When the 3 PM drowsies came by, I went into the kitchen and opened my cupboard to find many, many tired ziploc bags of ingredients, but nothing to eat (this happens too often in a kitchen of a recipe developer). Needing to satisfy a sweet tooth however, my last remaining glucose levels and I mustered up the energy to make these in, I kid you not, 30 minutes (magic!).

It’s intimidating to be recipe-less (especially when it comes to baking). I was reminded of this when I had my boyfriend’s mother’s scones. His family has enjoyed these fragile scones as something of a family tradition. When we went to New Hampshire and I finally got to try them, I couldn’t argue how delicious they were. With no exact recipe, but just the intutive hands of a woman who has made them a hundred times, they came out wonderfully imperfect. Each scone was oddly shaped, just sweet enough to notice there is sugar, and moist and crumbly with the Maine blueberries doing much of the heavy lifting. Sure, some of them fell apart; but squishing those crumbs together to make a new scone was the best part of receiving a plate of Melinda’s scones.

Family recipes with no exact measurements (it took the invention of the internet to finally have a recipe for kimchi) can be frustrating for the curious but also one of the few ways we can still appreciate a certain time and place. Mind you, I’m just teaching myself this now.

One of the beautiful things about cooking for Sailing Collective is to be forced to create and pivot at any moment. Cooking on a boat allows me lean into a fantasy chill version of myself (never have I ever imagined cooking in a bikini as a job). I’ve studied cooking, quietly observed many talented chefs, and practiced my wrist rhythm to the point of getting tendinitis. 75% of restaurant cooking is based on routine. It’s a routine that’s both meditative, and repetitive depending on the restaurant. I’ve often thought, a robot should do this instead. The WORK is very different from the WHY you are there. It’s the biggest point of miscommunication, why 99% of restaurants fail, and and why many chefs decide to go off on their own- they can decide for themselves how much the work they put in is equally valued in all the ways they want to be compensated in all the ways we feel valued (money, time, physical labor, intellectual property).

I love cooking for people. The sentence is literal. My skill at preparing food is directly correlated with the joy I feel when I’m in front of faces that are smiling at me. It’s attached to an emotion, and in turn a very volatile foundation for a job. When those faces aren’t smiling at you, it feels like you’re standing in front of a dinner party with a burnt chicken. That feeling can evolve into many, many bad decisions and actions that create a highly emotional environment because many of us are very bad at self-regulating ourselves. This cycle creates a co-dependent relationship. “Codependency refers to an imbalanced relationship pattern. In this pattern, one person assumes responsibility for meeting another person’s needs to the exclusion of acknowledging their own needs or feelings.” I have a co-dependent relationship… with cooking. Or maybe, our industry as a co-dependent relationship… with our diners. Only recently is the industry assuming the responsibilty of educating diners with our needs (high labor costs, supply issues, mental health needs), but for a long time this wasn’t the case.

Many of the hours I put into working was seen as a direct correlation to spending time with my passion, my joy. And if I spent more time doing it, I would be living out our passion. But through the hours, and years, the emotional quality of the hours spent working changed. As work became more emotionally draining, I started equating it to another kind of worth- diligence, stamina, endurance. Work slowly worked itself into becoming a sign of worth in society that was similar and in some circles, equally impressive. But I didn’t thrive in this environment, and thinking back to the point of why I started doing this in the first place, left me confused, and unsettled.

This is probably a good place to say I’ve been working my way through Julie Cameron’s The Artist’s Way (week 12!), and it’s been the type of meditation I’ve needed to be doing. She wrote that workaholism is a process addiction, an unhealthy relationship with a behavior, rather than a substance. It’s helped me put my habits and behaviors in perspective, and to really understand where my creative blocks come from so I can overcome them.*

*The word creative means purpose, a pursuit in anything that makes our lives meaningful, intense, brilliant.

When I started cooking for SC, I created a very elaborate excel spreadsheet to plan each day’s menu. I used to create a masterful color coded shopping list that looked more like I laid a transparency of the grocery store layout over their inventory guide, but after awhile, like hiking the same trail or writing the same weekly grocery list, it became redundant. I relied on this process, and in the beginning would feel frustrated when the outcomes did not reflect my intentions. It took at least 6 trips before I felt comfortable pivoting, and adapting. Now, when I get to each destination, I accept that 50% of the menu items will be created, and the other 50% reflects changes based on what I discover in the course of provisioning. I mostly ignore the order of when the menus are created because that is always dependent on the boat’s mood (particulary mine) and the day’s activities. Observing my former habits dissolve to make room for more creative freedom and happinness has been one of the most gratifying experiences this year. I’m tipping the scale closer to the heart and it’s been an incredible journey so far.

*SEPT 20, 2022 UPDATE I’m not a wanderlust at heart; I’m a pragmatist, an analyst that when unchecked becomes a ruminating anxiety self-doubter, a survivor that will always seek security. I exist in a disjointed, bi-polar existence. How I will spin these exceptionally wonderful opportunities into a full time experience beats me. I love cooking. But I don’t know how that translates to a job, even after 12 years. As Day wisely said, “you tend to tie yourself too closely to the ‘purpose’ of the gig, rather than it being an ends to a mean.

I find myself often at the fork in the road as if that’s where I belong. Sometimes I think it’s being a product of a generation that has gone through 2 ‘recessions.’ Sometimes I think it’s because as a first generation child of immigrant parents I was born into class warfare. Sometimes I know it’s because I have ptsd from chaotic restaurant energy. And sometimes when I think of cooking as an expression of identity, I get confused of how my own Korean American identity has to get involved ( I don’t see myself as an educator or enthusiast for Korean food, just that it was simply there in my life).

Cooking as an interest came from a utilitarian effort to feed myself after school. And that’s the identity I’ve always demonstrated in the job of cooking-that I’m a technically able, hardworking, self-sufficient individual. To turn it into a creative opportunity was secondary (I identify more with the day laborer, than the 17 year old that went to culinary school) discovery. When I discovered I loved teaching overs, there was a third discovery. All these discoveries color my purpose of continuing to cook as a job, and it feels like I’m constantly looking for an outlet to paint with all my colors. To learn what the version of fulfillment is when it comes to cooking has often led me to a question mark. Some breadcrumbs for another part of this journey left to be traveled.

I Have a Co-Dependent Relationship with Cooking

Recovering a Sense of Authorship