Life in the Slow Lane

Dateline: 03-06-10, 09:57 AM, Soggy Bottom

I just finished spending some 45 minutes cooking my own breakfast.  Bacon, scrambled eggs – moist, and blue-berry pancakes with Ricotta cheese and sour cream, topped with real maple syrup.  All by myself.  Yes, it was quite yummy.

What took so long?  Well, actually, the bacon did.  You see, I’m now 50 years old and I’ve always liked to cook.  If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in all of those hours in the kitchen, it’s that some things just can’t be rushed. 

I’ve cooked bacon on the stove and in the oven.  I used to do it as fast as it was possible, usually ending up with rubbery, partly burned, partly raw strips of  “whatever”.  It was “bacon”, after a fashion, but it was not all that it could have been. 

Over the years, assuming we pay any attention at all, we can actually learn something.  One of these:  bacon can only be perfectly cooked slowly.  Like BBQ, like quite a few of life’s other pleasures.

I’m still working on the eggs, playing with higher or lower heat, quick or slow.   We’ll see how that one goes, but I’m currently leaning toward the slower/lower/simpler/folded side of the equation.  Take that, Gordon Ramsey, although he too takes his time, actually.

Still, there are almost too many things we feel we “must” do, right now. yesterday even.  As noted just yesterday, by our distinguished contributor M. Ragazzo, it can be hard to focus well enough to get anything “done”, let alone “done right”.   

I will say that it’s awfully helpful to have a plan, even if it too is always in a state of partial completion.  Sometimes we get to stick to it pretty closely, most times not so much.  If it doesn’t need to be done right now, I really don’t see the harm in letting it simmer a while.   

We came to the country 10 years ago and, thus, we now enter year 10 of our 5-year plan.  Can you imagine how nice it’s going to turn out?

Harry Tuttle

“A man’s work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.” – Camus


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