16 06 2011

This one doesn’t have a title.

This one doesn’t have my usual amount of (obsessive?) forethought.

This one doesn’t make my eyes well with tears.

This one doesn’t feel like it’s burning a hole in my gut–quite the opposite, in fact, as it’s all about the way I filled my tummy.

The essential meaning of this one is encapsulated at the very end, but the end is meaningless without the middle–so don’t skip ahead!

I burned my dinner to death tonight. I was making an omelet, something I have done so many times I could whip up the perfect one while sleepwalking…and yet, for some unknown reason this evening I turned out the worst excuse for a cooked egg I can ever remember making. I’m not even entirely sure I can call it an egg anymore, just a round of blackened cardboard. Twenty minutes later and I can still taste the char.

That’s right, I ate it anyway. And not just it; I piled it high with an abundance of the freshest veggies I have ever had the pleasure of working with, straight from Full Circle Farms: arugula, asparagus, radish, red pepper, and spring onions, with a couple spoonsful of my favorite salsa to top it all off. Any other night and I would have considered it an abomination to pair such sublime vegetables with that eggy travesty. Tonight, it was perfection.

With each bite, as I slowly savored the discordant combination of fresh and burnt, life and death, success and failure, I tasted pure joy. The worst egg I have cooked became an integral part of the best meal I have eaten in some time. Perhaps not since my last multi-day backpacking trip, when a week of vienna sausages and spam (and 30 miles of hiking with a 50lb pack) made the simple spaghetti we ate upon returning home seem as something transported straight from heaven into my mouth, have I eaten something that felt so right for the time, place, life I found myself in.

The road to perfection can only be found in the midst of imperfection, and it leads nowhere but deeper into the muck and the mire.




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