Cook Body
Today began with helping Mike at the storage space clearing out old books, papers, ephemera, making way to move from three to one. It's an interesting process to be involved with paring someone else's life into managable sections. Mike was my advisor in college and also happens to be on e of my fathers oldest friends. I like him, and his sense of humor, very much- there is something about the way he says 'let's do an hour or three tomorrow too' that makes me feel like there is a person in this town who helps me to slow down and reconnect.
Arriving at work I could feel the pull in my back from lifting wrong all morning; it's my nature and has gotten me thinking about this cook's body. I know TB wrote gloriously about the scars and callouses and aches which accompany us all at some point. Suddenly I made the connection to another bit of my history in thinking about Toni Bentley's brilliant memoir of dancing for Mr. B, A Winter Season. This is one of those books I go back to every few years and it is a part of my story too. While I never did actually dance for Mr. B. it was a long ago dream that I hold close. The life I live now has some of the same physical and public demands although I do not have to be beautiful to fulfill any of it.
My hands are cracked and cruddy. Nature of the beast. I contemplate getting a constellation tattoo on my right wrist to match the polenta (liquid napalm) burns that are slowly healing. I used to tell students they would have to give up the dream of becoming a hand model. Riding my bike home from work in air that carries the promise of autumn gives me a rush of energy that means I will not sleep for many hours. I could not give this up for anything. And, yes, I am just now getting ready to cook dinner; or is it breakfast? So, what is the body of a cook?
It falls, for me, very much into the world of a dancer. So many moments since I have gotten back into the space of being a cook instead of a chef, moments when I remember the pure physical joy of having a body and being connected. The muscle memory is strong. I need x pounds of blah- look at that, right on according to the scale. The tounge plays a huge role too and I relish the moment when sweet, sour, salty, hot (even umami) come into balance. The perfect pirouette. It has all been building to now.
So, some perfect moments from today? It was a good kitchen day- talking about recipes and their dorky writeres, making spring rolls, roasting the dreaded chicken, recognizing the deep dish quiche which is finicky in its need for perfect crust, dancing the dance. It's all bringing me back home.
Arriving at work I could feel the pull in my back from lifting wrong all morning; it's my nature and has gotten me thinking about this cook's body. I know TB wrote gloriously about the scars and callouses and aches which accompany us all at some point. Suddenly I made the connection to another bit of my history in thinking about Toni Bentley's brilliant memoir of dancing for Mr. B, A Winter Season. This is one of those books I go back to every few years and it is a part of my story too. While I never did actually dance for Mr. B. it was a long ago dream that I hold close. The life I live now has some of the same physical and public demands although I do not have to be beautiful to fulfill any of it.
My hands are cracked and cruddy. Nature of the beast. I contemplate getting a constellation tattoo on my right wrist to match the polenta (liquid napalm) burns that are slowly healing. I used to tell students they would have to give up the dream of becoming a hand model. Riding my bike home from work in air that carries the promise of autumn gives me a rush of energy that means I will not sleep for many hours. I could not give this up for anything. And, yes, I am just now getting ready to cook dinner; or is it breakfast? So, what is the body of a cook?
It falls, for me, very much into the world of a dancer. So many moments since I have gotten back into the space of being a cook instead of a chef, moments when I remember the pure physical joy of having a body and being connected. The muscle memory is strong. I need x pounds of blah- look at that, right on according to the scale. The tounge plays a huge role too and I relish the moment when sweet, sour, salty, hot (even umami) come into balance. The perfect pirouette. It has all been building to now.
So, some perfect moments from today? It was a good kitchen day- talking about recipes and their dorky writeres, making spring rolls, roasting the dreaded chicken, recognizing the deep dish quiche which is finicky in its need for perfect crust, dancing the dance. It's all bringing me back home.
Comments