Growing Pains

Close to a decade has passed, I'm sitting on a bench in Battery Park near the ocean, well you know...the best I could do for New York standards. All this work, interviews, an article or two, even some television a little consultancy and a lot more work. Judge what you will but I'm fucking exhausted, tired of it all. Not a gram of motivation left nor glimpse of my real self left in the mirrored reflection, what happened? What happened to it all? All I wanted to do was cook! But with even that I'm at odds with again,cooking. I quit.

‘I'm young’ they say ‘you will land on your feet’. Screw that. Building this version of myself was hard work and I have none other to blame but myself. I'm trying to find peace in my decision, and this may sound strange but this is all I’ve known for far too long. The scheduling, the menu changes, never having a proper day off, the never ending thought wave of food more food, and even more. Metaphorically if I may, it seemed that after all this time, it had started to eat me. Every thought every mention every idea of it. Something that gave me great joy was killing me slowly, and I was certain it wasn't cholesterol's nor ‘beurre, toujour la beurre!’

Life as I knew it was about to drastically change again. I could feel it in my gut. That sense of the wonderful loss, the nostalgia of warm sun rays as kids running barefoot in the red African dirt. Staring at every moving star. Through the mosquito netting smelling fresh curry leaves being crushed in Kodai Canal. A sense of revival at the foot of the Alps, or even an actual high in Christiania.

I have moved many times during my childhood and even adult life, but this one scared me the most. A sudden, unanticipated change of not knowing what I wanted with my life, and the fact that this was for once my decision not any others. It had brought a lot of self doubt to the forefront that I am very good at boxing it away. This I believe not only was a natural reaction from the way I grew up, but even more so how the way kitchen culture molds you into. Never letting you deal with yourself regardless how small the ordeal. You are a cook, a number. A robot. I knew why I was going through with it, I needed my chance to look at the reflection of myself and truly deal with all of it - every ounce of what I had done with my life. The way I lived, worked, cooked, and interpreted food. The one thing I couldn't get rid of, even as much as I tried, was cooking. Loving it or hating to love it, when all shed off it was me. Cooking was my life system it was my belief. The passion, a nemesis, an ally and even an antagonist if you will. Living for it, breathing it in each day even on the worst of days, giving it life and new meaning. Creating it, being it.

After a small fermentation process I’ve crawled back into it. I lead a very different life now, and yes I do miss the times, at times. Yet I have had seasons of self reflection and it has make me a better cook and chef. I have started to believe in myself again a little, in the way that I cook and also of my belief in food and the restaurant life. Its the best advice I can tell any cook who is in a shit spot in life, and work.

Take a step back, breath, and find time for yourself so that you can honestly look yourself in the mirror. The work we do is tough as nails, find your own way to make peace with that. 

I am a cook. This is me.