For years, I’ve had an enigmatic response to the question: “What are you doing?” With certain friends, at least, I tend to reply: “I’m making soup.” (Regardless of what I’m actually doing, you understand.) It became a kind of inside joke. But until now, I never knew what it meant.
Dulcinea and I went to see a great documentary film at the Verdi Park cinema yesterday: “Cómo cocinar tu vida“. Here, it was subtitled in Spanish, but the original English title is: “How to Cook Your Life” (it’s in English, although it’s a German production).
The title comes from a book written by Kosho Uchiyama Roshi, which expands (or distills?) the philosophy from Japanese Zen Master Dogen’s 13th-century text: “Instructions for the Zen Cook”. Roshi, in turn, passed on his wisdom to chef and disciple Edward Espe Brown, who is the central focus of the film. What an interesting, complex character — quirky, anxious, short-tempered…in short, human. But also wise, witty and caring. In the film, he teaches people (at a retreat centre in California) how to cook, and at the same time, a great deal about how to live.
You don’t have to be Buddhist to appreciate its wisdom. It’s a sweetly charming film. The main character, Brown, chef and Zen Master, may take a bit of getting used to, but he does grow on you… And I bet you’ll have (at least) two reactions to the film: a vague hunger (to know more, perhaps, but at the very least simply to eat good food) along with a desire to cook. Healthy, good food. Made with attention and love.
This is something I’ve always appreciated: that when I cook for people, I’m focused on them. Long before they arrive — even as I plan what to make, shop for groceries, do the preparation or cleaning — I’m thinking about them. It’s a private way of caring. I see the same thing with Dulcinea’s mother: when her British-raised grandkids come to visit, she spends all day slaving in the kitchen for them, trying to figure out what “weird Spanish food” they will eat. She is a fantastic cook. But they’re not the most appreciative guests. Mostly, they just complain about the food. Yuck. All they want are croquetas and ketchup. And their mother (her daughter) sometimes gets upset that, by spending all this time cooking, she spends no time with them when they came all this way to visit. But I understand her. She is just caring for them, in her own way.
The film gave me a good reminder that people don’t have to like what you make. In fact, regardless of what you make and how good it is to you, it’s impossible for it to please everyone. This applies to cooking, but also to everything else.
I am a perfectionist. I hate to fail, or to be seen to fail. Or to imagine others are seeing me fail (in reality, when I think they are, often they aren’t). This can apply to many things, from cooking to, say, driving tests. If I’d failed it, so what? Sure, I’d have had to pay a bit more money, spend more time doing classes and exams, wait until September to try again…all of which would be a nuisance, but so what? It would be no big deal, really. Certainly not worth all the stress and worry I put into thinking about the possibility.
And with food, there are varying tastes — perhaps some people don’t like seafood. Or your gourmet cocoa-butter-fried sweet potatoes just don’t taste enough like McDonald’s fries (sigh). It doesn’t take away from what you’ve done. Even worse — for all your hard work and “love”, it still may not turn out to be a great meal. The dough is scorched and yeasty or the chicken is too dry. Yes, you may (in fact, you’re likely to) make mistakes. Well, we’re all damaged. We’re all imperfect. Sincerity means letting your flaws show. (read that last sentence again, and think about it for a moment — do you believe it’s true?)
Apparently the film is now available on DVD (in North America, at least). Find out more (and watch the trailer) here.
To roughly paraphrase Suzuki Roshi (from what I remember in the film):
“When you wash the rice, wash the rice. When you’re cutting the carrots, cut the carrots. And when you stir the soup, stir the soup.”
For me, it was a true “ahh!” moment. Now I understand. So what am I doing, after I finish this blog post?
I’m making soup.
Flaws are hard, particularly if you’ve conditioned yourself to please someone else and meet (your conception of) their expectations. To admit flaws is to admit weakness and failure. To admit flaws is to be human. But to be human is to admit flaws… which for some of us is something we’re still learning.
I like sweet-potatoe fries…mmmmm