#28: Everything But the Kitchen

After, what, seven? eight? weeks of preparing three meals a day, every day, I’ve been struggling to see the forest for the trees when it comes to being able to think and write about food. This wouldn’t be such a problem if I weren’t in the middle of taking a food writing course for which I’m required to regularly pitch clever story angles and knock out weekly essays. As an over-achieving nerd, obviously I’ve kept up with the assignments, sure, but it’s required much more of an effort that I would’ve expected from my normally food-obsessed self.

Part of it, I’ve begun to suspect, is a feeling of being overwhelmed by content. There’s just so much out there right now, being churned out prolifically at such a break-neck pace that there hardly seems a moment to catch your breath and exhale an original idea.

Every time I think I’ve got something to say, boom, my piece on bench scrapers or French aperitifs or sourdough discard recipes (ok, well that’s fair game right now) has been scooped! Like trying to find a pause to chime in during a massive Zoom happy hour, how can you possibly squeeze another voice into the conversation?

I’ve been around the ol’ butcher block long enough to know, though, that these are the insidious thoughts of some self-sabotaging imposter nonsense. Some “Who am I? Why should anyone listen to me? I have nothing new to say. I’m not good enough. I’ll never be good enough” first-class, grade-A bullshit. I know better, I really do.

And I wish that self-awareness was enough to get ahead of the paralyzing effects that those thoughts can too often bring. Still, despite the Pinterest-y cliché, I also know that the only way out is through, and so let me tell you about what I’ve been doing with my sourdough discard lately.