Today has finally occurred, this day of remembrance.
And I am surprised at my own blase treatment of the whole thing in last night's post. This anniversary is not a time to bemoan the horrible things that have happened, the unfortunate events and choices that have been made.
It is a time to be grateful for the past ten years. I was allowed a little bit of reflection this morning while making granola and listening to the 9am service/discussion between Dr. Rahim Nobahar and Sam Keen through the doors of the kitchen.
Ten years ago, I was sitting in Dr. Zilian's Ancient and Medieval History class, learning about the Spartans. And then the first plane hit, and then the second, and we were called in to assembly. The feeling of intense joy that hit me after finding out my dad was not in the city that day was unbelievable. And since then, much much much has happened to be grateful for, even in my one little life.
The past ten years have included my entire high school career, and all that went with it, good teachers, horrible teachers, fighting The Man, finding that I could have niches, learning to tell people I could be good at math and science even though I was a girl. Discovering the words of philosophers, and the concept of Utopia. Learning to love throwing and basketball and running (sort of), and then being told I could never play again, dislocating my shoulder (and later surgery). Learning to love, and learning to live through pain and the loss of a good friend (and a couple years later, another good friend). Being almost adopted by a friend's family. Living in New Zealand at 17 and traveling alone around the country; graduating from culinary school with distinction and winning silver medals in two competitions. Going to Mudd, learning ridiculous things about special relativity and then idolizing Feynman. Leaving Mudd, co-coordinating a fashion show, finding a home in sculpture, learning how to love and support a young mother. Learning the importance of understanding how people think. Transferring to Swarthmore, becoming an engineer finally, exploring combinatorics and the cloudy ideas of complex algebra. Learning about food, food processing systems, food politics, agriculture, becoming addicted to sustainability, co-founding the Good Food Project. My first stint directing a student ministry. Throwing for a collegiate track team. Making concrete over and over again. Building steel bridges. My first research. Writing a model for runoff from suburban watersheds from scratch. Teaching younger students. Deciding I want to be a professor. Getting into grad school; receiving the NSF GRFP. Moving to Berkeley. Moving to Berkeley. Finishing an MS. Starting a cafe ministry. Working on an unbelievably interesting project, and learning the awesome field of fluid mechanics. Presenting my first scientific paper.
And along with all of this, learning every kind of love available. My heart breaking several times, for different reasons. Learning that the deep connections are the only ones worth making; that pain is part of life, and I will lose people throughout my life, but there will always be someone else who could benefit from being loved by me, or I by them. Learning that there are people in every place who are worth getting to know, though they may not fit the profile of whom you'd expect to become your friends. Learning to treat each day as a precious gift, since we never know when it's going to end, and learning to hope that each day will be better than the last, trusting that that is the only way it could be.
My brother explained an interesting metaphor today about those who die young. He just lost another friend (this makes four? five?) two weeks ago (don't become friends with us, unless you want to die young), and the young man's mentee was distraught, so Patrick went to comfort him.
Why did Matt have to die so young? Well, perhaps each person has a life-tank. At the beginning, everyone's life-tank is full up. But we all drive different cars of life. Maybe the 90-year-old man down the street has been driving a Neon. Your mother is at least driving a Corolla. Patrick's maybe driving a sedan (what does this say about when he's going to die??). But Matt was driving a Ferrari, at full tilt. They say only the good die young because the burn through their life-tank quickly. And by doing so, they live every single moment to the fullest, meet every person they can, take every opportunity to spread branches in this world and do something good. So yeah, they're good, and their time comes for them early on.
We talked even more in depth on the need for the end of one life to not be the end of another. The death of a young person does not need to mean the essential death of a friend or family member. Besides what would be desired by the deceased, we all must move on with our lives after mourning a loss. We are human, and we understand death, perhaps in a unique way among animals. But we also have coping mechanisms, and we should use them. We are made to get up and keep going with life, but too many people become married to the idea of a lost loved one. That keeps them from moving forward, ties them inextricably to the past, and makes them less productive members of society. This is not a good thing. Mourn your losses, certainly. But know that wallowing is not a good idea.
In a way, I feel like the American people are stuck in that mourning mode, as I said earlier. We are mourning in particular the events of September 11, 2001, the loss of our friends and families, and the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. Yes, we MUST NOT FORGET. But there is a difference between forgetting and forgiving, forgetting and moving on with life, taking our pain and turning it into strength.
Ten years later, it is a time to look forward with hope, and most importantly, love. Pat de Jong spoke today (updated on Tuesday) of the multi-faith vigil service held in Berkeley on the evening of 9/11/01. She talked of the love and prayer that emanated from the crowd of believers in... something... and the forms of plea and prayer and remembrance that were brought by leaders of all faiths in the area. The collective grief. But also the collective hope that, if somehow these cultures and beliefs and faiths could convene here in Berkeley, there might be some hope that they might be able to do the same around the world, some day. That is a tall order, but I believe it could happen. Maybe we all just need to stop saying we, and only we, are right.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Anniversary
Tomorrow is the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001. About eight hours from now, ten years ago, the first plane struck the first of the World Trade Center towers.
What has the past ten years taught us? Or, more importantly, what have we learned? What have we, as a nation and people and world learned about the dangers of hate, and the virtue of love?
We have seen a number of wars, or one big war, depending on your outlook. We have seen famine, draught, floods; earthquakes, tsunami, climate change, oil spills; political unrest, protests, killings, and (often hidden) ethnic cleansing and human trafficking; economic failure, bankruptcy, crumbling infrastructure... the list goes on.
What have we learned in the past ten years? Can we say that we have learned to love our enemy, forgive our foe? Have we gotten even the tiniest inch closer to putting aside cultural differences and realizing we all want and need the same things? Is the ever-popular beauty pageant wish- world peace- any closer at all?
The United States has seen some hard times these past ten years. Some have been related to the events of 9/11/01. Most have not, though there have been politicians, business-people, even religious leaders coming at it from every angle, milking the pain the country felt. Exposing those poor few thousand families who lost a loved one, and using their loss as fuel for war, military spending, political dominance.
Can anyone say that is right and good? To tear open a wound over and over again, to make the pain felt every day, to keep true healing at bay? We ought to perhaps doubly pity those who lost a loved one on 9/11. They haven't been able to be alone and get on with their lives, as is natural and necessary by human nature.
Three years ago our country decided to have hope. (Whatever that means to you, I do not intend to be political). But the dominant image I saw, for a good year or so, was the word "HOPE". It seemed we wanted to move on with our lives, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps we would be able to do just that, with our new-found hope in the way things could be, the way we could be in the world.
But it turns out the American public has the patience of a toddler who has missed his nap, unfortunately. As complete miracles have not been delivered on a daily basis for the past three years, those same posters of HOPE have been replaced with the disheartening word 'nope'. We don't really want to work to have hope. We've lost it in along the way, watching our sitcoms and eating our increasingly-artisan ice cream.
So here's hoping the American public learns once again to have hope that this world isn't the hostile thing we think it is, to be feared and beaten down with a stick, to be conquered. Let us hope that we learn to think of our brothers and sisters in the world as just that- siblings on this earth, worthy of love and, the very least, basic consideration. And most of all, let us hope that we learn to let pain and loss be exactly that-pain and loss- and let us not use ours as justification for causing more.
What has the past ten years taught us? Or, more importantly, what have we learned? What have we, as a nation and people and world learned about the dangers of hate, and the virtue of love?
We have seen a number of wars, or one big war, depending on your outlook. We have seen famine, draught, floods; earthquakes, tsunami, climate change, oil spills; political unrest, protests, killings, and (often hidden) ethnic cleansing and human trafficking; economic failure, bankruptcy, crumbling infrastructure... the list goes on.
What have we learned in the past ten years? Can we say that we have learned to love our enemy, forgive our foe? Have we gotten even the tiniest inch closer to putting aside cultural differences and realizing we all want and need the same things? Is the ever-popular beauty pageant wish- world peace- any closer at all?
The United States has seen some hard times these past ten years. Some have been related to the events of 9/11/01. Most have not, though there have been politicians, business-people, even religious leaders coming at it from every angle, milking the pain the country felt. Exposing those poor few thousand families who lost a loved one, and using their loss as fuel for war, military spending, political dominance.
Can anyone say that is right and good? To tear open a wound over and over again, to make the pain felt every day, to keep true healing at bay? We ought to perhaps doubly pity those who lost a loved one on 9/11. They haven't been able to be alone and get on with their lives, as is natural and necessary by human nature.
Three years ago our country decided to have hope. (Whatever that means to you, I do not intend to be political). But the dominant image I saw, for a good year or so, was the word "HOPE". It seemed we wanted to move on with our lives, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps we would be able to do just that, with our new-found hope in the way things could be, the way we could be in the world.
But it turns out the American public has the patience of a toddler who has missed his nap, unfortunately. As complete miracles have not been delivered on a daily basis for the past three years, those same posters of HOPE have been replaced with the disheartening word 'nope'. We don't really want to work to have hope. We've lost it in along the way, watching our sitcoms and eating our increasingly-artisan ice cream.
So here's hoping the American public learns once again to have hope that this world isn't the hostile thing we think it is, to be feared and beaten down with a stick, to be conquered. Let us hope that we learn to think of our brothers and sisters in the world as just that- siblings on this earth, worthy of love and, the very least, basic consideration. And most of all, let us hope that we learn to let pain and loss be exactly that-pain and loss- and let us not use ours as justification for causing more.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Good-Riddances
Good-byes are, by their very nature, some of the worst things in life.
Seriously think for a minute. Even those good-byes that seemed like good-riddances, those that just needed to happen for the health or happiness of both parties involved, those where your heart is broken and/or you are breaking someone else's. If you are saying good-bye to someone, even someone who has hurt you deeply, the mere fact that you are taking the time and energy to say those words means they affected your life in some significant way. Even those good-riddances; good-byes to a nemesis, an especially obnoxious relative, or an opponent.
When I was fourteen, I heard the words "love thine enemy" in an inexplicably strong way. To this end, I wrote a letter to my long time nemesis, Allie. We had competed for the same position on our travel basketball team for four years, and were exact opposites in the hallways of our middle school. Allie wanted desperately to be one of the popular girls; I didn't really care that much (I had been given an opportunity to hang out with them at one point, and they spent an entire afternoon talking about their boyfriends... they were eleven.). I was the quintessential nerd; Allie looked at me every day with a slight sneer. I spent far too much time thinking and worrying about the pain she caused me (you can't ignore a sneer). There was also a rumor we had a crush on the same boy.
So when I knew I was going to be going to high school in a different state, I wrote her a letter, saying that I held no grudge and I hoped she would flourish (or the fourteen-year-old equivalent). I wrote out my good-bye, and put her to rest in my mind. I never heard back from her, of course. But even that good-bye, one of the most good-riddance-ish imaginable, acknowledged the relationship that we had, even if it was one based entirely on animosity.
Animosity is a certain kind of love, and can be as all-consuming as the most passionate romance or deepest friendship. So what does this tell us? The only good-byes that don't affect us are the ones that don't matter to us. The ones we actually don't make the effort to say, the mediocre band director, the friend-we-hung-out-with-for-the-last-few-years-but-not-that-much, the cat lady down the street who used to stare at us as we walked by.
And we all know the agony of a farewell said to someone we love or have loved, whether it be for a long time, a not-so-long time, or forever. It's those forevers that are the worst. Though I'll leave it up for debate which is worse: the goodbyes you know are forever, or those you don't know are forever, but turn out to be that way as the person is yanked from you. I've had more of the latter than the former in my life, but both are excruciating.
So every good-bye is hard. But does that mean we shouldn't say them? Does that mean we should let life go by without making the connections that lead to hard good-byes? To avoid that pain of separation? CERTAINLY NOT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.
As my friend, who will likely never read this blog (or so I hope), quotes Henry Rollins:
I think if you're alive and you wanna be into something, you should be on it like... you should be nuts about it, or be nuts about something else, but don't be halfway about anything, cause life is too short. If you're gonna love someone, LOVE 'em, if you're gonna hate 'em , HATE 'em, but don't be like, "Oh, I don't know how I feel about it." Have an opinion about something, otherwise don't show up at MY dinner table, cause it's gonna be boring conversation.
Well, actually, DO show up at my dinner table. I'd love to have you.
Seriously think for a minute. Even those good-byes that seemed like good-riddances, those that just needed to happen for the health or happiness of both parties involved, those where your heart is broken and/or you are breaking someone else's. If you are saying good-bye to someone, even someone who has hurt you deeply, the mere fact that you are taking the time and energy to say those words means they affected your life in some significant way. Even those good-riddances; good-byes to a nemesis, an especially obnoxious relative, or an opponent.
When I was fourteen, I heard the words "love thine enemy" in an inexplicably strong way. To this end, I wrote a letter to my long time nemesis, Allie. We had competed for the same position on our travel basketball team for four years, and were exact opposites in the hallways of our middle school. Allie wanted desperately to be one of the popular girls; I didn't really care that much (I had been given an opportunity to hang out with them at one point, and they spent an entire afternoon talking about their boyfriends... they were eleven.). I was the quintessential nerd; Allie looked at me every day with a slight sneer. I spent far too much time thinking and worrying about the pain she caused me (you can't ignore a sneer). There was also a rumor we had a crush on the same boy.
So when I knew I was going to be going to high school in a different state, I wrote her a letter, saying that I held no grudge and I hoped she would flourish (or the fourteen-year-old equivalent). I wrote out my good-bye, and put her to rest in my mind. I never heard back from her, of course. But even that good-bye, one of the most good-riddance-ish imaginable, acknowledged the relationship that we had, even if it was one based entirely on animosity.
Animosity is a certain kind of love, and can be as all-consuming as the most passionate romance or deepest friendship. So what does this tell us? The only good-byes that don't affect us are the ones that don't matter to us. The ones we actually don't make the effort to say, the mediocre band director, the friend-we-hung-out-with-for-the-last-few-years-but-not-that-much, the cat lady down the street who used to stare at us as we walked by.
And we all know the agony of a farewell said to someone we love or have loved, whether it be for a long time, a not-so-long time, or forever. It's those forevers that are the worst. Though I'll leave it up for debate which is worse: the goodbyes you know are forever, or those you don't know are forever, but turn out to be that way as the person is yanked from you. I've had more of the latter than the former in my life, but both are excruciating.
So every good-bye is hard. But does that mean we shouldn't say them? Does that mean we should let life go by without making the connections that lead to hard good-byes? To avoid that pain of separation? CERTAINLY NOT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.
As my friend, who will likely never read this blog (or so I hope), quotes Henry Rollins:
I think if you're alive and you wanna be into something, you should be on it like... you should be nuts about it, or be nuts about something else, but don't be halfway about anything, cause life is too short. If you're gonna love someone, LOVE 'em, if you're gonna hate 'em , HATE 'em, but don't be like, "Oh, I don't know how I feel about it." Have an opinion about something, otherwise don't show up at MY dinner table, cause it's gonna be boring conversation.
Well, actually, DO show up at my dinner table. I'd love to have you.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
They know who you really are.
Mum is here.
Right now, she's asleep, 'doing my old mother thing', as she says. I just smile and nod when she does. But I don't believe her. The woman might be sixty, but there is no way she's old. And sure, she's a mother, but she's so much more than that.
Do you know those two, maybe three people in your life with whom you don't even need words to have a conversation most of the time? Maybe an old old friend, a lover, a brother. Someone with whom you can spend many comfortable silences, who knows all of your quirks and little biases and what REALLY MATTERS TO YOU SO MUCH YOU WOULD KILL FOR IT even if you pretend it doesn't matter at all. When you see this person, you pick up just like you've never left each other's company.
To whom you can say, "that pear is really green", and they'll know you were comparing it to a pear you had discussed three years earlier at a farmer's market on the other side of the country, and will answer, "but I bet it won't fit in your sock", in reference to the pair of socks your favorite writer had published an expository essay on (and they had read and then sent to you for that reason alone) six months later. With whom your conversations can be completely nonsensical, or at least appear that way to the public at large.
These people, and I sincerely hope you have some, are the cornerstones of your life. They remind you of who you are at your most basic level, what you love and care about and the way you want to live in the world. They help you get through the tough times in life, and often will arrive at your doorstep just in the nick of time, seemingly without cause. You will think of each other simultaneously when you're a thousand miles away, and one will call the other because one of you needs a reminder of your fundamental self.
Yep, you got it. I know it's cliche to say your mother knows you better than anyone, and that you're good friends (or maybe just pity-inducing). But I'm going to throw it out there in a completely contrarian way... too bad, world, this ain't your normal. I'm pretty gall darn lucky to have a friend in Ms. Becky.
So maybe she's finally asleep. But the poor woman, she just got in from the East Coast yesterday, where it's three hours later; last night we stayed up talking; and this morning I made her get up at 6:30am to help me set up, cook for, and direct the FCCB cafe (for six hours nonetheless). She gladly rose early and met a million people, made her famous coffee cake, had rather philosophical discussions with three parishioners, attended the 11am service with me, went to lunch with Margaret and I, toured the co-op, and went girly dress shopping at Jeremy's all before sitting down once. And then dinner at HiP, talking with four new grad students in fields varying from biomechanics to Russian literature to displaced tribes in Jamaica. Finally home. Not your average sixty-year-old. Not your average lady. I am impressed.
Right now, she's asleep, 'doing my old mother thing', as she says. I just smile and nod when she does. But I don't believe her. The woman might be sixty, but there is no way she's old. And sure, she's a mother, but she's so much more than that.
Do you know those two, maybe three people in your life with whom you don't even need words to have a conversation most of the time? Maybe an old old friend, a lover, a brother. Someone with whom you can spend many comfortable silences, who knows all of your quirks and little biases and what REALLY MATTERS TO YOU SO MUCH YOU WOULD KILL FOR IT even if you pretend it doesn't matter at all. When you see this person, you pick up just like you've never left each other's company.
To whom you can say, "that pear is really green", and they'll know you were comparing it to a pear you had discussed three years earlier at a farmer's market on the other side of the country, and will answer, "but I bet it won't fit in your sock", in reference to the pair of socks your favorite writer had published an expository essay on (and they had read and then sent to you for that reason alone) six months later. With whom your conversations can be completely nonsensical, or at least appear that way to the public at large.
These people, and I sincerely hope you have some, are the cornerstones of your life. They remind you of who you are at your most basic level, what you love and care about and the way you want to live in the world. They help you get through the tough times in life, and often will arrive at your doorstep just in the nick of time, seemingly without cause. You will think of each other simultaneously when you're a thousand miles away, and one will call the other because one of you needs a reminder of your fundamental self.
Yep, you got it. I know it's cliche to say your mother knows you better than anyone, and that you're good friends (or maybe just pity-inducing). But I'm going to throw it out there in a completely contrarian way... too bad, world, this ain't your normal. I'm pretty gall darn lucky to have a friend in Ms. Becky.
So maybe she's finally asleep. But the poor woman, she just got in from the East Coast yesterday, where it's three hours later; last night we stayed up talking; and this morning I made her get up at 6:30am to help me set up, cook for, and direct the FCCB cafe (for six hours nonetheless). She gladly rose early and met a million people, made her famous coffee cake, had rather philosophical discussions with three parishioners, attended the 11am service with me, went to lunch with Margaret and I, toured the co-op, and went girly dress shopping at Jeremy's all before sitting down once. And then dinner at HiP, talking with four new grad students in fields varying from biomechanics to Russian literature to displaced tribes in Jamaica. Finally home. Not your average sixty-year-old. Not your average lady. I am impressed.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Welcome Sunday at the FCCB Cafe
I found out about a week ago that the FCCB Cafe was meant to be open, and free, this coming Sunday, while the person who had been organizing cooks and servers was in the middle of a move to Palo Alto.
So I'm taking this thing OVER!
There's a huge difference, once again, between cooking in a kitchen for a-la-carte meals and cooking a bunch at once while organizing and directing a bunch of volunteers to make an open, welcoming cafe.
This is going to be fun, especially as... who will be showing up tomorrow morning but Becky, mum extraordinaire?! At least she's willing to help out (she's always up for community-building)!
So I'm going to go into the ideas behind the cafe in a later post (it is pretty much completely what I use as my life philosophy), but right now I'm focused on trying to assemble enough foodstuffs to feed a bunch of hungry people who will arrive on Sunday expecting a complete, free cafe (usually we charge enough to cover the cost of ingredients).
Usual fare at the cafe on a Sunday morning might be 1-2 types of muffins (36 total); a coffee cake (or two) of some sort; granola and organic yogurt; one type of scone or savory bun (about 20); and two large frittatas (serving about 24). This tends to sell out (it's not a huge ordeal on a normal week), so we've been able to keep it regular.
And yet, this week it will all be free, so naturally we'll get a bunch more people. So what to make?
So far, we have in the plans:
four large frittatas
two loaves of bread (for what I'm not quite sure, something about toast was thrown around, but I'm not sure how we could get that working)
some cupcakes(? I'm sure they'll go easily enough even at 8am)
On Sunday I'll be making strawberry cream scones (ergh not the best choice of berry, but it wasn't mine to make). They tend to be a hit, and when the ingredients consist of flour, sugar, baking powder, berries, and heavy cream, it can't really be any simpler to throw together in a massive batch. Looks like I'll need to get some more cream, though. One pint will make approximately twelve large scones.
And tonight I threw together a variation on my favorite, easiest-in-the-world-and-always-delicious lemon cake. It's the same recipe I made for my sister Kristen's wedding cake, and can work with any kind of citrus fruit (needed for the acid and the delightful flavor to complement the dense-ish texture). Tonight I found I didn't have any lemons, only limes... and a blood orange... so I went with an Orange and Montmorency cherry variation. I'll throw together an orange glaze on Sunday morning and serve it up in little slices (I made a triple recipe, so it should feed quite a few, though a triple recipe went into each layer of Kristen's cake...). Fortunately this cake gets better and better for the first few days after it's made (the gluten relaxes and the moisture in the cake condenses and settles), so by Sunday morning it should be pretty good.
Well, wish me luck! And if you have suggestions for other easy recipes to throw together on Sunday morning, please let me know...
So I'm taking this thing OVER!
There's a huge difference, once again, between cooking in a kitchen for a-la-carte meals and cooking a bunch at once while organizing and directing a bunch of volunteers to make an open, welcoming cafe.
This is going to be fun, especially as... who will be showing up tomorrow morning but Becky, mum extraordinaire?! At least she's willing to help out (she's always up for community-building)!
So I'm going to go into the ideas behind the cafe in a later post (it is pretty much completely what I use as my life philosophy), but right now I'm focused on trying to assemble enough foodstuffs to feed a bunch of hungry people who will arrive on Sunday expecting a complete, free cafe (usually we charge enough to cover the cost of ingredients).
Usual fare at the cafe on a Sunday morning might be 1-2 types of muffins (36 total); a coffee cake (or two) of some sort; granola and organic yogurt; one type of scone or savory bun (about 20); and two large frittatas (serving about 24). This tends to sell out (it's not a huge ordeal on a normal week), so we've been able to keep it regular.
And yet, this week it will all be free, so naturally we'll get a bunch more people. So what to make?
So far, we have in the plans:
four large frittatas
two loaves of bread (for what I'm not quite sure, something about toast was thrown around, but I'm not sure how we could get that working)
some cupcakes(? I'm sure they'll go easily enough even at 8am)
On Sunday I'll be making strawberry cream scones (ergh not the best choice of berry, but it wasn't mine to make). They tend to be a hit, and when the ingredients consist of flour, sugar, baking powder, berries, and heavy cream, it can't really be any simpler to throw together in a massive batch. Looks like I'll need to get some more cream, though. One pint will make approximately twelve large scones.
And tonight I threw together a variation on my favorite, easiest-in-the-world-and-always-delicious lemon cake. It's the same recipe I made for my sister Kristen's wedding cake, and can work with any kind of citrus fruit (needed for the acid and the delightful flavor to complement the dense-ish texture). Tonight I found I didn't have any lemons, only limes... and a blood orange... so I went with an Orange and Montmorency cherry variation. I'll throw together an orange glaze on Sunday morning and serve it up in little slices (I made a triple recipe, so it should feed quite a few, though a triple recipe went into each layer of Kristen's cake...). Fortunately this cake gets better and better for the first few days after it's made (the gluten relaxes and the moisture in the cake condenses and settles), so by Sunday morning it should be pretty good.
Well, wish me luck! And if you have suggestions for other easy recipes to throw together on Sunday morning, please let me know...
Thursday, September 1, 2011
HiP Italian
Here we are back in the States, and if the beginning of school and all the other craziness that is my life right now isn't enough, today brought about my first workshift as head cook at the graduate co-op, Hillegass Parker (as mentioned before, HiP).
Now, here's the challenge:
Three cooks (one head cook, two assistants who may or may not know anything about food)
Three hours
An unreliably stocked kitchen
A full meal for ~60 people
...GO!
Menu planning must happen far in advance, or at least, far enough in advance that the kitchen manager has time to order anything not a staple in the kitchen. Produce is delivered Friday. Unfortunately, with Thursday as my assigned cooking night, it looks like I'm going to be doing a lot of last-minute adjustment to my menus as the walk-in fridge is depleted throughout the week.
Now, a little background on the co-op so you know what all is going down.
HiP houses ~60 graduate students in three neighboring domiciles just south of campus. About ten people "board" at HiP as well, either ex-inmates (har har), friends of the co-op, or people who live down the street. Or me, who lives several miles away and up about 1000ft elevation [some may say I'm crazy for doing this. I am inclined to agree]. We boarders eat some number of meals at the co-op every week, and in return pay for our meals and are assigned several hours of workshift every week. I'm on the 5-meal, 2-hour plan.
And by "meals", we are referring primarily to dinners. Dinner is a big deal at HiP. The aforementioned three people bravely take on the task of creating a culinary wonderland for all members of the co-op. Generally there are between five and ten dishes served up promptly (well, within ten minutes or so) at 7pm each night Sunday through Thursday. Co-op-ers line up in the dining room in Main House (also where the big kitchen is, it used to be a boarding house years ago) at 7pm, forks and knives in hand, ready to demolish what tends to be a delightful meal. There are always vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free dishes available, the primary goal being to provide a complete meal for each of these groups, in addition to the omnivores who are so easy to cook for. Each night a new set of cooks try their hand, though there are weekly (in my case, bi-weekly) shifts assigned.
So. Among the ridiculousness of life right now, I planned a meal for sixty to commence preparation at 4pm this afternoon (yes, I left work extremely early, and earlier yet in order to ride the bus up the hill to get my car so I could get home at the end of it all).
To illustrate the interesting task of end-of-the-week cooking at the coop:
Intended menu:
pasta; pomodoro sauce made entirely of fresh tomatoes; chicken marsala with cream; garlic olive bread; tiramisu; balsamic green beans; gluten-free pasta; zucchini "pasta"; sicilian red lentil pasta sauce/stew
Final menu:
pasta; pomodoro sauce made of almost-ripe tomatoes stripped from the garden and canned tomato puree; chicken marsala (without cream); garlic bread (someone had eaten all six loaves of the olive bread!?); tiramisu-like cake trifle (no whipped cream); orange-fennel salad over mixed greens; oregano-spiked summer squash; tempeh "arrabiata" (aka kinda spicy with a couple of tomatoes, lots of onion, and summer squash)
All in all, it actually worked out surprisingly well. We were only about ten minutes late, which included making up "late plates" for absent co-op-ers (amusingly, Megan was one of these, though she had gone to dinner for Rudi's birthday instead, just wanted to be sure she got some after she wandered into the kitchen this afternoon). Roasted garlic was a huge hit on the crispy bits of garlic bread. The tiramisu trifle went over incredibly well, considering I had forgotten to pour over the coffee/marsala wine mixture on the top layer. And the mere fact that the pomodoro sauce was uber-local made Adam, the kitchen manager, so happy he loudly declared that fact to the entire room.
But lesson learned: as far as co-op-ers are concerned, anything with chocolate chips is far superior to anything without.
One of the greatest (and potentially aggravating) parts of being head cook is that every week a new set of assistant cooks are assigned to your shift. Today James and Margaret were to be assistants, but Margaret found herself four hours of workshift "up" (meaning she had done more than necessary), and with a problem set due tomorrow, "sold" her shift to Nina. So, Nina, James, and I made an (inevitably) complete mess of the HiP kitchen in our attempt to satisfy the hungry graduate students.
I must say, it's been a while since I directed others in cooking. Most of my culinary training was in taking orders, not giving them. I'm pretty good at getting all of my stuff done in order and on time; this was part of what earned me highest honors in the City and Guilds program. But telling others what to do, and being completely dependent on them because there's no way to do it all in that period of time on my own? Unfamiliar experience for me. Especially the part that makes me responsible for the outcome of our team's work. I never liked that part of teamwork, if there was a situation where I absolutely had to trust my teammates to do their work well. I'm far more likely to try to do it myself. I'm a horrible team player. I know it. But there's nothing saying I can't learn to either:
1) not worry about it not being perfect, since it never will be, or
2) absolutely trust that someone else is equally competent and will do a good job without my involvement.
Actually, I think the first will be more of a problem.
Regardless, getting to know Nina and James was great. Turns out Nina's on what they call a "grace period" (even though she's not a student, she can live in the co-op for one more semester beyond finishing her degree), and James is the one other person I've met from Rhode Island (East Greenwich!). Nina did an incredible job with the chicken marsala, and pretty much deconstructed three whole chickens on her own after I showed her the general procedure. And poor James got all the boring jobs, slicing about 2 gallons of mushrooms, fifty mixed summer squash, twelve oranges, seven fennel bulbs, and five heads of garlic. The dude was ridiculously upbeat about it. I promised him next time he'd get to do all the fun stuff (whatever that is).
And the adrenaline rush after realizing half my proposed dinner (and vegan protein) was nonexistent (no red lentils, or a proper substitute, anywhere in sight) was invigorating. Sleep deprivation is not a good thing in such situations... I ended up spending ten minutes in the walk-in, trying to find something to make, and walked out shivering. Thank heavens for my SusieCakes chef's jacket! Another use beyond protecting me from flying spurts of hot oil and providing a reminder of M1N (swatties!!!!!): it can be used as blustery-weather gear. woot!
So somehow I'm supposed to get four workshift hours for this ridiculousness. Fortunately I love it, otherwise there's no way it'd be worth it. But this is most of the reason I joined the co-op (besides meeting non-engineers, trying something new, and getting to hang out with two of my favorite people in the world). It's great to be back cooking for people, and seeing their faces as they enjoy it.
Now, here's the challenge:
Three cooks (one head cook, two assistants who may or may not know anything about food)
Three hours
An unreliably stocked kitchen
A full meal for ~60 people
...GO!
Menu planning must happen far in advance, or at least, far enough in advance that the kitchen manager has time to order anything not a staple in the kitchen. Produce is delivered Friday. Unfortunately, with Thursday as my assigned cooking night, it looks like I'm going to be doing a lot of last-minute adjustment to my menus as the walk-in fridge is depleted throughout the week.
Now, a little background on the co-op so you know what all is going down.
HiP houses ~60 graduate students in three neighboring domiciles just south of campus. About ten people "board" at HiP as well, either ex-inmates (har har), friends of the co-op, or people who live down the street. Or me, who lives several miles away and up about 1000ft elevation [some may say I'm crazy for doing this. I am inclined to agree]. We boarders eat some number of meals at the co-op every week, and in return pay for our meals and are assigned several hours of workshift every week. I'm on the 5-meal, 2-hour plan.
And by "meals", we are referring primarily to dinners. Dinner is a big deal at HiP. The aforementioned three people bravely take on the task of creating a culinary wonderland for all members of the co-op. Generally there are between five and ten dishes served up promptly (well, within ten minutes or so) at 7pm each night Sunday through Thursday. Co-op-ers line up in the dining room in Main House (also where the big kitchen is, it used to be a boarding house years ago) at 7pm, forks and knives in hand, ready to demolish what tends to be a delightful meal. There are always vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free dishes available, the primary goal being to provide a complete meal for each of these groups, in addition to the omnivores who are so easy to cook for. Each night a new set of cooks try their hand, though there are weekly (in my case, bi-weekly) shifts assigned.
So. Among the ridiculousness of life right now, I planned a meal for sixty to commence preparation at 4pm this afternoon (yes, I left work extremely early, and earlier yet in order to ride the bus up the hill to get my car so I could get home at the end of it all).
To illustrate the interesting task of end-of-the-week cooking at the coop:
Intended menu:
pasta; pomodoro sauce made entirely of fresh tomatoes; chicken marsala with cream; garlic olive bread; tiramisu; balsamic green beans; gluten-free pasta; zucchini "pasta"; sicilian red lentil pasta sauce/stew
Final menu:
pasta; pomodoro sauce made of almost-ripe tomatoes stripped from the garden and canned tomato puree; chicken marsala (without cream); garlic bread (someone had eaten all six loaves of the olive bread!?); tiramisu-like cake trifle (no whipped cream); orange-fennel salad over mixed greens; oregano-spiked summer squash; tempeh "arrabiata" (aka kinda spicy with a couple of tomatoes, lots of onion, and summer squash)
All in all, it actually worked out surprisingly well. We were only about ten minutes late, which included making up "late plates" for absent co-op-ers (amusingly, Megan was one of these, though she had gone to dinner for Rudi's birthday instead, just wanted to be sure she got some after she wandered into the kitchen this afternoon). Roasted garlic was a huge hit on the crispy bits of garlic bread. The tiramisu trifle went over incredibly well, considering I had forgotten to pour over the coffee/marsala wine mixture on the top layer. And the mere fact that the pomodoro sauce was uber-local made Adam, the kitchen manager, so happy he loudly declared that fact to the entire room.
But lesson learned: as far as co-op-ers are concerned, anything with chocolate chips is far superior to anything without.
One of the greatest (and potentially aggravating) parts of being head cook is that every week a new set of assistant cooks are assigned to your shift. Today James and Margaret were to be assistants, but Margaret found herself four hours of workshift "up" (meaning she had done more than necessary), and with a problem set due tomorrow, "sold" her shift to Nina. So, Nina, James, and I made an (inevitably) complete mess of the HiP kitchen in our attempt to satisfy the hungry graduate students.
I must say, it's been a while since I directed others in cooking. Most of my culinary training was in taking orders, not giving them. I'm pretty good at getting all of my stuff done in order and on time; this was part of what earned me highest honors in the City and Guilds program. But telling others what to do, and being completely dependent on them because there's no way to do it all in that period of time on my own? Unfamiliar experience for me. Especially the part that makes me responsible for the outcome of our team's work. I never liked that part of teamwork, if there was a situation where I absolutely had to trust my teammates to do their work well. I'm far more likely to try to do it myself. I'm a horrible team player. I know it. But there's nothing saying I can't learn to either:
1) not worry about it not being perfect, since it never will be, or
2) absolutely trust that someone else is equally competent and will do a good job without my involvement.
Actually, I think the first will be more of a problem.
Regardless, getting to know Nina and James was great. Turns out Nina's on what they call a "grace period" (even though she's not a student, she can live in the co-op for one more semester beyond finishing her degree), and James is the one other person I've met from Rhode Island (East Greenwich!). Nina did an incredible job with the chicken marsala, and pretty much deconstructed three whole chickens on her own after I showed her the general procedure. And poor James got all the boring jobs, slicing about 2 gallons of mushrooms, fifty mixed summer squash, twelve oranges, seven fennel bulbs, and five heads of garlic. The dude was ridiculously upbeat about it. I promised him next time he'd get to do all the fun stuff (whatever that is).
And the adrenaline rush after realizing half my proposed dinner (and vegan protein) was nonexistent (no red lentils, or a proper substitute, anywhere in sight) was invigorating. Sleep deprivation is not a good thing in such situations... I ended up spending ten minutes in the walk-in, trying to find something to make, and walked out shivering. Thank heavens for my SusieCakes chef's jacket! Another use beyond protecting me from flying spurts of hot oil and providing a reminder of M1N (swatties!!!!!): it can be used as blustery-weather gear. woot!
So somehow I'm supposed to get four workshift hours for this ridiculousness. Fortunately I love it, otherwise there's no way it'd be worth it. But this is most of the reason I joined the co-op (besides meeting non-engineers, trying something new, and getting to hang out with two of my favorite people in the world). It's great to be back cooking for people, and seeing their faces as they enjoy it.
Commenting
A couple of people have asked me how they can comment on a post (or mentioned that they had something to answer with, but were to lazy to figure out how). Well, sorry lazy people, you have no excuse now.
Easy instructions:
In the upper right hand corner click on 'sign in'.
If you have a google account, gmail or otherwise, use that, you already have an account. LUCKY YOU.
If not, make one really quickly, it'll take O(2min). You can create a google account using an email address you already have.
Then you can click on the 'comment' button at the bottom of each post, and talk to me.
YAY.
kthanksbye.
this was a public interest message in addition to regular programming, brought to you by the letters K, M, and the number 16. Additional support provided by the korporation for public broadkasting and the karnegie foundation.
Easy instructions:
In the upper right hand corner click on 'sign in'.
If you have a google account, gmail or otherwise, use that, you already have an account. LUCKY YOU.
If not, make one really quickly, it'll take O(2min). You can create a google account using an email address you already have.
Then you can click on the 'comment' button at the bottom of each post, and talk to me.
YAY.
kthanksbye.
this was a public interest message in addition to regular programming, brought to you by the letters K, M, and the number 16. Additional support provided by the korporation for public broadkasting and the karnegie foundation.
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