Tag: musing

Food for Thought: Musings of a Culinary Agnostic

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I wouldn’t eat or sleep if I didn’t have to. Let’s talk about eating.

I eat to survive. Some people live to eat; I eat to live. I don’t like food, and I don’t like to eat. These sentiments may share something in common.

I think about my food preferences on a normal curve. Most dishes score a 5 (a T score of 50; just divide by 10 to lose the zero)—give or take. Quite a few are 4s and 6s. A few are 3s and 7s. Even fewer are 2s and 8s, which are virtually indistinguishable from 1s and 9s or 0s and 10s. Ninety-five per cent of all foods fall between 3 and 7; eighty-five per cent fall between 4 and 6, where six is barely OK. My personal favourites tap out at about 7.

On the low end, once I get to 3, it might as well be a zero. Perhaps if I were at risk of dying, I’d partake. On the high end, an 8, 9, or 10? I wouldn’t know. I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten better than an 8, and that was just once.

You might say my scale isn’t calibrated. Maybe. I think of the food scale as I do the pain scale but in reverse because 10 is worse. It’s difficult to frame the boundaries. Actually, the pain scale is easier.

I was hospitalized for months in 2023. It didn’t so much make me reassess my pain scale as to confirm it. Prior to this visit, on a scale of 0 to 10, I had never subjectively experienced pain above a 4, save for dental nerve pain. During this visit, I had pain approaching if not equaling dental pain—8s and 9s. The 9 might have been a 10, but I was leaving headroom to allow for something worse still.

An instructive story involves my wife delivering a pregnancy. She wanted to be wholly natural—no drugs. It only took one contraction to toss that idea aside. She realized that the pain she had registered was beyond her perceived boundaries. Perhaps food is like that for me. I’m not sure I’ll ever experience an analogous event to find out.

Since my typical intake is a 5, it’s not something I look forward to or enjoy. I have no interest in extending the experience. This leads us to mealtimes—another time sink. I dislike mealtime as much as eating. I’m a mindful introvert. I don’t mind people one-on-one, but I want to be mindful. If I’m eating, I want to be mindful of eating. If I am talking, I want to focus on that. I get no pleasure from mealtime banter.

I’ve once experienced a memorable meal, a meal that felt above all the rest. It was at a French restaurant in Beverly Hills. When I returned some months later, it had converted into a bistro with a different menu. The experience was not to be repeated. Besides, chasing happiness is a fool’s errand. I wouldn’t have likely had the same experience even if the second meal was identical to the first, given diminishing marginal returns on pleasure.

Does this mean I don’t like anything? No. It means I might like, say, some pizza more than a burger. For me, most meat is a 5 or below. Chicken might be a 6. Fish is a 3 at best. Chicken prepared a certain way might even break 7, but that’s pretty much the cap—except for that one time I’ve already mentioned.

Trip Advisor: Chicago Favorites Ultimate Food and Walking Tour

Most people I’ve spoken with about this can’t imagine not loving food. When I lived in Chicago, with its foodie culture, they thought I was borderline insane. Does anyone else have a disinterested relationship with food? Let’s defer the sleep topic to another day.

Good Enough

Posted in identity, music, perception, psychology, societyTagged , , , , , , , 2 Comments

As I approach my sixty-second year on earth, having almost expired in March, I’ve been a bit more reflective and introspective. One is categorical. I’ve been told over the years that I am ‘good’ or ‘excel’ at such and such, but I always know someone better—even on a personal level, not just someone out in the world. We can all assume not to be the next Einstein or Picasso, but I am talking closer than that.

During my music career, I was constantly inundated with people better than me. I spent most of my time on the other side of a mixing console, where I excelled. Even still, I knew people who were better for this or another reason. In this realm, I think of two stories. First, I had the pleasure and good fortune to work on a record with Mick Mars and Motley Crue in the mid-’80s. We had a chat about Ratt’s Warren DiMartini, and Mick told me that he knew that Warren and a spate of seventeen-year-olds could play circle around him, but success in the music business is not exclusively based on talent. He appreciated his position.

In this vein, I remember an interview with Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine. As he was building his chops he came to realise that he was not going to be the next Shredder or Eddie Van Halen, so he focused on creating his own voice, the one he’s famous for. I know plenty of barely competent musicians who make it, and I know some virtual virtuosos who don’t. But it involves aesthetics and a fickle public, so all bets are off anyway.

As I reflect on myself, I consider art and photography. Always someone better. When I consider maths or science, there’s always someone better. Guitar, piano? Same story.

Even as something as vague and multidimensional as business, I can always name someone better. I will grant that in some instances, there literally is no better at some level—just different—, so I sought refuge and solace in these positions. Most of these involved herding cats, but I took what I could.

Looking back, I might have been better off ignoring that someone was better. There’s a spot for more than the best guitarist or singer or artist or policeman for that matter. As a musician, I never thrived financially—that’s why I was an engineer—, but I could have enjoyed more moments and taken more opportunities.

When I was 18, I was asked to join a country music band. I was a guitarist and they needed a bass player. I didn’t like country music, so I declined—part ego, part taste. Like I said, aesthetics.

As I got older and started playing gigs, I came to realise that just playing was its own reward. I even played cover bands, playing songs that were either so bad or so easy. But they were still fun. I’m not sure how that would have translated as playing exclusively country music day after day, but I still think I might have enjoyed myself—at least until I didn’t. And the experience would still have been there.

I was a software developer from the nineties to the early aughts. I was competent, but not particularly great. As it turns out, I wasn’t even very interested in programming on someone else’s projects. It’s like being a commercial artist. No, thank you. It might pay the bills, but at what emotional cost?

I was a development manager for a while, and that was even worse, so I switched focus to business analysis and programme management, eventually transitioning to business strategy and management consulting. I enjoyed these more, but I still always knew someone better.

On one hand, whilst I notice the differences, it’s lucky that I don’t care very much. Not everyone can be a LeBron James or a Ronaldo, but even the leagues are not filled with this talent. I’m not suggesting that a ten-year-old compete at this level, but I am saying if you like it, do it. But temper this with the advice at the Oracle of Delphi: Know thyself. But also remember that you might never be the best judge of yourself, so take this with a grain of salt. Sometimes, ‘good enough’ is good enough.