I’m in a new job now (yes, my third in a year, thankyouverymuch) but this time it’s in the area I love (food), with a great bunch of people who also love food, and I basically get to think, write and talk about an amazing restaurant and its food all day every day. Joys of joys.I had a semi “Come to Jesus” moment last night after work because I realised the buzz of a restaurant is non-comparable to working in an office, and really, what the hell have I been doing for the last 7 years!? This is, in fact, where it’s at. For me, at least. The common thread that runs throughout this exceptional restaurant where I now work is that all of us have a true love affair with good food. Even the waiters. And it’s totally brilliant to be around people just as obsessive about good eating as I am.
But interestingly, I think the two things that I’ve sacrificed now are finding enough time to write, firstly; and second, I’m struggling to find the time to do my own practice. Those following this thing I loosely call a blog (and which is really more of a receptacle for my musings on food, and well, nothing much else) will see that I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the last few months really thinking about food and putting the questions that have come up into practice. That has been the whole point of Blonde vs Bland. But now, less time means I have to rework it into my schedule and that has been tough. My poor other half has had some completely bizarre meals in the last few weeks. Last week I came up with something like a sausage soup that lacked any cojones, and any sort of, well, anything to be honest, and which, whilst it didn’t taste wholly bad, was just a bit confused as a dish, and not of the calibre of what I normally feed him. Poor man.
This isn’t the only instance. I totally botched a chocolate cake that I made for my friend’s birthday (see image above). It looked and tasted okay, but it was too dry, and frankly, I was livid. Of course, I’m being far too hard on myself as per usual. But I think it’s kind of warranted. Chocolate cake is one of those things everyone who bakes and cooks regularly should be able to whip out on command. It’s a failsafe treat and guaranteed to please. Usually. But not this time. I seem to have had some sort of brain aneurism in the foodie portion of my brain resulting in a blind spot of sorts, and frankly, it’s starting to piss me off. My instinct tells me that my food-obsessed brain is currently on diversion due to distractions with this new job and hopefully normal service will return in due course. But, considering the fact that last Wednesday I couldn’t be arsed to cook, if my food brain doesn’t shift back I’m seriously considering going to see a head specialist!
Distracted from food by food. The irony. So how to remedy? Well, firstly, I need make time for writing. Like, proper time. Like now, for instance. Early mornings and weekends. Whilst it may be far more fun to ponce about in Town, I need to make the time. How much time I put in shows how much I want it. And I do want it. Badly. Secondly, I need to find brain space to really consider food, I’m not exactly sure how to do this one. It seems, really, that ultimately the key is to let the heart overrule the head and like all creative actions, clarity will follow. My foodie mojo had better return, otherwise my other half has a future ahead of him full of weird soups and chocolate cakes with texture like sandpaper….oh god, it really had better…