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

[Antonio Valentino]

I love you! lol
This was so amazing. I too am involved with food, and I love to write as well of course.

This was just so great, I'm going to reread this many more times.
Thank you for writing this, I'm so glad I found this.

Great job Allegra!
Antonio