"I came. I saw. I conquered." ~Jay-Z
It took me two years, but I can finally proudly say I have earned my Certified Sommelier pin from the Court of Sommeliers. I may have even earned my Wine & Spirits Education Trust Level 3, but I won't know that until early February. This is such an indescribable relief to me.
On the one hand, it means I can finally quit, if I'm truly tired of wine. This certification doesn't expire. There's no deadline telling me I *have* to complete it. I can totally abandon it, like I swore I did the first and second times I failed it.
But, on the other hand... I came back stronger than I ever have this time around. I not only passed, but I got the top honor amongst my fellow examinees. I actually felt mostly confident. I prepared, maybe not adequately, but to a degree where I know if I had put in even a bit more time, my passing threshold would have been higher. This journey, that was once so filled with spite, has turned into something else for me. I have a new career now, one that allows me plenty of study time. It's also reinforced how much I love educating others. I'm not the smartest person I know. There's always more to learn. But this one success? That is ultimately, so small comparatively? I can't settle. I need to be the grand poobah of smartypants know-it-all. Because ultimately, then I can pursue a career as an alcohol educator, and an effective restaurateur.
And for once? The idea of throwing obscene amounts of money at this pursuit doesn't seem fruitless. I made PROGRESS. And each small stepping stone, even if it takes me until 2025, will be worth it to be among the top of this field. I needed this win this week. This has reinvigorated me. The world can continue to fall to pieces, but I finally feel like I have a direction. Only took me a decade after high school, but what can you do? :-)
Thursday, December 14, 2017
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
My Mom's Hands
I like hands. The shape, the capability, the symbolism, the idea- everything about hands fascinates and intrigues me. Without hands, people would legit not be where we are. Thumbs are magnificent in their own right! And the older I get, the more thankful I get for my hands.
Today, on International Women's Day, I am more and more thankful that I was lucky enough to inherit my mother's hands. Not just the structure, but the expression, the fluidity- and my favorite, the capability. My mother was strong, though she has never given herself the credit she deserved. She grew up one of nine in a catholic household, proving herself resourceful in her high school years by sneaking jeans past her mother's watchful eye. She was a good girl, and in the family tradition, went into the Marine Corps. She stepped on those yellow feet at Parris Island, repelled off the tower, and prepared herself for a military lifestyle. She got it, albeit in a different method- she married my father, and gathered her strength to leave her dream to support his for the following 20 odd years. She raised three kids virtually alone, jumping from base to base and circumstance to circumstance.
At my father's retirement, he granted her the kindness of retiring to Maine to be closer to her family while they helped my grandmother pass. They settled into a little town, that frankly, we all hated. But it was affordable and close. We grew into a house that had a lime green tub and matching sink. And in 2007, my father burnt the happy family to the ashes. My mother gathered her strength again. She mourned, as we all did, but she was the one who had to pick up the remains of her abandoned life and recreate it. Us kids were already preparing for fresh new lives, so we had it easier.
My mom is now happily living in Virginia, with a man who truly loves her and treasures what a gift she is. My mom is not a loud woman, but she is fierce; she is not aggressive but she will not hesitate to keep your damn fork out of her slice of cake, thank you very much. She is giving, kind, forgiving- and so much more. Her hands are not large, but the power she has echoes through them. The fingers that used to dismiss us to our rooms, the quick strokes stirring pasta sauce- each story imprinted on on my memory.
I am not my mom, though I have been discovering her power in my hands. Every time I wave my hands along to a story, or angrily point a clueless driver in the correct manner to make a left turn, her hands are there. My hands are more beaten and scarred from years in kitchens, but they have figured out that stirring method to a T. And, though it may embarrass her to have this revealed, our middle fingers have the exact same reaction speed these days.
So thank you, Mom. You have given me more than I ever asked for and that you will ever know. Tonight, I drink to you, your sacrifices, and all of your future happiness. Happy International Women's Day!
Today, on International Women's Day, I am more and more thankful that I was lucky enough to inherit my mother's hands. Not just the structure, but the expression, the fluidity- and my favorite, the capability. My mother was strong, though she has never given herself the credit she deserved. She grew up one of nine in a catholic household, proving herself resourceful in her high school years by sneaking jeans past her mother's watchful eye. She was a good girl, and in the family tradition, went into the Marine Corps. She stepped on those yellow feet at Parris Island, repelled off the tower, and prepared herself for a military lifestyle. She got it, albeit in a different method- she married my father, and gathered her strength to leave her dream to support his for the following 20 odd years. She raised three kids virtually alone, jumping from base to base and circumstance to circumstance.
At my father's retirement, he granted her the kindness of retiring to Maine to be closer to her family while they helped my grandmother pass. They settled into a little town, that frankly, we all hated. But it was affordable and close. We grew into a house that had a lime green tub and matching sink. And in 2007, my father burnt the happy family to the ashes. My mother gathered her strength again. She mourned, as we all did, but she was the one who had to pick up the remains of her abandoned life and recreate it. Us kids were already preparing for fresh new lives, so we had it easier.
My mom is now happily living in Virginia, with a man who truly loves her and treasures what a gift she is. My mom is not a loud woman, but she is fierce; she is not aggressive but she will not hesitate to keep your damn fork out of her slice of cake, thank you very much. She is giving, kind, forgiving- and so much more. Her hands are not large, but the power she has echoes through them. The fingers that used to dismiss us to our rooms, the quick strokes stirring pasta sauce- each story imprinted on on my memory.
I am not my mom, though I have been discovering her power in my hands. Every time I wave my hands along to a story, or angrily point a clueless driver in the correct manner to make a left turn, her hands are there. My hands are more beaten and scarred from years in kitchens, but they have figured out that stirring method to a T. And, though it may embarrass her to have this revealed, our middle fingers have the exact same reaction speed these days.
So thank you, Mom. You have given me more than I ever asked for and that you will ever know. Tonight, I drink to you, your sacrifices, and all of your future happiness. Happy International Women's Day!
Friday, February 10, 2017
Horseshoes and Hand Grenades
When I was first starting in restaurants, my first boss used to tell me, "Almost doesn't count except in horseshoes and hand grenades... and not always in horseshoes, but ALWAYS in hand grenades." It took me years to even get a basic idea of what that meant, but the older I get, the more sense it makes.
I recently got dumped. And to be fair, it was for the best. He and I had very different life goals, and we each discovered deal breakers about the other that we can't get past. We're still cordial. But it still stings. I was willing to go ALL in, and the realization he wasn't even nearly that close to my level hurt. I play with hand grenades. He plays with horseshoes. I do wish him the best in life, but this really solidified what my goals are in life, and the dating arena. Almost is never going to be good enough for me. I might be able to tell myself that I'd be fine with less than I deserve, and I probably could be. But what the fuck would the point be?
I am old enough to realize that I would much rather be single, and spend my days alone, than be with someone who will make me feel lonely. I am a fascinating, complicated human being, and I deserve every single happiness on my terms. I don't need much, I'm pretty uncomplicated. But being more familiar with what my dealbreakers are is going to do wonders for me.
I have a lot of plans ahead. A lot of wonderful adventures in the works. I will never have time for a halfassed game of horseshoes. I've got to be ready and willing to pull the pin, and let my hand grenade fly.
I recently got dumped. And to be fair, it was for the best. He and I had very different life goals, and we each discovered deal breakers about the other that we can't get past. We're still cordial. But it still stings. I was willing to go ALL in, and the realization he wasn't even nearly that close to my level hurt. I play with hand grenades. He plays with horseshoes. I do wish him the best in life, but this really solidified what my goals are in life, and the dating arena. Almost is never going to be good enough for me. I might be able to tell myself that I'd be fine with less than I deserve, and I probably could be. But what the fuck would the point be?
I am old enough to realize that I would much rather be single, and spend my days alone, than be with someone who will make me feel lonely. I am a fascinating, complicated human being, and I deserve every single happiness on my terms. I don't need much, I'm pretty uncomplicated. But being more familiar with what my dealbreakers are is going to do wonders for me.
I have a lot of plans ahead. A lot of wonderful adventures in the works. I will never have time for a halfassed game of horseshoes. I've got to be ready and willing to pull the pin, and let my hand grenade fly.
Saturday, January 14, 2017
Perfect Day
Today was a great day.
I got to wake up to a man I care about deeply. I went to lunch with an amazing woman I'm proud to call a friend, and see an old coworker who is doing so well for himself. My lady friend and I got to indulge our inner children and watch a musical that meant the world to us. I treated myself to a fantastic dinner that was helmed by another former coworker who has done wonders for himself and his new family. And I got to cap my evening off with a dear old friend, his wife, and new friends. I'm walking home now, full and full of love and a tad tipsy, and all I can think about is just how lucky I am. Lucky to live in such a fashion that has introduced me to all of these wonderful people, and to work in such an industry where I can walk into two totally different establishments and feel like I've stepped into my own Cheers. The restaurant industry is hard. So very, very hard. But days like today make it beyond worth it, and I can't wait to create this kind of a day for someone else. The kind of day where you can walk around with ramen broth all over your shirt and not give any fucks. Where you can eat until you hurt, not because you're hungry, but because you know someone busted their ass on a dish and you know you'd regret missing it.
Restaurants are hard, but they are so full of love and passion. I'm so happy to find myself here!!!!
Restaurants are hard, but they are so full of love and passion. I'm so happy to find myself here!!!!
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
~Poof~
Fine dining is a lot like a magic show- if you know nothing about the inner working of the restaurant, it is very easy to get dazzled by the show. And a lot of classic menu items are easy to get swept away by, even if they are the simplest thing in the world.
This is a huge reason of why I like studying food trends- while some is intensely impractical for a home cook, like some of the more complex French cooking (looking at you, Paté en Croute!); some items take minimal effort. One of my favorite comfort foods is mussels steamed in wine. It oozes sex and sophistication, while being incredibly versatile and adaptable to whatever is in your refrigerator.
It's literally as simple as throwing mussels into a pot with wine, butter, broth (or other liquid), and other aromatics. You can do whatever you want with steamed mussels. They're fantastic. Just get the liquid bubbling, throw the cleaned mussels into the pot, cover it, and walk away for 15min. Badabing badaboom, pot o' delicious.
I suppose I could also use the mussels as a metaphor. Occasionally you gotta take the random shit in your life, toss it together, and walk away for a bit to see what happens. Most of the time? It is going to be far better than expected.
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