This morning, as I listened to the second pot of coffee gurgling away in the percolator, I cleaned up and did some small chores. Dishes, a pan or two, wipe down the counters, put some things away..... and notice a bag of potatoes wanting used.
Washing the potatoes in warm water, half went directly to the rack in a hot oven. So many wonderfully flavorful recipes begin with 'Slice up three baked potatoes'. The rest, sliced and diced and into a dutch oven, to be joined with other veggies need'in used up. Scallions, herbs.... and carrots.
As I was slicing the carrots into likely looking chunks, I thought about what I was doing. So often this leads to a metaphor regarding life, and this morning was no different.
On the cutting board, each carrot met chefs knife on it's lonesome lonely own. Not lined up like massed soldiers foolishly thrown into withering machine gun fire, but one brave orange root at a time. Could I have lined them up and sliced a handful at once? Of course I could have.
But..... I enjoy preparing food for the pot. Why, in a sane world, would I rush through doing something I enjoy? I'd no sooner rush through making love with a beautiful woman than I would slash and dash my way across the cutting board towards the oven.
No comments:
Post a Comment