Like on any other occasion I’m minding my own business, I’m at home, this time all set up for my daughters visit, prepared to welcome them properly, chillin’, when it sets in motion with this colosal heat wave which is mercilessly flooding my chest followed immediately by a sense of deep unsettlement. I instantly recognise this so-called state. I’m in the zone. It’s on. It’s suddenly happening, it hits me out of the blue and I can’t fight against it nor control it. This massive energy is taking complete control over my body and in spite of all my efforts to unveil the misterios mechanism hidden behind its origin I’ve never found out what is the trigger of it. Over the years I’ve given it a lot of thoughts, trust me on that. I wish I could explain it to myself but I find it impossible. The trigger could be virtually anything, a phrase or a single word read in a book online or in a magazine, a picture, the memory of a kiss, a drum beat or a chord heard in a song, a scent, the blue cloud that surrounds my face when I light up my cigarette, an ice cube melting down in my bourbon, I have zero idea who’s or what’s responsible for it. All I know is that I feel compelled to hit the streets and this is what I’m certainly doing next, I just grab my jacket and I slam the door behind me. As I walk down the streets, my mind, the last (as usual), decides to finally join the circus. What took you so long this time? It’s following the example set by the rest of my body by opening wide its gates to this chaotic cavalcade of images (in motion and still), to tastes, to colours and sensations associated to them, to sounds, to blitzing lights and textures, warm feelings of love addressed to none in particular, red carnal lips, gracious legs on high heels, fine elegant female hands, silky long hair, amazing smiles, shapes of mechanical objects like the rear of my vintage Porsche or of a frame of a particular motorbike overlapped weirdly on flashing memories of my daughters laughing back when they were toddlers and I feel literally powerless. I simply accept it like it’s normal. It’s a bizarro world. What is normal, anyways? It doesn’t make any sense to me but at least it’s nice. It’s not because of my daughters, that I know it for sure, it had happened before on so many other occasions and they weren’t a part of my freak show. Contrary to my sudden predicament there’s a total lack of frustration on my behalf. I smile, I feel uplifted, all warmed up inside and only because of that I simply abandon myself to whatever’s going on with me. I’m not rejecting it. I embrace it wholeheartedly. I need to smile. I miss smiling. Before I know it I’m standing in front of my local market and I’m grabbing the handle of its massive black metallic door. Time has arrived to paint myself a new canvas. Let’s create a new dish…
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There are four things in life which no one can ever get back. Never. Time after was gone, Opportunities after they were missed, Words after they were said and Trust after it was lost, and to my deepest misery I’ve been unlucky enough to tick all the four boxes. I’ve lost so much precious time that my head spins only trying to think about it. Contemplating my past I came to the conclusion that I’ve totally wasted most of it (and to add salt to injury in my belief it was also the best part of it) on the completely wrong people. Some said to me “you didn’t waste it, you had to know them for a reason” like they were a Godsend or something and to my immense frustration I’ve found out that only part of me dismisses it. I wish I was an atheist so I can totally reject that argument but I’m a bloody agnostic for crying out loud, I’m truly the worst, I’m your “what if?” guy and for a good reason too. The reality is that some of my stories are so fucked up that reason, logics and common sense had immediately abandoned the stronghold ending their final argument by pointing up directly at the Bearded Fella. “Man, we gave you our best shot but we give up, fuck you and your shit, deal with Him, wish you the best, we’re out of here“. The first time when they stormed out the building I looked up in wonder. “Dude, do I know you? Have I personally offended you or something?”…
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Fuck whatever I had in mind to cook, I’ll go for quail. I’m a DJ, freestylin’ my ass off. This time I’ll opt for its delicate thighs instead of its tiny breast. Better. More lovable, more fun. And yes, definitely calamari. Shrimps? Jumbo… yeah, why not, cut in halves, shell on. Surf and turf. Tierra y mar. Potato cut in firm squared shapes and cooked in oven on a baking sheet with pimenton garlic and a drizzle of olive oil. Hannah adores them. I need fresh, crunchy texture and personality. I’ll go for cucumber and radish. I want green and flagrance… fresh cilantro. Cilantro oil. I want a zing. Lemon or lime? Lemon. Bread… yeah, croutons… they’ll go beautifully with the appetiser. Cured Italian meat and Syrian yoghurt balls, sumac, cherry tomatoes, cucumber I have, radish I have, fresh basil leafs, citric infused olive oil… Oh, I’m gonna paint this bitch so beautifully…
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I’ve lost my trust in people, in some more than in others but by a twisted logic my final conclusion is that no one’s to be blamed, none other than myself because it is me whom I’ve fathered my own disappointments, it’s not the way around. In other words I lost the trust in my own judgements in regard with my ability to select my partners in life, and rest assured it’s not because of a personal measly IQ. I’m ok in that department. I’d bet all my money, instead, on my bloody low EQ. Is this a thing one can fix on his own? Other than my marriage I had no previous real experiences in relationships, I jumped into my first at 18 and it ended at 44 so imagine my level of knowledge in that department. Virtually none. For the most part of my following attempts I was only a sitting duck, merely a target practice for the most experienced partners and they took advantage of me. What can I say, I kinda’ suck at picking them. I’ve childishly vested people with qualities which they never had and I had to pay the toll. Assessing all my past relations I have realised that in most cases I’ve just made an assumption and I went along with it and when we went sideways I was flabbergasted for no reason when, in reality, I should’ve seen it coming from a mile away. At least for the most of them. My most promising comebacks, the few, had ended for reasons still strange to both of us and after each failure I remember myself looking up again popping the already familiar: “Dude, really? Again? Answer me, please, do we have a beef? Have I personally offended you or something?”…
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For the soup. Prepare some croutons. Cut bread in large bites, sprinkle with oil aand salt, put them in oven at 160 until they get brown. Cut two medium potatoes brunoise-medium, cut 6 cloves of garlic medium bits, cut a large onion ciseler, add asparagus stems (chopped), add a stem of apio, add oil, add spices, cilantro stems, a bit of salt and fry gently… when coloured add water to cover and bring to boil no more than 30 minutes. If necessary add more water but only to cover the vegetables. When done pour the bunch into a blender, add a bit of olive oil and turn the whole into a cream soup. If too thick add more water or oil, depending on your taste. When you’re about to serve pour the soup into a bowl, add on top small chopped asparagus (the fresher upper part), few drops of squeezed lemon, some oil, salt, a bit of pimenton, fresh cilantro leaves and croutons.
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I missed plenty of life-changing opportunities. On plenty occasions I made my bets against all the odds like a degenerate gambler and I lost. What a fuckin’ surprise! I’ve heard my reason’s voice talking back to me, legs crossed, blowing smoke from a cigar. She’d dumped me twice before so I had twice the chance to save my ass from a disaster but I caved like a sentimental prick and I married her. You are an idiot! You should’ve listened to me when I warned you. The reality is that my reason was right and indeed I was an idiot. It’d warned me repeatedly in my sleep, year after year, with the same recurrent dream of her cheating on me but I chose to ignore it for reasons which I still can’t fully comprehend. Something buried deep down in me had overruled my instinct’s judgement causing a real havoc later in my life. Shall I call it naiveté? Faulty principles? Low self-esteem? Damaged goods? Lack of self-preservation? Who can tell? Later, I had an opportunity to work overseas as a chef, it was really promising for my future career, but I declined the offer thinking that I won’t be seeing my daughters again for a really long time. Well, it turned out I haven’t seen them for months on a row and, for the love of God, we’re living only two miles apart. It’s a shocker. I had an opportunity to settle myself in Tenerife, I shook hands to buy a building and to flip it into my own small restaurant but I prioritised love instead loosing virtually everything. I swam against the river’s current on a diferent continent. I’m still in awe with myself. It took me really long to accept my defeat so I’ve returned back to where it had all started, back home, to fix my damaged self and to resurrect my already fucked up morale. Well, to clear up my mind and to regain my focus was tough but finally, now I’m back on my tracks and ready to rock’n roll. I guess it was a necessary and one very important step for my personal development. Humiliation. You’re not that smart, after all, next time pay fuckin’ attention. Although for a long time during which I’ve stubbornly refused all compliments and all the positive feedbacks received for my food, eventually I have reached this threshold that dictates me to humbly embrace them from now on and to accept the reality that I possess a certain rare gift as a chef. Now it’s time to focus on my trade, set the love business aside, do my thing and perhaps love will come. If ever. Am I going to repeat my past mistakes or have I learned anything from my so-expensively paid lessons? Yes, indeed, these are legit questions but not the most important ones, I reckon. Firstly (based on my previous experiences) I’ve got a by far more important one to ask and for this I’ll turn my head up: “Dude, do we still have a beef? Is there anything I can do for ya to fix it?”…
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Cut the potatoes in large equal squares, make parallel incisions on one side, baste them with oil and spices, cook them in oven on a baking sheet. Fry first the quail thighs, when coloured set aside. Fry the calamari bits. Set aside. Drop in the jumbo shrimps, halved, shell on. When everything is almost done retrieve the sea fruits, set aside and return the quail thighs into the pan, set fire on high, add two-four cherry tomatoes, add some asparagus stems, a bit of oil and agitate the pan. Return the sea fruits back next to all, sprinkle some lemon drops, add a bit of lemon, agitate fast and turn off the heat. Plate. Potato, bits of calamari, halved jumbo shrimps, add radish, add cucumber, add fresh basil leafs, sprinkle a bit of juices on top and finish with cilantro oil and fresh cilantro leafs. Serve
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During my 48 years I’ve said plenty of words which I couldn’t retract no matter how much I wanted to, especially those said to my father back when I was a rebellious kid, and which I deeply regret the most. He was a good man. Later in my life I have discovered that he was even better, a great amazing man and, like an asshole that I was I took him for granted. I wish I could take back my “I DO”, I wish I could take back all my “tienes un novio?”, I wish I could’ve said less back when we were fighting, I have plenty of words that I wish to have never said but today’s merely just another beautiful yet impossible thought of mine. Some were daggers, some were butterflies, some were shit, some were hopes, some were regrets and I’m sorry for all of them. I don’t regret my two-times “yes, let’s have a kid”, though. I’ll treasure them for the rest of my life. I know I’ve hurt plenty of people with my words and by God I’ve been hurt back by them too. Until recently I was standing midst a crossroad wondering what should I do next. Well, it’s a binary decision so, at least in theory, it should be easy, am I right? Should I linger in my sweet sorrow, cry my eyes dry for all my failures in my past, should I blame the world for my misery or should I turn the table upside down, rebel against my current situation, rephrase the definition of my happiness, release the old torn up threads of my past which I’m holding into my palm and move over? Either way, whatever my decision is at the end there’ll be a price to pay, I’m perfectly aware of it and that fact only made me hesitant for a while. Not anymore, though. Now, finally, I’ve made up my mind, I’m ready to unclench my fingers but I’m scared to do it so hastily, not before I look up and ask one last time: “Dude, you’ve said your piece, got it, are we finally cool now?”
My daughters visited me as they’ve promised, they ate, they loved my food and soon after they left. Who knows when I’ll be seeing them again? It could be months. Time, opportunities, words and trust, colours, textures, scents and tastes. How on earth are these notions even related? Hours ago they totally made sense into my head now are just a string of words associated in a phrase which doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. Who gives a damn… I poured myself another bourbon and I sat quietly at my table. I looked around and it was messy but I didn’t gave a fuck. I’m just minding my own business, in my home, alone, chillin’, and my chest is now just fine. Empty as usual.
planeta floreasca
