This little outing is also me taking another step toward making and strengthening friendships outside of work. I’m usually so tired and so hungry for time with Katie on my days off that leaving her side is one of my last thoughts. We decided I should spend some time with friends: we figured it might be healthy.

I forget how clunky it feels to write after such an absence. It’s like I’ve forgotten how, the natural flow and rhythm disrupted by silence and sleep. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve almost put the tree to sleep indefinitely. It’s almost haunted me at times, my own creation demanding creativity when I had none to spare. But it’s only fair I suppose: a creature designed with a purpose wanting to live for that purpose. And yet, I’ve been negligent.

In the silence, something became clear: the tree is an extension of me, and as I change, so will it. If I don’t feel like writing, then the tree doesn’t feel like talking. Simple, really.

For the interested, work is going exceptionally well. I’ve been given a promotion and a raise. I’m doing things that are more exciting than the day-to-day monotony. Katie and I are doing stupefyingly well. And when I’m not exhausted from work, I’m really happy. (I’m usually happy even when I’m exhausted.)

Later, I’ll take the remaining dough, ball it up in portions, freeze it, and then we’ll have access to freshly-baked cookies whenever we want. Awesome.

I trained on sauté tonight. I forgot how fast that station is and how many components there are. It’s going to take a bit getting used to it.

With all this time off, Katie has taken the liberty of composing a list of chores for me to do (so I won’t get bored, she says).

One thing on the list is some gardening. We’ve started a flower, herb, and vegetable garden together. I’m in charge of the herbs. Some are from seeds and some are from baby plants. So far, I’ve got sweet basil, opal basil, tarragon, thyme, mint, parsley, oregano, chives, rosemary, and lavender. We’re also growing some peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers.

I’m really tired right now. I don’t know why; I had an easy night at work, and I took a nap today. Weird.

Now I’m bored with this.

In the years I’ve been driving, I’ve seen it go past one dollar, then two, then three. It’s been a steady climb, and it’s made a lot of people really upset. I mean, when you think about it, to have something you used to pay one dollar for five years ago more than double in cost to the present day is a bit ridiculous.

But that’s where we’re at; there’s no going back.

The ridiculous thing is that I find myself fretting over a few cents at the pump. If I see gas somewhere for $2.55 a gallon, and I know I can get it somewhere else for $2.49 a gallon, I’ll wait. Why? That’s only 6 cents a gallon. At my typical tank filling volume of 13 gallons, the difference comes to only 78 cents. I’ll save 78 cents over what? A week? Maybe two? Is all that worry and bargain shopping worth saving less than a dollar twice a month? Doesn’t that seem ridiculous?

And yet, I still find myself doing it.

The heat reminded me of a tomato consommé we made my first year at NECI. Chef Dina served it chilled in shooter glasses with diced heirloom tomatoes. It was cold and refreshing. I'm thinking about making it this summer when tomatoes are in season, if only for an excuse to make a consommé.

Katie and I are looking for savory treats to keep around: we're tired of having nothing but sweets, so we picked up some fresh-ground peanut butter and some crackers as a start. I picked up some whole milk Stonyfield yogurt, which I've decided is absolutely delicious. I remember trying Stonyfield years ago but not liking it. I don't know if my tastes have changed or I just prefer the whole milk varieties to the skim milk ones.

While that's exciting, it doesn't hold a candle to the most exciting thing for me right now: my new American Express card. I'm actually disturbed with how excited I am over it. For years now, I've had one credit card, and over those years, I've thrown away hundreds of card offers in the mail.

I never felt as though I needed a second card, and quite frankly, I never fully understood American Express cards. I mean, what's the point of having a card you have to pay off at the end of the month? Why not just use a debit card?

That's the line of reasoning I had until I received four unique offers from AMEX in a single week. I started to investigate them, and I realized that AMEX's cards are geared toward travel, dining, shopping, and a general life of financial privilege. There are marked benefits for being a cardmember, and since I've been thinking about my financial future, I decided to take them up on their offer.

An interesting side note: in my research, I discovered there's a technical difference between a charge card and a credit card. Although AMEX is best known for their charge cards—cards that must be paid in full at the end of the month—they offer plenty of credit cards, cards that are designed to carry a balance over time.

The most demented part is I want to spend money with it. It's a shiny, new toy I want to use as much as possible. I can't say why. It's not like I received any money or credit. I have the exact same resources I did last week; I just have a new way to access them.

I'm hoping the rewards and benefits justify the annual fee. I have no fear it will pay for itself in years to come; it just might take a little time to work up to that point.

I have a lot of respect for the amount of effort and creativity Ze put into The Show, and I know it’s meant a lot to thousands of viewers throughout the year.

Next week is the last week of The Show, and after that Ze is moving on, to Hollywood apparently. I wish him luck with whatever he sets his sights on.

Ze, thanks for a fantastic and bizarre year.

Yesterday, I started thinking about all of this and what it means to me. Ever since I was a child, I was interested in technology. I enjoyed taking toys and electronics apart, much to my parents’ dismay. I wanted to know how things worked, determined to figure them out.

I was twelve when my father bought me my first computer. It was 1993, and the computer was a Tandy i386, 33MHz, with 2MB of memory and a 107MB hard drive. It came with Windows 3.1.

I fell in love with it immediately and quickly became proficient with it. I spent lots of my free time playing games on it and teaching myself how to use a word processor and a spreadsheet. I was fascinated with how easily it was to organize and manipulate information with a computer, despite having very little information to work with. The point was I recognized its potential, and I understood how to apply it. I always wanted more out of the machine. I wanted to manipulate media and do things that were both practical and productive.

Eventually, we acquired another computer, and then when I went to college, I got my own. By that time, I was very good with those boxes: I frequently troubleshooted friends’ computers and was sought after for advice on purchases, upgrades, and software solutions. I eventually began building computers for clients and friends, and a couple of my jobs involved maintaining and administering them.

Then, in 2003, something happened that changed me: I discovered the Mac.

I was working at a small television production company, and all the computers there were Macs. I was out of place and confused for a while, stubborn even, but I had to learn. For the record, it’s not like that was my first time using Macs, but it was the first time I had to use them. I had been on a handful of them before but usually with disappointing results. Years prior to this job, I maintained the collective consciousness of a lot of PC users at the time: Macintoshes were stupid. As far as I “knew”, no one used them, they weren’t compatible with PCs, and there wasn’t much software for them. I’m not sure where this mentality came from: I hadn’t used any personally, and I hadn’t spent any time researching them.

I remember using blue G3 towers in college when all the PCs in the computer lab were in use, the Macs abandoned. I was quickly able to figure out how to check email and surf the web without much trouble, though I always chose the PC when offered.

Katie’s mother owned a PowerMac G4, and occasionally I found myself using it, usually frustrated because it didn’t work like Windows. Particularly painful was the Zoom button: I had no idea what the hell that button did.

Suffice it to say I wasn’t terribly excited about being forced to use Macs. On top of this hesitation, the new Mac ran OS X, which was completely new to me. Initially, things were difficult, and I didn’t always have answers for troubleshooting, but just like checking email in my college’s computer lab, I started to pick it up. I understood computers, and even though this one was really different, it was still a computer.

My days were spent on the Mac, and my evenings were spent at home with Windows. Shortly after full-time exposure to the Mac, I started having problems at home. I found myself pressing keyboard shortcuts that Windows considered meaningless, yet what I found more interesting was that the reverse wasn’t true: I didn’t press Windows commands into the Mac. Perhaps this mixup was just my brain learning new things and keeping them fresh in my mind, but it did hint at something deeper happening: I was being converted.

After years of asking, “Why did you buy that?” every time I saw a Mac, I started to fall in love with them. They were easier to use, and they were pretty! The simple truth is that they’re designed exceptionally well.

After being around Macs at work all day, I started to notice how much I was essentially fighting with my PC to get it to work; for years, I had accepted this behavior as normal and something that just came with using computers. Instead of dealing with conflicts, drivers, and endless configuration options, I jumped straight into getting my work done. The computer essentially melted away and became a facilitator; using a computer suddenly became exciting and rewarding instead of just being there. I felt transported back to the promise and potential I felt when I first started playing with computers; all the pain and frustration disappeared.

I don’t mean to say Macs are perfect or flawless, but to borrow from Gruber, they suck less than anything else I’ve ever used. I have fun with I’m using a Mac. The experience is actually pleasurable, and in that kind of environment, I’m more productive.

The products that Apple designs are almost always fantastic, and what makes them fantastic is really one simple idea: design the best product. Switching to the Mac has taught me a lot about design, and it’s taught me a lot about myself. I’ve realized how important good design is: all the time now I see appliances, electronics, intersections, and tools that are broken. I say they’re broken not because they’ve ceased to operate as designed but because the way they’re designed to operate sucks.

Why are my stove’s back burners so close to the back panel that pots hit up against it, blocking controls and preventing alignment with the burner? Why do so many doors with pull-handles open only if pushed? Why does my cell phone offer me a choice if that menu is going to disappear in roughly two seconds, causing me to press a button that activates something I don’t want activated?

These devices suck. They cause frustration and sorrow. I want to focus on living my life and getting the most out of it, not wasting time and energy on adapting to things just to get by.

But I don’t want to sit here and bitch about all the broken things: I want to focus on making things better. What I’ve been thinking about lately is how much I enjoy helping others find technology that makes their lives better. Today, I was struck with the desire to pick up a part-time job at an Apple store. I think I would be really good at it; I think I could make a difference in people’s lives. That seems like an incredibly lofty goal for entering retail, but it’s how I feel.

I want to help people switch to the Mac. It’s a product I believe in, and I think a lot of people could be happier if they made the switch. I know it’s a narrow field in this world of broken things, but it’s one I’m comfortable with and passionate about. The computer is becoming such a ubiquitous artifact that it affects a huge portion of our lives. That being said, the Mac isn’t for everybody: it’s advantages aren’t apparent to everyone, and a lot of people might not even care about them, but it’s probably downright perfect for a lot of people, especially those who actually want to enjoy their computers and who appreciate good design.

Those people, the ones who want something better, even if they’re unaware of that desire, are the ones I want to help.

It’s not like life is slowing down: I just feel like I’m learning to let smaller things go and shifting the focus to what’s really important.

In tune with that thought is this redesign of the tree. Many times I’ve thought of neat additions, but the tree has always been about one thing: me writing. It’s never been about photos, fixed topics, or readers, and I’m not really sure it was ever about me, outside of what can be grasped from the entries.

The design and function was chosen to emphasize the text. I like to think I was successful.

I just listened to her say “write” no less than thirty times, so this is me writing.

I try not to think about it, but I’m a little freaked out over the job search. I was a little freaked out before I left Vermont, but now that I decided to take Christmas off and start the search after the holidays, I’m left with even less time to secure an internship. However, I feel like it will be so much easier to find a suitable restaurant in person instead of over the phone in a distant state, so maybe I’m worried over nothing.

Deciding to take time off may have been scary for work, but it’s been wonderful for me personally. I didn’t realize how much I wanted a Christmas with Katie and family until I was faced with the prospect of missing two in a row.

(missing transition)

The past few weeks have been amazing.

With the move to Greensboro, Katie and I have started a new chapter: never again are we to be apart. No more living in separate cities; no more long distance. We live together in Greensboro, and we’re creating the life we want together. We’re creating dreams and making them come true. Some are simple—Katie has decided on a butter warmer—while others are more involved, like moving back to Vail in a year. One of my favorite things about us is how we make dreams come true. We work really well as a team.

I love that I get to spend every day with her, and when our days are separate, we come back to the same house at the end of it all. It’s our home.

I’m extraordinarily happy and optimistic. I thought I’d share.

I’m fairly estranged from my family. It’s a theme so common that all my friends know about it, even though I don’t bring it up much anymore. On a day-to-day basis, I’m fine with it: I don’t sit around wishing my family would call; in fact, I wish they wouldn’t. It’s easier when we don’t talk.

My home wasn’t a happy one. There were fights, distrust, anger, miscommunication, manipulation, and emotional abuse. Really, it went in all directions, and I was as fantastic a source as anyone else. I’m not sure how it began, but it was always there. It just got worse over time.

My mother has a list of issues beginning most notably with learning disabilities and lack of positive attention while growing up. According to the story, she was born with hearing problems that were easy enough to fix, but they went unnoticed for several years. She didn’t learn to speak until she was four, and she didn’t learn the alphabet until fourth grade. Understandably, she was a bit behind.

I’d have to say that her other problems would have almost certainly existed without hearing issues on top, but I’m sure speech deficiency exacerbated everything. Being unable to speak tends to put you at a disadvantage for social development, and she’s been behind in that area all her life.

She’s a bit obsessive-compulsive, paranoid, manipulative, deceitful, and racist. Growing up in a house is hard once you realize—at the age of eight, no less—that you’ve surpassed your own mother in both intellect and reasonableness. A slight exaggeration, sure, but it wasn’t difficult to start putting pieces together at an early age.

Things came to a head during my senior year of high school.

If I recall correctly, the particular incident that set me off was a fight following a day out with a friend. I went to the preceding class’s graduation with one of my best friends, and the two of us spent the afternoon together. It was a wonderful day, one I wasn’t used to because my mother was forever hesitant on me going out with friends (or to their houses, where their fathers would rape me, of course). When my mother found out what happened, the shit hit the fan: my friend was a black girl.

The only conceivable point for a white boy to go out with a black girl was, in her words, “pussy.” Damned to hell if her son was going to be seen out in public with a black girl. She was furious. She kept screaming at me, asking why we couldn’t just be friends at school, why that wasn’t good enough. (It’s helpful to note here that my mother and I had already been through a similar incident when she found out that my same friend and I been talking on the phone for hours everyday after school.)

For the remainder of the night, she went away, came back, called her sisters and mother to spill, came back, screamed at my father, and came back again. This culminated with a physical fight in my bedroom that broke my desk. It carried out into the hallway where I was so livid I crushed an aluminum can on her head and fantasized obsessively about throwing her down the stairs.

Instead, I chose a different path: I left. I didn’t have a car, and I didn’t say where I was going. I just left. I ended up walking down to the grocery store and calling a friend from a pay phone. He came to get me, and I stayed at his house for the night. His family was poor, and his house was a shithole for certain, but it was one of the most comfortable places I had been in years. Being rescued and accepted left me feeling incredibly loved.

Purposefully, to spite my mother, I didn’t contact my parents until well into the next day. Apparently, they showed up at my girlfriend’s house that morning looking for me. Even she had no idea where I was.

I met them in the park that evening. I laid down my position, that I couldn’t bear her oppression any longer. Things would have to be different, and sadly, there was no way to have a life free of her influence while remaining close to the rest of the family. That was the day I let them go.

I left for college a few months later, and with the miles on my side, I created as much distance as I could. I pulled away forcefully. The saddest part is that my father and I used to be extremely close, and that friendship was destroyed by the fallout. I’ve never been close with any of them since.

It took years for the fights to stop, but despite the calm now, it’s still awkward. I can’t see us ever being close. I’m so different from them now, while they all continue to evolve (or devolve) together.

I sometimes say I don’t have a family, but what I really have is a family I don’t want. We don’t share the same dreams, desires, or beliefs. I can’t relate to them anymore, and I know they have trouble doing the same toward me. What am I supposed to do with this? Where am I supposed to take it?

Offering them as few details about my life as possible makes everything easy, but it means I can’t share some of the happiest parts of my life. They don’t know that Katie and I have been together for the last two and a half years and that we lived together for eight months. They don’t know that we talk of one day buying a house and getting married. I don’t know when I’ll tell them if I ever do.

I can’t tell if it bothers me enough to do something about it, but something tells me I’ll need to deal with it someday, in one fashion or another.

And really, the only people I’m close with are either those I’ve known for years or those with whom I had amazing chemistry from the start. It makes me think how rare and precious those connections are.

The people you grow close to are people you’re similar to or, at least, those with whom you can relate easily. It’s an obvious notion, that our close friends represent a world mostly similar to our own, and if you manage your time such that you’re surrounded by similar people most of the time, it’s easy enough to think that everyone else is similar to you. How ridiculous.

I forget how different everyone is. It’s one of the things that makes us all amazing and unique, but the way I’m thinking about it now, it’s one of the things that separates us. I meet people I don’t understand and can’t relate to, and I’m sure the feeling is likewise; we hold different values and beliefs. In a situation like that, we won’t ever be close. We might not even become friends. It’s almost like we live in parallel dimensions.

I just find it fascinating.

When I catch up with friends, even ones I haven’t talked to in forever, we’re at relatively similar points in our lives. We can make recommendations on books, movies, and music, and they’re of similar interest. We can agree to meet at a restaurant that we’d both enjoy. All of this happens without much effort, for we’re alike.

Lately, I’ve become fascinated with MySpace. I had avoided that place like the plague for years. It’s a designer’s—and sometimes a web patron’s—worst nightmare. I usually can’t visit more than two or three profiles without being assaulted by blaring, obnoxious music and enough animations to bring my dual-core processor to a halt. Yet despite the atrocities, it is an incredibly successful and meaningful community to thousands and thousands of people. They use it to connect and keep in touch; they use it to rediscover one another. This is where it’s become useful to me.

I’ve been looking up people from my high school, and it’s a surreal endeavor to say the least. I haven’t talked to any of these people in about seven years, and I’m amazed at how different they appear now compared to then. Some have spread around the country; others stayed close to home. Some straightened up, and some loosened up. It’s absolutely wild.

I imagine that over time, the disparity between us will continue to grow. It’s inevitable: we’re going to keep becoming whomever it is we’ll be, and that’s going to cause some of us to grow closer and others to grow starkly divergent.

As brilliant as connections are, it’s helpful to remember their foil, the disconnections. They’re equally fascinating in their own dark way.

The more I learn about what corporations are doing to our food, the more disgusted I become. For a couple of years now, I’ve been aware of the awful conditions of the meat and dairy industries, but I see time and time again that lots of other people aren’t. I get the sense that awareness is on the rise, but it’s still information held by only a few when it ought to be information held by all. I mean, shouldn’t people know what they’re eating?

Mass production and convenience have created a marketplace where food is unhealthy and produced unethically. It’s our food, dammit. It’s how we sustain life; it shouldn’t be messed with. Bad food doesn’t just upset me as an aspiring chef, it upsets me as someone who has to eat.

For those who would like a quick overview of the atrocious conditions in some factory farms, check out The Meatrix. Sure, it’s a silly parody of The Matrix, but its message couldn’t be more true.

I don’t expect people to change their habits in droves, but the more people know about what they’re buying and eating, the more meaningful their choices become. The only way anything will change is if people learn what’s happening. Even if some people don’t change their habits, I’d rather they know than remain ignorant.

I keep asking myself what I’ve learned here, and I always come up with blanks in the moment. I especially lack an answer when I’m put on the spot by someone. The thing about this education is that it’s not like any schooling I’ve been through before. It’s not as regulated or structured as college or high school. For math class, I could say we studied integration by parts or the Quadratic Theorem, but for culinary school, all I usually come up with is something like, “I made soup today.”

Soup, really? Well that sounds impressive. For paying approximately $200 a day in tuition, you figure my answer would be better than soup. Sometimes that’s all that was new that day, a soup.

But here’s the thing about making that soup: I learned exactly what to do at every step to make sure that soup was fantastic. The vegetables that go in must be cooked appropriately. First, the onions and leeks are sweated to bring out their natural sweetness, and it’s important to go slowly here: cooking them too quickly risks burning them and highlighting their sharper flavors.

Second, the potatoes go in. They’ve all been cut to about the same size so they cook at the same rate. You don’t want grainy texture later because some of the potatoes weren’t cooked properly. Next, stock is added. Talking about stock is its own entry, but now I know what it takes to make great stock. It’s going to be the base of this soup, so it needs great flavor, and it should be clean. The bones that went into the stock were rinsed, the fat was skimmed, and the aromatics went in near the end so they would still be present and wouldn’t have disintegrated. It will have great body because the ratio of water was correct and the proper bones were chosen.

I know to simmer the soup because boiling breaks things down and develops off flavors; slow and steady is the way to go. When the potatoes are tender, everything gets puréed. I know to think about where the soup is getting served and how to treat its finish. If it’s for fine dining, extra care and labor is justified. It will go through the bar blender pitcher by pitcher to make sure it’s smooth, and when everything has been blended, it will go through a fine mesh strainer to catch the particles that missed the blade. Maybe I’ll catch only a few teaspoons of larger particles from a pot of five gallons, but it’s those few grains that will separate a normal spoonful from a velvety one.

I know that balance is important, that the soup needs some vinegar to liven it up, to make it dance. I know that it needs a touch of cream to round it out on the palate, to fill and coat the mouth, and I know that a splash of pepper, with its bitterness and spice, will balance the salt, acidity, and richness.

I know to keep an eye on the soup during service, because the longer it sits, the more water evaporates, and with each gram of water the floats off, the saltiness becomes that much more apparent. As it loses water, the texture goes from smooth to thick. I know to keep that in mind because I won’t notice the difference over several hours while it’s busy until I realize it’s drastically different than it was initially, and I’ve been serving thick, salty soup for the past hour.

I have to keep that in mind because while I might see the soup for 30 seconds while I place it into a bowl, my customer will spoon it into his or her mouth for 10 minutes. Every spoonful will be smelled, viewed, and felt as sensuously as anything can be.

I need to make the soup so that every spoonful is interesting, from the first to the last. It shouldn’t become boring, and when it’s gone, the customer should want one more taste.

That’s what I learned today: how to make soup.

Something happened to me in that first week: I fell apart. I was defeated, absent-minded, clumsy, forgetful, and practically incompetent. I wasn’t myself. It’s kind of scary how quickly I fell apart, but thankfully, it lasted only three days. On day four, I recovered.

Chef was stressing me out, and the kitchen bothered me. It was deceptive: at first it seemed so digestible, so familiar to what we’ve done before, that it should have been a breeze to excel in. The trouble was this course was fundamentally different in a way that didn’t make itself apparent for almost a week.

But time passed, I adapted, and finally, I excelled.

My group put together a fabulous tasting menu, and it went off without a hitch. Our last week in the kitchen was focused and with purpose, and my last day was one of my best. In the end, I realized the fabulousness of Chef Louise, and I understood her approach. I have mixed memories of our time together, but I respect her greatly, and I’m grateful for what she taught me.

There’s so much I’ve learned form this class, most of which I don’t immediately recognize, but it will surface later, probably without thought or recollection.

I’m thankful that 60-hour weeks are over, that I get to have a life outside work once again.

For the curious, images of our tasting menu are showing up on Flickr.

This week, Chris is not available. He is working on a huge tasting menu project with his block in every free moment of life outside of class, while still having to free up other time to work on it.

Chris may start becoming available on the aforementioned schedule by Thursday, September 20th.

Chris will be done with this class—the first he’s actually detested—the night of Saturday, September 30th. He will then have the following Sunday and Monday off and then resume a normal class schedule of about 1 p.m. – 7 p.m., Tuesday – Saturday.

He misses his friends and girlfriend—both of whom he barely speaks to lately—very dearly.

This is all he can offer right now.

Usually when I’m in this situation—hanging out with Katie and friends of hers I never usually see—it makes a reasonable amount of sense in my mind not to get involved. Honestly, I haven’t seen these girls in a year, and it’s likely I won’t see them again for another 6–12 months. It usually doesn’t bother me to sit there quietly, listening to their conversation like a complete and total wallflower. I’m sure others would feel awkward, but I’m usually content doing it. When it’s over, that’s it for about a year.

Tonight was different though.

I think the older I get, the more and more ridiculous it feels just to sit there not participating. Who cares if I never see them regularly? Shouldn’t I make an effort to interact? Not making that effort annoyed Katie a decent bit, understandably.

I don’t consider myself an altogether shy person, but it can be wickedly difficult for me to meet new people. It’s especially difficult when I feel like I’m entering a well-established world: they have stories and routines that are foreign to me.

All the girls tonight either knew me slightly or knew about me. One girl asked me about becoming a chef and what kinds of cuisine I was studying. I replied that we don’t really study multiple cuisines, that most of what we learn is rooted in French Classical Cuisine, that it’s the basis for most types of cooking with which she might be familiar.

What the hell is someone supposed to do with that answer?

I might as well have physically slammed a door shut on the conversation. I just answered straightforwardly without taking it anywhere. Why didn’t I use her question as a platform to open a whole conversation about what it is I do? That would have been far more interesting.

I have a history of doing ridiculous things like this with groups of people. I’m really too old to be this silly, don’t you think?