Food: For Palettes, Minds, Hearts, and Souls

As we each prepare to pass this Thanksgiving, I would like to offer my own way of giving thanks for what I’ve been blessed with, namely those necessities we, though not all people, are privileged to have, and that most of us easily and often take for granted because we’re so used to having them around.

So as we all live out this day in our own way, please join me in the Philmont Grace:

For food,

For our sustenance, our source of energy and nutrition, which gives us the strength to go through each day and strive toward our goals; a biological necessity that, because of human greed, vanity, and the desire for pleasure, has become too much of a privilege of wealth rather than a right to continue living.

For raiment,

For the clothes on our backs, the things meant to keep us clean, dry, warm, and comfortable against the elements, while allowing us to express our personalities openly; things we often spend fortunes on, garnish ourselves with to impress the wrong people, keep lots of to “keep our options open,” despite the fact that many out there need that sweatshirt that makes us look fat because it’ll keep them warm.

For life,

For simple breathe; for our own health and the welfare of others; for each and every day that the sun dawns and sets, each morning we wake up that leads to restful, albeit sometimes short, sleep; for the mysteries of the sciences that keep things going just a bit longer.

For opportunity,

For each chance we get to help our fellow human beings, provide for them, counsel and comfort them, and help them help themselves; for chances we get to improve ourselves in the most profound ways; for each try we get after we have failed; for each time we get to make a difference, or at least try our best to.

For friendship and fellowship,

For people we share our lives with and who share their lives with us; those who love us and who let us love them; people we may, can, and often do disagree with, then make-up with because we care for them too much to lose them to insignificance; those who teach us a little more about ourselves each time we interact; those we’ve lost to time but whose memory we keep nonetheless; and for those people who, for whatever reason, found a complete stranger maybe, just slightly more interesting than the average human being, and decided to take a chance on a friendship with us.

We thank Thee, Oh Lord,

We thank some Higher Power; whether singular or plural; whether divine, mathematical, or otherwise; whether we call Him/Her/It Father, Mother, Grandfather or Grandmother, Lord, Master, The Force, Chance, Luck, Benevolent Divine Authority, or, commonly, God.

Amen.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

Last week, all this death and dying going on around me last few months had gotten me really down, especially when I sat down and thought about it. All of it was so sudden too. So today I decided that instead of letting it get to me and leave me barren, I sought to learn something from the passing of human life. I decided to sit myself down and listen to two people, now passed, talk about the prospect of death, namely, Steve Jobs at the 2005 Stanford University Commencement, and Randy Pausch giving his last lecture.

I was gonna give some detailed analysis on what I learned about (the prospect of) death from each man, but not was it gonna bore everyone to tears, it didn’t really convey what I felt. Then it hit me—why, after watching two great men talk about the end of their lives, did I feel so comforted, so relieved. They prioritized on life, on living, and getting the most out of it, without putting “impending doom” in their schedules. Why’d it take me so long to figure out?

It brings up a story I heard in elementary religion class, where St. Charles Borromeo was once asked at the billiards table what he would do if he knew his death was within minutes, and he answered, “Keep playing billiards.”

It conjures up the image of third Deathly Hallows brother, who lived a full life, left a legacy when it came time, and greeted Death “as an old friend” when he came.

Tonight’s menu: Slow food; comfort food.

With stews, braises, stocks, soups, and some sauces, cooking at a low heat for an extended time softens tough proteins, breaks up fibers, brings out subtle flavors, then melds them together to create a complete medley of aromas, flavors, and textures. Such easy to eat, easy to understand food is usually comfort food—an inherited soup recipe, a familiar pasta sauce, a beloved Scoutmaster’s stew. All it takes is some prep and a lot of patience; two, four, maybe six hours on low heat and you turn some tomatoes, onions, garlic, and ground beef into a hearty bolognese. And often times, the longer the wait, the better the product.

But wait too long, and/or forget about it, and the harsh flavors start to emerge from the once fragrant symphony bubbling away. Like musicians playing for too long, the food gets tired, loses (usually structural) integrity, and gives off its more bitter tones. Forget about a pot, and the perfect curry it once held transforms into a goo of bitter and overly strong pungencies. At this point, thinning it out won’t help it, only lowering the volume on already sour notes; it’s best to start over.

And, as I’ve come to realize over the past few days, the same goes with the thoughts inside our heads (well, mine at least). The mind is a giant cauldron to which things are constantly being added—an appointment time, an enzyme function, an important date, a bitter memory, advice from friends, a sobering conversation. Some things, like the water in a stock, evaporate over time, while others, well, stay and get mulled over, broken down, developed into something more complex, and melded with the other things already present. And when revisited, like the tiny piece of celery you find in minestrone soup, we know what it is, but it reflects the aspects of its companions as well.

Of course, with any long cooking time exists a limit. As with our forsaken curry, I’ve had to face that some thoughts should not be mulled over for too long, however important they might be. Thinking things over is important, but some paths of thought should not be taken, because, like our sauce, bitterness starts to emerge that can’t be covered up, and the only option at the end is to start over.

It’s weird being in an often crowded place when no one’s around. The environment is entirely different from when people are all you see around. With the right circumstances, the feeling is less of abandonment and more of relief. What do I mean?

I took a walk on campus the other night after meeting up with a friend. Compared to the generally crowded environment I’ve gotten used to, and secretly love, the vibe around the place was peaceful and calm. The sun was setting, the lamps were lit, and pedestrians were few and far between. No one was on their way to class or a midterm, no one was being dismissed from one. Rather than the chatter of those reawakened from their in-lecture slumber, or the discussion of whether the answer to #14 was exergonic or endergonic, I could hear the sound of the breeze, the rustling of the trees, and the creek running down. I actually began to notice each individual person as they walked by (a feat I rarely accomplish coming to and from class), as opposed to the hordes (of Asians) or the millions (and millions of the Rock’s…well, you get it). Clearly this was not the noisy, people-packed, tension-filled campus that was my Berkeley experience.

Then again, I’ve always thought about whether this was part of the Berkeley experience, i.e. to experience the place like how a visiting first-grader might experience it—like a huge park, with lots of building. It’s like seeing the other side to a friend I thought I knew well, familiarity mixed with surprise and bewilderment. But as I keep going, I become more fascinated, and eventually embrace this other side as part of the whole I thought I already had. And being pleasantly surprised was very much part of my Berkeley experience.

I once recounted to a mentor of mind how in the last few months I was forced to relearn basically everything I was ever taught in my decade of Scouting—the event planning, the leadership basics, the interactions with those both above and below you. She in turn reminded me that life will be about learning, relearning, and teaching those things to others. And so, I recall what I’ve had to, and continue to, relearn, about 12 values taught to me at a very young age.

This last weekend, I was reminded why to be trustworthy is the first law—without others’ trust, you can accomplish nothing for them.

This last year, I relearned that being loyal is not the same as blindly following; the former is a two-way street, but one that lasts a lifetime.

I’m relearning that to be helpful is often as simple as opening a door, and as hard as stepping back and letting kids grow on their own.

I’m relearning that friendliness is the best, and longest-lasting, first impression.

I’ve relearned that being courteous in the midst of blatant rudeness and inconsideration is hardest, but has the best results.

I’m relearning that being kind has it’s own rewards, and to be otherwise comes back around, sometimes very quickly, but always eventually.

I’m relearning that being on the side of the obedient is hard, so one should not abuse being on the side of the obeyed.

Especially on two particular occasions, I was suddenly reminded why remaining cheerful is important—cheer is contagious, and carries one through the hardest times.

I’m relearning that a wealth of resources makes being thrifty difficult, and that being thrifty is not the same as being stingy.

I’ve relearned that to be brave when facing those closest to you, whom you care for the most, to guide them onto a better path, is hardest.

I’m relearning that being physically clean is simple, but being unclean in language is a hard habit to break.

Finally, I’m relearning that reverence has no end-all-be-all way, and ultimately it comes down to respect.

This one’s for Bill and Jim and all my mentors who have and continue to offer their guidance so that we, their pupils, just might become better people.

Wow. A few weeks of fun and I more-or-less let my Tumblr go cold. The only thing I’ve been doing is checking my Dash, which on a Tumblr app is a lot easier than typing out a new post. But I think it’s time we get this thing rolling again.

To start, I guess I have some explaining to do. I basically haven’t stopped traveling since Memorial Day weekend. One place would be followed by another, with only a few days at home in between. I’ve always known about my raging travel bug, so maybe this time I took the opportunity to let it out. I’ve learned a lot while traveling both abroad and State-side, especially about privilege, how much of it I have and how lucky I am to have what I have. I’ve seen both sides of the fence, so to speak, and it’s been eye-opening, to say the least.

It’s also nice to learn something new about something you’ve been (or thought you were) so familiar with. Turning left instead of right, looking under a new rock, ordering someone else’s usual, and doing it with ambition and confidence, was super fun and incredibly educational. I guess it’s a lesson in open-mindedness—if you don’t try it, how can you know for certain what it’s actually like?

And while I really want to spend more time in each of my travel destinations, I truly am happy to be home. It’s not all goodbye; I’ve taken from each place memories and experiences and life-lessons. I will always look forward to returning to each place, but right now, I honestly just want those simply pleasures I’ve missed for so long—In ‘n’ Out, Chipotle, dinner with CSA, and ball with the guys.

I have a nagging suspicion my Tumblr has been hacked, to what extent I don’t know. If anyone receives shady weird things from my account lemme know on Facebook. Thanks!