hmm food....

I'm beginning to understand the strange (to me at least) relationship America has with food. Considering America's vast immigrant community and rich history, despite having all these sources to sample from, America has managed to create an industry of quick meals and poor tastes.

I know taste is a subjective thing, but we can all agree that a homemade burger with fresh lettuce and tomato tastes better than a quarterpounder made in less than 40 seconds. Even the people who religiously eat convenient fast food will be amazed if you cook them a simple homemade spag-boll. This isn't something new to me either, but experiencing it first hand has made me ask why?

Is convenience really worth the sacrifice? To me it's not, I enjoy the process of cooking and experimentation, but here cooking seems intimidating. People are scared of their stove tops. Mention a heirloom tomato and you get strange looks. Vegetable and fruit trays are used for storing beer and donuts. Breakfast is donuts and maybe some coke. But still there must be unique American cuisine somewhere.

Then I mention Thanksgiving. Turns out that this is the ultimate celebration of food. Suddenly I'm told about 4 different ways to cook a turkey, which stuffing is the least dry, which glazing makes the crunchiest skin. Family recipes become mantra by which people swear and defend their honor.
Then something very interesting comes up, in mashed potatoes of all places. I'm told that the best mash is made with 3 buttery spuds, 2 sweet potatoes, half a tub of french onion dip, a quarter-cup of mayo, table spoon of corn syrup, half a cup of butter and half a cup of full cream milk. (most available in your local 7/11). An arteries' worst nightmare but tasty none the less. These are ingredients that separately define the 'Gross Food Movement' of America but together create a specific taste comparable to the variety of flavors in a good wine.

Ok so maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but the principle is true. I've been looking at this all wrong. While the rest of the world has been using tried and tested ingredients that haven't changed for years, America has been creating it's own culinary language of dips, sauces, synthetic sugars and precooked & packaged meats. There is still that passion for food and taste, just unfortunately comfort and security has bred complacency and their great foods only emerge on those special occasions.

I'll also quickly mention that when I say Americans I'm not encapsulating every person in this country. There are so many subcultures in this country that you could spend 3 years traveling here and still not experience all that is strange and wonderful. This post is merely a stray thought sparked while I was walking down 109th, looking at the forest of fast food billboards calling me to my next meal. For the record I had 'Pot Belly' because it was the closest to me. hmmm...convenience.

The Dawn Approaches

New chapters, promised fun, unknown experiences, boundless opportunities. I could keep going, trying to encapsulate these slippery feelings but I keep coming back to one simple word. Morning.

It brings the new day, full of wonder and promise. Free from the mistakes and choices of yesterday (to a degree) ready to be molded however you want. When that first ray of light breaks the horizon, to witness that, to be part of that moment...it is just pure.

Why this sudden floral, poorly written prose? I am inspired and let me tell you why.

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Figuratively and literally I am flying high, fast and unstoppable. Hurtling through the night towards the dawn as it inexorably creeps forward to greet me. Above me the heavens hold their mysteries and below the soft blankets of clouds protect me. I feel like I’m hovering unaffected by the turbulent forces of the world.

The cool blues of the night begin to evolve and transform. At first the change is harsh and angry; the sheer contrast is enough make it seem furious, but then it softens and becomes inviting. Tomorrow has arrived with an undeniable promise it is hard not to revel in its glow. A symphony of reds and yellows spread across the horizon emanating from the land of ‘Liberty and Opportunity’. My thoughts are momentarily thrown back to the pilgrims and explorers who approached this land long ago in search of a new and different life.

These reflective thoughts are quickly forgotten as day explodes into my view. With such fury the sky explodes. Any lingering night, any lingering thought of yesterday, is shattered. Dawn is gone, the day is here. The nervous anticipation of tomorrow has been satisfied and replaced by the surety of today so fast you cannot see it happen.

The sun rises, the flight wares on and I am filled with energy and optimism. Looking to the future and the adventures it holds I become glad. This is right; I’ve made the right choice. But then I notice that safety blanket again. As the sun rises shadows begin to develop, pointing west back from where I came. Homesickness already? No, a simple reminder of where I came from, to not forget who I am. Yesterday is not really gone. Simply it has passed and I can revisit it anytime I want.

Daydreams

...and then the calm

We all start with a conservative out look. The burn marks remind us that it might hurt.
Courage creeps in and plants it's seed and begins to wear away our doubts. It's a struggle between hesitation and intrepidity, but the victor is always the right one. Cliche but true: Winners write history.
Then, all this is gone.

Bliss.
Happiness.
Unadulterated ecstasy.

...and then comes the calm.

I'm always amazed when I look back up the hill. To think where you were those few short seconds ago, teetering on the edge, winning the struggle. To relive that ride. It makes the calm so much sweeter.

No hesitations, not this time.

It's close now, less than a month.
That's about the time it takes to write an assignment, for the moon to cycle, for my sisters mood to swing. I could read a book and escape in it's world, or perhaps make my own fantasy in drawings or words.
Maybe I could design a building, do the research, find the magic in the site and abuse it.
A new interest, a new outlook, a new change, a new love, maybe a new language or just improve the one I ashamedly barely know.
This is what a month can give, but I wont take these. Not this time.

I'm going to lose myself in the world of boarding even before I reach my Mecca.
Watch the weather like a shamanistic rain-man. A front here, temperature drop there, 5 feet on opening day no doubt!
I'll look to the east every day in my own ritualistic way. I'll go through the motions, envision the turns, the carves, the spins, the presses and the drops.
This time there will be no holding back, no hesitations, not this time.