…the simple aspect of being a romantic…


I have pondered lately about human nature and think I’ve stumbled upon something profound. I always think of things in stark terms, and lately I believe I see something that only stands to reinforce the sort of notion I’ve always entertained in my head and never really sought to put words to.

Life is much different, especially in this day and age, when you are a romantic and find yourself unable to live any other form of life. I often wonder if it is borne of creative need or whether it is the parent of such a thing. A question, I know, which will never be answered, and probably not very important.

Life is. You are. You think, you dream. Some much more than others. I think that it doesn’t matter where or why they come, only that they do and they have meaning. Some people crave them, build lives around them, craft their own personal religions, their own myths of heroes and villains, their own versions of good and evil… And some people cast them aside and throw them away and move on to the next spreadsheet and batch email…

I’ve often wondered about my relationship with cooking, wondering what it is that propels me and drives me and attracts me. I’ve wondered about people who do not, can not, will not make food for themselves or others… Suddenly I know.

Living is art – the ultimate art – and it isn’t a requisite that we’re crafty or skilled with a pencil or a paintbrush; it is so, so much more simple than all of that… We who create food, do this; we take the ordinary and turn it into something beautiful (at least we try)… Perhaps it is no surprise that the lowest form of life to us is those who take the beautiful and spend every effort turning it into something ordinary and mundane…



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