Why Excitement and Depression Go Hand in Bloody Hand

Recession.


It's a filthy filthy word. I'm sorry that it's on everyone's lips. I have been in a recession for nearly five years. Low on funds, stability, love only a mother can give, and intellectual stimulus.

It's exciting to know that I am so young and that there is a path ahead that is so bright with flame... I have to shield my eyes. There's been a lot of styling work lately. Mostly this stuff...




I love the client... but I miss cooking. I want to create beautiful and tasty food-stuffs. I want to sear something for someone other than myself or my dog. I desperately await large checks from these fabulous food jobs I've done... but more so I want a call from my agency with new job postings.




Christmas is almost here. I only want one gift... a new door to open. To anything. A new contact or perhaps a new interest. Maybe this...




or this...





Anticipation stirred up with a little irritation. Future fears and past pleasantries. Wringing my hands and singing a sweet melody. Frustrated beauty.


Here we are. In Youth... growing old. Being sad and excited at the same time isn't a feeling exclusive to yours truly. Thank God.















I also want to give. So a dinner party is in the works. I will document from there. And as a New Year's resolution I will be posting more. Sorry for the recession. Sincerely.

Give Like Gandhi

Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.

--Mahatma Gandhi










It has come to my attention that we don't give enough of ourselves... to ourselves... to our neighbors... to our friends... and to our competition.

The most recent of my worries is that of our snobbery. I did not create this blog to badmouth... but to enlighten those that feel less worthy of the industry around them. We are all walking at a pace we created for ourselves; a path forged from family, friends, work, school, religion, etc. I worry for our self-preservation as a community and the pride created from the individual back story.



Milk. Specifically this kind.



Evan's Farmhouse Creamery, 5037 State Highway 23, Norwich, NY 13815, 607-334-5339


A recent adventure was made when I stopped by my former employer. My lovely friends pawned off some Evan's milk, as the expiration was nigh and I am always thirsty for some cream-on-top action. At any rate there is an orgy of coffee shops that cater to the Williamsburg, plaid-laden trusties... and we wanted to bestow upon them some of the Evans' finest creamy products.

Our neighbors across the way were more than happy to take a couple of these tasty gallons... however... a dark cloud looms over all neighborhoods (especially wills'b). A fashionable male manning the counter of one of my favorite spots decided to not only decline our generous offer, but refuse to utter a word to us. Not a thanks. Not a finger.





Now. I'm not sure there's much that enrages me more than declining a gracious gesture... with disgust. A straight shot of judgement right down to the tippy end of his nose. Except maybe declining advice/guidance/kindness when asked (not begged).



Part II.







Now that adorable lady in the middle (the one being kissed by some lovely Italians) is the next big star on the pastry map. I kid you not. I am biased... as she was my partner in crime in the kitchens of cooking school... all the same. This lovely lady made her way to LA, Vegas, Italy, back to her hometown of San Diego... and is ready to make her mark in Chicago. Twenty-two and on the verge of greatness... the chef that finally "gets it" and takes her under their wing will be blessed.

Naturally, she's trailing/staging at some places to get familiar with her new home and to taste the food they like to eat.

Only to be completely stamped out by the finicky, obsessive, 3-hour-late pastry chef. Again. I don't name names. But honest questions were answered with honest snottiness. Not enough creaming... a blatant disregard for niceties... just plain rude. And all for the sake of... competition. My dear dear friend is not out for a job, oh no, she has one. My friend is this b****'* fellow pastry chef, and member of her community and specific niche. An ally. But, alas, good old fashioned jealousy, impatience, and bourgeois behavior got in the way of getting to know the future of this industry.


And it's happening all the time. Every moment of every day in every kitchen.







The point... yes I have one.




Let us gather hands and realize we are all walking on the same path... but in different shoes. Whether it is milk or a kind word... we are all human. Beautiful, infallible creatures that deserve a Gandhi-esque patience... and should be giving it.










We are a community. Let's start acting like one. This one is mine... for now.

The Beginning...

So... welcome.



I've always dabbled in the idea of a "food" blog. But I feel bored and stagnant and tired of the endless experiments and the happy endings for the "at home cook". I am a food professional. I work in a restaurant every day... and I doubt my abilities, my education, my dedication, and mostly... my passion for food.

So this is a place for all of us doubters, worriers, and self-loathers. It is a place to inspire us to get back to the place we love most... the kitchen and the food. Because ultimately, we do love this, we are good at what we do, we do have a good education, and our dedication is a fierce tiger... and mostly... our passion runs so deep that the hate of it is as palatable as the love.

The idea behind this project is for me to explore my inner doubt and to combine my two loves: food and the written word. I can't imagine that I am the only one who has wanted to walk out based on "that look" your pastry chef/chef has given you, or when that special you worked so hard on... just isn't good enough. So please... send me your stories of self-doubt, hilarity, and love. Send me those moments of kitchen hell and tears and drunken debauchery. And perhaps if you want to just vent... vent. We are here... to remind you that in the end... it is worth it.

Welcome my fellow professionals... welcome.





And to those who aren't in this industry and feel intrigued by our experiences... well... let these stories speak for themselves.