It's actually hard to believe what I've gone through in 2 years. I can't remember the things that might be very memorable to most people that have occurred to me in the last 2 months. What have I forgotten that's happened in the last 2 years? Maybe it's time to start keeping a journal. 2 months ago I spent a horrific 8 hours at Sweetgrass Bistro trying out for an entry-level cook's position. It was hot, I sweat a lot, I almost walked out, I cooked some terrible food and I got the job. The following couple of weeks were a blur, I drank and laughed away most of my very slim free-time and it was totally great, how proud I was, but I hated the job so I left.
18 days ago I moved back to British Columbia, 5 days ago I started at the Hotel Grand Pacific in downtown Victoria. There was and is no plan, only an idea. There was a time when I abhorred banquet cooking, now I really enjoy it. I'm getting a real fire for cooking right now, it's terrific. It becomes something very rare. I think a lot of people probably don't ever experience real adrenaline. When energy is gone and only adrenaline exists. When adrenaline and terror are flowing at the same time, and when everything goes right it's followed by this flood of triumph...that's really amazing. That's why cooks work ridiculous hours, not because they have to, but because they love that feeling more than anything.
This is where I work.
2 days ago I moved into an apartment. It's the first apartment I have ever had owned occupancy of. I don't own it, but I own the lease, I own everything in there that wasn't there when I arrived. It's the first time I've owned anything in my home other than the food on my allotted fridge-shelf. It's a good feeling. To be able to express yourself through your home is something I didn't know existed. I can't wait to get settled in and have some dinner-guests. I've got plans for my kitchen, pickled beets and asparagus, preserved sauces and freshly caught shell-fish, home-made cured meats, dried wild mushrooms. I have visions of shelves adorned with colourful mason-jars.
But where there's independence there's isolation. Friends and family have definitely been kind with their time since I've arrived, there hasn't been a day without a shared meal or a movie or a visit to the bar but now that I'm living alone I anticipate that being a little different. Which is good, that's what I came here for. To escape old abusive routine and to find new nurturing routine.
There were times outside of routine in my visit to Ontario. The best beer I've ever had at the Wellington Gastropub (True North Strong Ale, try to find it), a very memorable trip to a friend's cottage involving canoeing through rapids and cliff-diving into a lake, rescuing dying friendships, rescuing dying friends, and discovering the magic of Harry Nilsson via hours-long trips on OC Transpo. But there's no poetry in Ottawa, it's like a good plot with a bad execution. All the ingredients are there but it never really comes together.
Now I am going to unchain my newly acquired bicycle, go to ValueVillage to get all kinds of crap for my new place, and spend a well-deserved night in peace.
