Daydreamer.

by danggoodfood

There are moments and certain specific things in life that can bring me to tears.  Art is one thing, beautiful awe inspiring paintings, music, literature anything that is made with passion and an attempt to break through the mundane static of life.

Art is one.  I once cried during an interview with a curator at a gallery when we started to talk about Surrealism and female surrealists.  Many topics, from why I had chosen Art History as a major, and what is it that drives me.  It’s just something I really enjoy… it’s that simple.  I once felt that way with snowboarding…I still do when I can be on a ski lift and feel the crisp cold air…when I can ride down a hill and hit some small jumps along the way.  Its exhilarating.  Sometimes when I climb a tree after a couple of shots of whiskey I feel the same way.

Food is another. I teared up a couple of times talking to a couple of chefs about food.  For the same reason.  The beauty of it all.  The magnetic energy that both can bring to a dull conversation.  Beyond the world of sales and finance this to me is magic.

My brother’s and sister always complained that I was the overly passionate one of the bunch.  Maybe it was because I was the youngest.  I gained much respect for what was beautiful around me.  Maybe too much…

“Tina do you know what song You talk too much and you never shuttup?” Ms. Dan was her name.  She also told my parents, along with numerous others that “Tina is a daydreamer”… ADD ADHD…call it what you want, I just didn’t want to see grey amongst the vivd brights.

I was the daydreamer… and in someways the black sheep who always dreamed of becoming an artist.  I never became the photographer that I wanted to be but I gained much appreciation for the creative process. All of us siblings were a bit different, considering that we weren’t quite the token perfect Asian family, but i dearly look up to all of them.  They have all seen and been through some rough times, and to see them overcome certain obstacles through the years is pretty rad.   I long to be that person… I long to be that person that my siblings would soon respect. 

My passion comes forth through my love for food, and my passion is deep embedded in the warm hugs that I can offer.  Writing is something that I have learned to hone in on once again.

What is it?  What is it that flows within someone that can make something into nothing.  As I sit here and watch my beautiful friend paint an intricate watercolor painting, I am amazed at suddenly appears within minutes.  The creative process is an amazing human feat.  I admire the bravado that artists have, and the constant connection with their own unique flow of creativity.

I get this same amazement whenever I go home to see my neices and their sudden growth spurts.

The other day on the line I had my first taste of what it was like on the hot line.  I don’t mean a sexy phone talk line, I mean a line of cooks.  The burners the ovens, the pots the pans, the hot plates, the various mis en place. The quick flick of the saute pan.

“Eh Tina…Sergio wants to train you on the pastas.”

I did the “Uh…really?”  I stepped away from the pantry.

Tajarin, Parpadelle, Rabbit Agnolotti, Veal Agnolotti, ricottta gnocci, herb gnocci and more; truffle butter, porcini stock, veal stock, rosemary, marjoram, walnut butter, parsley, various wild mushrooms and well that large vat of butter.  Pan after pan, boiling liquids, fresh pastas.  I found it invigorating.  This time it was a combination of adrenaline, the pride that I was capable with the right training to be on a hotline filled with muscular large men.  My 5’2 self.   The dreaded hot line.  And the satisfaction that I alone made this babystep into something new.

A toss and a flick of the arm, the wild fire burning beneath the steel pans, the large vat of butter 6 orders 2 in one pan, a half order in another, 3 other pastas orders up. Bubble bubble boil … It’s not glamorous.  I end up with bruises on my arms from lord knows what.  I end up with cuts and knicks.  There is a callous on my finger from all the chopping, and my my shoulder blade is getting sharp pains.

I can often go into a tangent about what it is about food that I love.  I can also stop myself and fall short on words because of the same reasons.  Same with other forms of art.

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