My Master Chef Audition

Subtitle: aka Thank God I'm Boring?

My alarm went off at 6:30 this morning. That NEVER happens on a Saturday morning unless we're leaving for a fabulous vacation or, as was the case today, I am auditioning for Master Chef. I quickly showered and tried to dress like the middle aged writer/mom/cook that I am these days. (The FAQs on the Master Chef website suggested we wear something that best represents who we are...!?) I pulled my pot of Cinnamon Sweet Potato Soup out of the refrigerator and began heating it while the oven pre-heated for the toasting of my Maple Bacon Cornbread Croutons. I drizzled the butter over my carefully cubed croutons and popped them in the oven. All my prep went off without a hitch.

I was confident that my high powered thermos would keep the soup hot for at least 6 hours. It had proven itself last Halloween when I doled out "Ski Lifts"(hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps) to the other parents during our neighborhood's trick-or-treating and Halloween Party.

Maybe everything was going too smoothly. I got to the Culinary School at the Art Institute of Nashville 2 hours before the doors were to open. I had heard that in other cities there were 300 people in line 2 hours early. I was number 6! Okay, great, the good luck continues.

I met and chatted with the other hopefuls until the doors opened at 9:30. For all my sizing up of the people around me (eventually, there were a couple hundred in line), I just couldn't tell who had the goods and who didn't. We were finally led inside where we were given numbers. I was 109. Things continued to go smoothly as I sailed through the registration process and ended up only having to wait for 15 minutes in the "holding room." I was in the first group of 20 who were called into the "tasting room." We each had a small table and were given 3 minutes to plate our dish. My soup and croutons were both still hot!

My heart pounded as the chef started with the guy to my left, Nick, #110. He had never even seen the show but I could tell from his dish and his expertise in describing the cooking process that he was the real deal. His upscale potato soup and avocado/lobster salad were plated on a beautiful slab of wood. The soup was in an iron bowl with a handle on top, for heaven's sake!

I have to say that the chef complimented me every bit as much as he did Nick. He said he really liked my soup, but thought the bacon in my cornbread croutons was an especially nice touch. So far, so good. Only a few minutes went by before Gina and Lacey, casting directors for Master Chef, came over to chat with me. I felt confident. I told them I was doing this for all the moms who had put their dreams on hold to focus on raising children. I told them how cooking had been healing for me when I had to walk away from songwriting. And I told them about my pistol of a daughter and my loving, supportive husband. I would find out later that this is not what they wanted to hear.

Raynel with the dread locks, #108, to my right, made this really complicated Chicken Tamale soup with quesadillas that didn't look very good. But then she told me her story. She is raising her 16 year old brother. He ran away two weeks ago. He is somewhere on the streets of Nashville and she is so worried about him.

Although I ended up befriending Nick, #110, he didn't tell me his story. But I did eavesdrop as he talked to the casting directors. He grew up in a bad part of town outside of Atlanta. His family was on food stamps all through his childhood, but he refused to live on junk food. Instead, he taught himself to cook and it has become his passion in life.

Only 6 or 7 people out of the 20 of us were called for the next round. I was not surprised to hear numbers 108 and 110. I am very happy for Raynel and Nick. But I am also thankful for the very thing that probably disqualified me from advancing to the next round: a loving, stable family.

I am sad that some peoples' lives include such cold, cruel versions of reality. I am glad they have a shot at their 15 minutes of fame. As for me, it feels like too high of a price to pay. I'll take my own story any day!

To Hope

I am loving the creative class I am taking on Thursday mornings! We have studied art, poetry, letter writing and art and poetry ABOUT letter writing. Such rich material. I am reminded of something my friend, Joel Lindsey, who is a very successful writer, used to say..."If you are having trouble coming up with something to write about, then it is time to feed the lake!" A silly fishing analogy, but it speaks volumes to the struggling writer! Watch a great movie. Read poetry. Go to an art museum. Look at old photographs. Re-read your favorite novel. Inspiration is waiting to be found.

Today we were encouraged to think about writing a letter to an inanimate object. This form of writing is called "Apostrophe." To my forks and spoons, to my exes, to the Yeti (we studied that poem today!), to my 20 lbs, etc., you get the idea.

We also talked a lot about hope, so that is who my inanimate object letter is to:

To Hope

I have lost you as often as I have found you

Deferred, you have made my heart sick

Re-discovered, you have made it soar

You are a glimmer, deep in the heart of the cynic

You are the last remaining sign of life

in disappointment's flat-line

I often hear that you float, 

but I have also seen you sink

like a doomed ship

waiting patiently to be mined 

as hidden treasure on the ocean's floor
 

I tell the white lie to my little one, 

as long as you believe in this thing or that, 

it is real

but I applaud you for being no less real

when I am plagued by doubt

Once A Writer........

Always a writer. Over the course of my life so far, the drive to write has been a blessing and a curse. On the best of days, it has left me with a great feeling of accomplishment. It has given me great pride to have created something. On a bad day, when the blank page has taunted me or when writing itself seems like a distant memory, I am defeated. The pendulum swings wide and the emotional roller coaster ride is both exhilarating and terrifying for me....and for most writers.

I now know how it feels to NOT write for a long period of time. No song, blog, short story or scrap of an idea has ventured forth from my troubled mind in over a year. And I did it on purpose. I turned my back on it. It just didn't seem practical and it certainly wasn't going to pay the bills. It was a busy year full of more than our fair share of changes. I worked hard on my cooking business and on being a supportive wife and mother. The occasional well-crafted song or beautifully written blog made me feel a little wistful, but not enough to do anything about it.

And yet, here I am revisiting my blog. So, something did happen to end the drought. It was nothing dramatic. It was talking about writing over coffee with a songwriter friend.  It was the fledgling song ideas that started to pop in my head. It was the "creative group" that I joined last week. It was the announcement in the church bulletin about the "worship writing workshop." I probably won't finish my novel or have "2 a day" songwriting sessions anytime soon, but you can bet I will be writing something.

I am going to write because I am a writer. Whether it seems practical or not. Whether I ever make another cent or not. My writing muscle is out of shape, but the drive (and hopefully the talent?) is still in there. Yes, the pendulum will swing wide and the roller coaster will careen out of control at times. But another thing I have learned about writing is that it is not for the faint of heart.