"If you don't like sex you can't cook"
Discover more from Spilled Milk
"If you don't like sex you can't cook"
Playing with form, falling in love with pasta and a few other things
Another week, another round of discomfort that arises from staring at a blank page.
What makes writing—or any creative profession, for that matter—unique is that you have to expose a part of yourself, over and over. This process of starting over is also quite humbling. I’ve published a few articles and essays that I’m proud of in the past, but I’m careful not to hold on to them too tightly, as I know I have to keep moving. The farther I am from certain things (e.g. a job I liked but felt a bit entangled with, identity-wise; articles I consider more ‘successful’ than others), the more I question what my definition of success really is. It looks a lot different than it did five years ago, when admittedly, my idea of it was much dependent on how things were perceived in public or online. I’m curious to know (if you’re willing to share), what is your definition of success?
Also, before we all go on holiday, I’d just like to say a little thank you to those who continue to read this and those who have recently subscribed!
Rather than listing things numerically this week, I am writing it a more stream of consciousness style with links throughout, like I did here or a few months ago here.
These days, my biggest enemy is the urge to scroll endlessly on social media at night after work, when I could be doing something more productive like writing or reading a book (I’m currently reading this). I’ve been trying to re-wire my brain not to crave apps like Instagram as much, in an effort to find a balance. Do I really have to know what everyone is up to at any given time? No, of course not, I tell myself. But at the same time, it is a way I keep in touch with people and stay up to date on their lives. As with almost everything, moderation is key. The gravity of this dilemma depends on my mood. Some days, I feel a lot more social and want to share pictures and interact with people online, other days, I want to hide. After an afternoon of shopping for Christmas gifts, my mood is more solitary, more introspective. It gives me space to write about the past week, when I was less solitary, where I fell in love a few times.
The first time I fell in love in the last week was in Carboni’s, with a bowl of pasta. Their cacio e pepe was perfectly al dente, the right amount of chewy and firm. When I recall swirling the golden yolk and watching it melt, I think about how being a food writer requires a special set of observational skills (I once tried to explore it by asking a fellow writer/editor a few questions). Because of legends like the late Anthony Bourdain, who, at times, likened food to sex (“If you don’t like sex you can’t cook,” he said in an old interview), there was a glamorization of food journalism and kitchen culture. But more than his bold statements, it is his remarkable observations on humanity that I believe made him who he was. I have yet to read Kitchen Confidential, but I’ve watched a few episodes of his shows and have read a few things online, like his 1999 New Yorker article, “Don’t Eat Before Reading This,” which gives us a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes at a restaurant.
I love the sheer weirdness of the kitchen life: the dreamers, the crackpots, the refugees, and the sociopaths with whom I continue to work; the ever-present smells of roasting bones, searing fish, and simmering liquids; the noise and clatter, the hiss and spray, the flames, the smoke, and the steam. Admittedly, it’s a life that grinds you down. Most of us who live and operate in the culinary underworld are in some fundamental way dysfunctional. We’ve all chosen to turn our backs on the nine-to-five, on ever having a Friday or Saturday night off, on ever having a normal relationship with a non-cook.
I’ve been consuming a few things that remind me of the many kinds of love we have in our lives, with a particular focus on friendships. It is too easy to be swept up in romantic love when someone (especially if they are very cute) catches your attention. And this is why traditions are important: apèros, Christmas parties, or even just grabbing a quick meal or coffee. Adult friendships require more effort compared to when you would see someone every day in the classroom, but I think they also beautiful; the simple act of showing up for someone is in itself a declaration of love. I am reminded of this wonderful article in the Atlantic where the writer encourages us to sustain friendships “you don’t need” (when you read the article, you will understand why):
At the highest level are friendships of virtue, or what Aristotle called “perfect friendship.” These friendships are pursued for their own sake, and not instrumental to anything else.
A few paragraphs in, the feeling of doubt starts to wane (although it can still linger up until the moment before I click ‘send.’) Writing is my first love and I am reminded, time and time again, of its joys: the thrill of a punctuation mark changing the tone of an entire sentence, the hypnotic tapping on the keyboard, the relief upon meeting a deadline. I’m still in love with it.
Une petite annonce: as next Sunday is Christmas, I will not be releasing a newsletter on that day. Enjoy the holidays!