightly chilly.

Perfect weather for eating outside and getting a cold beer or two- as long as you don’t mind your face feeling a bit warm.

Continue reading

Some Thoughts on Anthony Bourdain

Anthony Bourdain wasn’t my culinary hero. The closest I have to culinary heroes are Masaharu Morimoto (for my memories of him as an Iron Chef), Albert Adria for raw artisanship, and Jacques Pepin for his ability to teach.

Anthony Bourdain was a literary hero for me, and a role model for how he approached food and life. He is still an inspiration for me as a storyteller because of his ability to remove himself from the center of it. He could write himself almost as a narrator, bearing witness to the food, the people, and the stories of their lives that THEY had to tell.

That was his greatest gift to me, I think. Not just inspiration to BECOME a cook (he certainly provided that as well), but an object lesson in how to connect with others, and help them tell their stories.

Continue reading

The Silence Between Sips

Outside on the street, a car alarm is blaring. It’s not exactly a suburban neighborhood, but quiet enough that a random car alarm is more than background noise to a spring night.

I’m in the rocking chair I’ve adopted as mine- having trash-picked, thoroughly sprayed, cleaned, and draped it with an afghan. I’m sipping some rye whiskey while my wife alternates between her keyboard and piano, writing assignments for students. There’s some random “quiet time” music from Spotify playing, but it’s getting a little too happy and janky. I’m trying to write.

I need quiet, but with a little noise mixed in- like even the best whiskey needs a little drop of water to open up everything it has to offer.

Some jellybeans are a good addition too.
Continue reading

The Cost of Doing Business

Good evening, friends and neighbors.

I am going to be 34 in July. I have been baking for about nine years after being a Nurse’s Aide, an EMT, and various positions at a Boy Scout summer camp (Health Officer, Trading Post Clerk, and counselor for seven merit badges.)

I also used to be very overweight. I lost 110 lbs about 6 years ago, and I have more or less maintained it (I gained back 15 over the last year. Depression is a hell of a drug.)

The folks I work with are about my age. This post is about us- the folks that make the pastries you love, and what this industry does to you. If you’re a student, take this as a warning. Start an exercise regimen now, invest in some good shoes, and eat your veggies.

Continue reading