Masochistically Eating My Own Cooking

❧
Nobody ever tried to teach me how to cook, so I got nobody to blame my lousy cooking on but me. On the positive side, nobody has to eat my cooking but for me. I have invited people to share my table with me who adamantly refused to take the risk. If I am is a sadomasochist at all, it's expressed by my having to eat my own cooking.

Socially, my sadomasochism is also a flop. The reason it's a flop is that I don't actually need a partner because I play both roles. Being a success to me means that I have captured an appreciative audience, but without their actually knowing I'm their source of entertainment. My continuing to be that sort of source depends on their not knowing.

I've had tons of people try to comfort me when I get down on myself for losing. The loss is even worse because if I'm even half-way correct in my estimations, nobody knows. I can usually get by if a smattering of people here and there in my audience gets suspicious that the audience is mine without their knowing it.

To avoid an argument I might just concede that I've known that homo sapiens are supreme in the animal kingdom because they're the best me-mickers for a very long ti-me. Humans can imitate other creature's behavior mo' bettah than any other creature on the face of the planet. For me to be the best I can be I practice mimicking something pretty much all the ti-me.

If humans learn everything they know by mimicking some other creature who already knows how to do it, and all knowledge of craft and conceit is acquired by imitation and mimicry, then why study anything else than how to use your main chance in a more subtle and refined way? I did. My major in college was Drama and Speech. I formally studied how to convince other people I was somebody else. I didn't make A+'s. Can you spell t-y-p-e-c-a-s-t?

Cooking for myself is living proof that I'm not as the best that I can be, and I've been around some pretty fair cooks who I could have be-co-me-d in order to stuff my own face with something tasty. I can smell the canned food I got on the stove cooking downstairs, and I already know I'm gonna use a lotta strong soy sauce to cover up the taste of what I smell up here on the second floor, to get whats on the stove down there down my gullet.

Just like I committed myself to the insane asylum to find out what crazy really is, I worked in a lotta kitchens and served as a waiter to learn what that world is all about. That's why I can legitimately say that I've been around some great chefs. At least long enow to watch what they do. If I'm such a wonderful imitator why am I feeding myself this awful gruel?

Part of the reason I thought it was worthwhile to work in classy restaurants was to feel comfortable in an otherwise intimidating situation. Maybe I didn't learn to be an adequate cook from my experiences, but I did learn a lot about restaurants and the kind of people who work there, and the kind of people who patronize classy restaurants.

It took a while, but soon enough I began to understand that the people who work in classy restaurants are not necessarily classy themselves. They're working a service trade. They don't even think thats classy. Generally, in my unworthy opinion, they are people who were born to serve, and to get any satisfaction from life they gotta find a spot they can do it in plain sight.

Working a restaurant mojo is all about presentation from the top up OR the top down. Even the dishwasher is expected to act like they got some couth. If the whole deal is about presentation, then you gotta have some role players, and role players with any salt and pepper in their blood gotta be good actors. They gotta be convincing when they obsequiously fawn at their customers attempt to act classy.

That's the other side of the aisle. The patrons and matrons who need a classy restaurant to display the fact that they are a class act. The dynamic is not only about chic places, but about the trailer park queens who dress up to go to the Wal-Mart SuperCenter. It's the same deal. I never had to work at Wal-Mart to find out how it's customers are. Doing that might be equivalent to committing myself to the insane asylum, but not working in restaurants.

I've run outta steam on this subject. I know that for this entry to be balanced and well-rounded I should get into a fair discussion of why people go to classy restaurants. They are part of the reason I waited on them. Being typecast I had another angle for being there in the first place. It wasn't to learn to be-co-me the classy person who dresses up to eat out, I just wanted to find out if I could pass myself off as one of them if push come to shove. I can, but it hasn't.

Push hasn't come to shove, that is, I've never had any problems eating in classy restaurants because I can't afford to pay their asking price. Therefore, I don't have to concern myself with passing myself off as a classy person like the people who can afford the classy prices. This is one of the greatest pleasures of being a poor hermit. I can't afford to do things I don't wanna do.

The TV is on and a nature show is on PBS. A pack of wolves are stalking buffalo calves and the mothers are trying to protect them. The wolves stampede the buffalo. This works because furry animals don't have much stamina. In this case, the wolves got the advantage because they stampeded the much larger horned animal, and the stress of running out of control meant that eventually they were exhausted and had to wait for the wolves to kill them to eat. No blame.

I've read several articles now about why humans have prevailed in the animal kingdom. It's because they have tremendous endurance. They have tremendous endurance because they perspire. They sweat. They can hunt like wolves in packs and chase freaked out mastadons until drop dead from exhaustion and heat prostration. Do the math. They got fur coats and they don't sweat.

There may be a subliminal reason why humans get crazy about running. The long distance runners get a lotta respect in the human community. A lot of it has to do with marathon runners being universally youthful and trim and they wear skimpy clothing. Not like the basketball players who wear girlish culottes instead. Their game depends a lot on endurance, and they dress in layers of clothes?

Realizing this phenomena about humans and their ability capture wild horses by just running them down until they have to give it up makes looking at nature shows much more interesting. It also piques my interest in the argument about humans evolving out of the ocean without having ever climbed trees like the monkey types did. Monkeys don't have subcutaneous layers of fat like humans and walruses do. Aquaman rules!

During the time I been writing this entry I've had a kind of pot-luck soup cooking downstairs. I almost didn't check it to see if it was burning yet. I do that sometime when I write. The world, including whats in my kitchen cooking goes away. I'd bet that cookware makers sell more pots and pans to old people to burn up than newly weds.

I was right about what I wrote above. A bowl of it needs about half a bottle of soy sauce to even make it have ANY taste. I'm pretty sure I took an unconscioius vow of poverty, and I have to allow that because I'm actually poor. But, being poor is no excuse for screwing up perfectly good food to punish my uncouth taste buds. There IS blame. Unfortunately, it's mine.
❦