Chef Diaries: Broken Pieces of My Soul

     I have realized that food is more than an edible substance that I consume to stay alive. It is more than plated poetry. It is the song of my soul. It is proven to provide fuel for my physical, mental, and emotional creativity. Albert Einstein is quoted stressing the grandiose difference between creativity and  intelligence and how creativity trumps pure intellect. When prepared correctly, food is a healing balm for my soul. I would go so far as to say that without food Rachel would cease to exist; and creativity would be held captive to bad rubbish.

     I have been in situations where I was forced to eat in a stereotypical American fashion. As I expected, my soul became captive to its poison. My peace was robbed. I need fresh fruit and fine, pressed oils. I need whole wheat and whole grains. I need the nourishment of salmon. I need the soft kiss of Greek yogurt and the song of sweet tea, pasturized oranges, and pressed apples. Removing these items chokes the very breath of my existence.

     When I cook in my accustomed style, I breathe slowly, deeply, light, and surely. I am transferring my emotions and mental attitudes into a pot or skillet and fastening them creatively on a plate to mimic the attitude of my spirit man. You might scoff, “That is just an overly passionate lyric”. I am here to tell you that any true cook can indentify with my perspective. For us, we reflect our insides with food, and then resubmit them to the body. It is a form of medicine. It is an act of self love. That level of functioning is our sanity.


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