I hate to say it, but this blog post is unlikely to improve upon its title. I’m afeared that what’s written below won’t deliver anything quite as punchy as it promises.
I’ve just got home from my first private catering gig for real customers (ie. one that wasn’t for friends-and-relations). My feet feel as though they’ve had an application of burning hot coals followed by agonising pins and needles, my knee and back are staging a revolt against the rest of my body and I have hardly slept these past 24 hours. I can hardly walk.
I smell of onions and sweat. There is an additional aroma that I can’t put my finger on, but it is a somewhat funky odour akin to festering garbage on a hot day. This, one would assume, is the result of being in a kitchen for 14 hot hours. In spite of all this, I feel pretty good.
My ‘real’ career in the jewellery trade has been nothing but a long hard struggle. Sure I have some talent, but nothing has come easy or ever (yes, EVER) felt rewarding.
I’ve been suffering for a good 8 or 9 months with this *thing* that I have called an ‘existential breakdown’. I admit it is pretty much as ridiculous as it sounds, which is very. Telling people one is having an existential breakdown is quite an hilarious thing to do.
However, in the midst of a breakdown of any kind ridiculousness and hilarity are just what’s needed.
Anyway, in my quest to try and build a new skeleton of meaning, purpose (and all that other poppycock) on which to hang my crooked frame, I have noticed by dint of the sharp contrast to everything else, that one of the few things that still makes me feel alive is cooking good food.
I’m not saying I’m going to can it all in and ‘be a chef’ because there’s no way I could put my body through this night after night. But just tonight I’m going to inhale the scent of decaying matter. And just tonight it is not a harbinger of doom, but something kind of life-giving.
P.S. See what I did there – starting a sentence with but & and right after each other. Makes me feel like such a maverick.