psychology

The Alchemist

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Baking and pastry, I’ve often noticed, gets treated with a mixture of awe, admiration, and contempt among kitchen workers. On one hand, we’re often the guys that have easy-to-grab snacks on hand. “Hey Matt… um… any of these cookies happen to ‘fall on the floor?’” Our weighing of everything, our techniques, and (frequently) the vision of us patiently stirring pots of bubbling stuff that smells amazing makes what bakers do look like alchemy or wizardry. Occasionally, there are some cooks with chips on their shoulder that insist we’re “useless” and “can’t do anything without a recipe book.” (Yes, I actually had someone say that to me once. To my knowledge they still have all their teeth, God knows how.)

Somewhere along the way, though, I’ve managed to cultivate an image out here that compels this question from my coworkers: “Dude, how old ARE you?”

My mannerisms aside, I don’t think I look a day over “ageless.”
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Spruce Tips and Rum Sips

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I get so tired of this world sometimes.

The ignorance, the arrogance, and the eager cruelty on parade into our eyes and brains (whether in caution or praise) gets to be way too much after a while.

Earlier this week was Passover. We didn’t do a Seder this year because timing and activity didn’t work out in our favor. Instead, Emily made chicken satay for dinner. I sat on the porch typing away at this piece after having scrolled through far too much nonsense. That’s one reason this blog post is so late- I simply haven’t had the bandwidth after coming back from Philadelphia.

I finished a small glass of grog (because rum is alright for Passover and I had rice lager waiting to be paired with dinner) and I chatted with a dear friend about the logistics of making Sephardic matzo for a change- as opposed to the hard, cracker-like Ashkenazi matzah I’ve had my entire life.

I wore white linen, watched the light change on Mount Tabor as the sun went down, and I’m listened to Ladino music as I wrote (but Zac Brown Band’s tribute to Jimmy Buffett, “Pirates and Parrots,” is still in my head.)

I spent the day in the sun. Here’s what I have to say about it all.

Glad I finally found a tweed vest that goes with that hat. Thanks Goodwill!
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Our Insecurities Can Speak Out Of Turn

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My exercise routine has been yielding interesting results lately. After injuring my lats by increasing weight too fast on overhead presses, I decided to switch it up and give Romanian Deadlifts a shot, and while I will be going back to running in the spring I really enjoy just taking long walks in Mount Tabor Park.

The Romanian Deadlifts don’t seem to be doing much for my weight, but I’ve noticed I’m able to touch my toes more easily. The walks, similarly, have become less about getting exercise in and finding time to be quiet and mindful and piece my way through life.

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Find The Light So You Can BE The Light

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Hello, everyone.

My name is Matt. I am a Jewish-American baker, writer, and raconteur. I love food, beer, whiskey, mead and meadmaking, the taste and smell of good pipe tobacco, talking to strangers, and telling stories.

If you are in Beaverton today, you might see a guy in an Irish sweater with a copper-shod walking stick, a tweed hat, and a long tan cloak sitting at a bar with a pint of dark beer, typing on an iPad disguised as a very beaten-up composition notebook.

There is a lot of darkness and sorrow in the world right now. I’m keenly aware of it- too keenly, maybe, according to my therapist who’s been reminding me to keep off of social media. I’ll probably write something later summing up my personal attitudes about it all, but I’ll just as likely keep that to myself. The world is not short of opinions right now.

It’s also not short of doomsaying, chest-beating, and heartstring-wringing. There’s plenty of people who will take it upon themselves to remind us of all the horror in the world, and that’s a good thing. We can’t go about with our heads in the sand, pretending the problems of others aren’t our concern and then getting indignant when “no one did anything” when they become our concern.

What goes too far is when these good-intentioned messengers take it upon themselves to berate others or themselves for finding joy where they can. “With so much suffering and pain in this world, how dare anyone be happy?! Don’t you care?!”

There are plenty of who don’t or are ignorant of the plight of others, to be sure- but so many of us do. Here’s the truth though: Denying yourself joy and happiness does nothing to help others, and it weakens YOUR resolve to endure.

Photo by Johannes Plenio
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Listening In On The Anxiety

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Yesterday, I went for a long walk through Mount Tabor Park before it would start raining. It was finally a cooler fall morning and this was to be my workout for the day, so I made a point of enjoying it. I wore my favorite tweed vest combo, my favorite shawl, grabbed my walking stick and just did my Hobbit thing.

I made sure to bring my headphones with me in case I wanted to listen to music or a podcast on the walk, but I didn’t think I would. I haven’t lately, and not for lack of quality in my favorite podcasts. (Seriously, check out Old Gods of Appalachia, especially as we get toward Halloween here in the states.)

Instead, as I mentioned in my last post, I’ve had the time and bandwidth to get more curious about my inner life- how and why my mind does what it does. Historically I’ve used podcasts deliberately to blot out intrusive thoughts, break the anxiety spirals and derail rumination funks that can sap my focus and energy. In other words, they put someone else’s voice in my head when I can’t bear the sound of my own anymore.

They are still excellent for that, but lately I’ve had the energy to explore the “bad neighborhood” parts of my brain and figure out what’s going on in there.

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