Beer's the most androgynous thing I've ever seen in a chef's hat. Or, at least, that's what I thought when I first met her. But it's those peculiarities in life that make it so dazzling. That a young woman no older than me could have a face as round and as bright as the sun (and some newly ordained Bhikkhu, consequently) one minute, but become as strong, and defined with cheekbones reminiscent of some African Queen from the deep jungles of the Congo AND with hair as black as that queen's black skin that it's almost purple - just as soon as she takes off her chef hat - isn't really beyond me at this point. However, what is, is her warm heart and nurturing nature. Chalk it up to the Buddha, or gender roles in an Asian demographic that hasn't completely amalgamatted with the West, or some Asian girl's general disposition to love Caucasian males for whatever post-colonial reason (which I seem to be touching on quite a bit lately), or whatever you will, but one thing's for sure: Beer's the best thing to come out of Laos in a long time. It seems no one bad comes into that kitchen; and that all those women wear hats because their hair is so dark it would absorb all the light used to light the place if they ever took their hats, or hair nets, off for more than a minute. All the light, or the entire universe. Maybe that's it: some karmic Buddhist ability - hair so dark, it absorbs all negative energy, neutralized by their own positive dispositions. Okay, maybe that's not it, but I couldn't think of a more magical reason why Beer's so pleasant; I certainly could think of another reason however. Simply put, because she's a good person, with the heart of a Buddha, and the skill of some kind of cosmic cook who makes delicious coconut drinks for Weezee, knowing on some level of consciousness that they bring me from being just there, to actually BEING there.
Not too long ago Beer bought the kitchen some elbow length mucking gloves from the Korean store she, and I, conveniently, both frequent; gloves so long you either look like a married korean woman making huge tubs of kimchi with all the friends she plays two-suited mahjong with on Sundays, or a nuclear technician, attempting to open a jar of kimchi. Now, gloves may not sound like much, and no one but Beer and I may use them, but that she brought them in at all must be testament to her boundless generousity. But it doesn't stop there dear reader; in fact, it brings me to the point of this entry, and why I'm writing it: because Beer is good, and she makes me feel good. About work, about people, about decision, about life, about the cold weather that makes me want to quit my job and role under the covers and sleep until at least autumn. Sirrah.
That said, I came to work today in a funk. In a funk because I've been overwhelmed with decision, underwhelmed by direction, and overtly-whelmed by inadequacy. Grad school is rearing it's ugly head again. I feel terrible about having been in a less than stellar mood, and what's more was Beer's good intention to give me one of her generic smoothie drinks. I tried to decline, accepted, and then tried to pretend I forgot, but she forced it on me. I had no qualms about it being delicious, and touched by Beer's maternal instinct, but I just didn't have the guts to take it; why did a jerk like me deserve something like that from someone like her anyway. I felt unworthy, and without connection to these people I had genuinely come to care about.
Watching Uncle's metal steamer tonight, I came to a sad, if not dissapointing conundrum: that even though I was excited about what he was cooking, and that cooking and learning how to cook in a particularly Asian space gave me a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment, I could never fully connect to any of it, or the people there. I don't speak their language, I didn't grow up in their spaces - I'm trying desperately to learn languages, and now it seems I know why. To connect. Only connect. Because their lives are something I'd like to be a part of. Their's are spaces I think I'd like to exist in. E.M. Forster had the right idea. And I think the Buddha did too. Because when Uncle makes me food, or Beer brings me a drink, it's not because they have to, but because they want to. And when I accept those things from them, it not about the food, but about what it means.
There may be hope for this kuso cook yet.
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