Saturday, September 29, 2012

Stick A Fork In It

As a knowledge worker, a member of the species obstensibly scheduled to take over the world in the 21st century, I spend my days clicking, typing, swiping. My brain hums, my fingers move but when at work, my hands and the rest of me are mostly static, unmoving. My imagination and trains of thought might go places, and indeed cover impressive amounts of ground, but most of me is there, in the chair, on the phone, online. I like what I do (a lot). But the doing is intellectual, intangible. At the end of the work-day, literally speaking, I don't have a lot to show for my labours. Unless I fire multiple print-outs, which seems like cheating and is anyways bad for the environment.
So, denied the school-room pleasure of going home clutching an arts and crafts project and proclaiming 'See what I made!', I have turned to cooking. I am no culinary artist, I have no long neglected talent and I have no pretensions. None whatsoever. But I know the basics. I slice, I dice, I saute, I blitz, I grate, I stir, I look at the watch for a bit, I lift and I empty. Things get messy, sauce is spilled, my fingers get burnt. My hands smell (strongly) of whatever ingredient I've run through the mill. But ultimately there is something there, undeniably there, for everyone to see, and you can literally stick a fork in it.  
You can stick a fork in it, and like it. Or dislike it. Ask for it to be made again, ask for the recipe to be tweaked. Scrape the bowls clean, or slip the leftovers back in the fridge. But there's no denying that there it is, in all its 'it-ness' - food. Some. Thing. To. Eat.
The joys of taking something, and making something. Who knew?*
*Turns out, I think I kind of did.I just wasn't paying attention.
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This work by ToruJ is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.