I’d enjoy cooking much more if I didn’t get paid for it. I appreciate the skills that I have honed over time that have allowed me to make a living out of it but cooking has been shoved down my throat for decades now. If it’s not the cooking part it’s the serving part, overseeing the production of such items. It’s so overdone- to me and 💯 it’s completely me. Even when I see friends of mine with amazing talent showcase their food I am unfazed. Not in a sense that the food is meh, my reaction to food is meh.

Food service has owned me for most of my adult life. I watched my father do the same thing until he couldn’t. I keep my body as level as possible. Sick days mean no pay. I look at some of my old food posts and occasionally smile.

“I made that. I created that before 40 other places in town started doing the same thing.” That’s all food is now for the most part, replication of imitation. Not everyone but most. There’s still some good stuff floating around out here in town. Unique but not forced or over the top. Some of my old pics I’ll delete for good. I tried to force some odd ideas onto a plate just to see what would happen. I’d fuck up waffles for a while or I’d throw a dare on a plate. I recall deep frying cream cheese icing for a waffle special. I never counted calories while making a special. Decadence sells at brunch. Why do you think you see those ridiculous Bloody Mary bar skewers? Whole fried chicken on a skewer with a double cheeseburger and a wedding cake on top. I hate those things so much. I don’t even go on Greenville foodies anymore. I can’t take this town’s palette. I’m a hater I’ll be the first to admit it.

I spent my two days off camping to disassociate from the world and then came back home to immediately work on a 15 foot grazing table. Biggest I’ve ever done. I crafted a sushi boat filled with prosciutto wrapped up like sushi rolls with cucumber rolls filled with pimento cheese and salami. Bought some small clay pots and made mini crudités bowls with them topped with sunflower picks. Turned some fruit into some edible origami, folded around 6 lbs of uncured meats, made about 8 different spreads. Spent a day off finding new wooden platters and bowls because these take a beating over time. Created two of these 15 foot grazing tables back to back within 48 hours of each other. With one finger tied behind my back I sliced it open while cooking in the mountains Sunday evening. It needed stitches but the ER was about 90 minutes away if you add the time it would’ve taken me to pack up my shit with a finger squirting blood all over my campsite. I wrapped it up with a paper towel and tied two of my daughter’s hair bands around it. You need both hands for charcuterie. Index fingers being the most useful phalanges. I feel like I’m authoring for sympathy here and that’s not the direction I’m trying to go with. I cut my fingers all the time. That’s why I was out of bandaids while camping. It’s like an electrician getting shocked. It’s part of the job. Finger is still wrapped up. I don’t want the half of my fingernail dangling to bump anything.

Where were we

The tables looked great. One had to be delivered to Columbia an hour and half away in 85° heat. I drove 10 miles over the speed limit to keep it from getting hot. My truck is well insulated with an airmax fan but a AC controlled van would’ve been better. Went into work before the roosters warmed up and got back home from cola by 7 ish. My wife, who has a full time job, is my helper most of these days. I know it takes a toll on her too.

I pull up to these events and I get lauded by my clients.

Praised

Admiration

And I feel nothing.

I smile. I’m very appreciative of the words and encouragement.

But

I feel nothing much after that.

It’s tough being creative without the passion. This is what I struggle with everyday. It was the same at Southern too toward the end. 30 feet of charcuterie in 48 hours is a lot. Throw in a few box orders that I allowed to slip through just in case the sandwich side didn’t pull its weight. It rarely does. Somedays I stand behind my prep table and wonder if anyone has made as much charcuterie in their entire lifetime as I have in the last 5 years? That’s not a flex for me. I struggle sometimes when my head isn’t wanting to agree with my day and it begins screwing with me -“ you’re just replating food”. There’s more to it than that I know but sometimes my mind knows how to piss me off.

I’ve got 10 months left on my lease.

I’m a big believer of create more than you consume. This is the way. My paradox is that my creating is forced and consumes most of the time. On slow days when I’m inside the deli I’m like a caged wild animal. “Why am I not outside? Why do I have to stay inside these walls staring at this building across the street that’s been under ugly construction for the past year and a half?”

Listen

I love what I do

Until I don’t

30 feet of grazing tables is wild man. Like painting a tapestry with a deadline.

Twice

I’m limping today. My body does that when it’s tired I rarely notice anymore.

I’m letting things out folks. Nothing more. I also smiled when I woke up this morning. A smile of accomplishment and gratitude. The tables went down perfect. The timing was immaculate, the pay was worthwhile. Almost a month’s worth of charcuterie forecast in two days. I smiled because the work is done and I can go on with my day. This catering had been sitting in the back of my mind for three months. Ive got another one in about 6 weeks. Piece of cake now I’ve got two under my belt. I remember my first grazing table back in 2021 I didn’t sleep the night before. I was much more anxious back in my drinking days.

The table looked good y’all. Both of them did.

I just don’t want my legacy to be that guy who made kick ass charcuterie.

Marshall Tucker is singing to me in my headphones just at the right time

“And I’m searching for a rainbow

And if the wind ever shows me where to go”

“I’ll say to hell with that pot of gold”

That’s all.

Peace ☮️ and love ❤️