I have so many things going on right now in my over-planning gumbo pot of a brain that I can't even write everything, methodically, in capital letters like I used to. I can barely decipher my own notes now (and when Riccardo reads this I'm sure he will giggle himself into a frenzy from a real sense of accomplishment because I'm really going outside my comfort zone to take on some of his attributes here.) Does that period belong inside or outside the parenthesis? Not my problem.
I'm dreadfully excited about all of these too many things that I have stewing and bubbling away on a star field of back burners and I'm certain that they will all eventually come to pass, even if not necessarily from my own hand. That's actually part of the fun of what I'm discovering as I enter into this most creative phase of my life. Thus far. I'm discovering that I don't (in fact its better if someone else does) have to focus on all of these things at once. Its just one big thing. Can you see that?
I don't have the time for all this sitting around and writing pretty little blog entries, Facebook posts and Twitter tweets, for texting old friends, drinking coffee, plotting. I'm going to make a lot of mistakes. Thankfully, I'm ok with that. If I weren't I couldn't have shown my face in this town after my last run. I'm happy to be back even if I feel like I've lost a bit of traction while the rest of you Bizzy McBizzingtons have been needling happily away at a masterpiece.
In a way I feel like not much has really changed except that everyone is now pointing at all the hard working people who deserved to be pointed at before. Its not like Houston's recent culinary growth just happened overnight, or even over the last two years. These guys have been at it for a while now.
So I'm a little jealous. Which is the highest form of flattery that I can offer, cause I'm not just gonna come out and imitate you all at the same time (as if I didn't appear scatterbrained enough already). I'm more of a dreamer than a focuser…focuser? Sure. That. Anyway, amazing work, Y'all.
I don't want to come off as saying that there has been no growth, there certainly has, especially on an individual level with most of the notable chefs in this town. Focused. On. Growth.
I didn't feel like making a twittered congratulations comment was even close to sufficient, even for people I don't even know personally but who I know are putting in hours upon hours upon days upon brutal heat waves of tropical rainstorms of mosquito sodden mudslides of time. Its more than a little intimidating. So I spent some time writing a pretty little blog entry.
I don't have the time for all this sitting around and writing pretty little blog entries, Facebook posts and Twitter tweets. I do have an overwhelming desire to feel liked, and when I left here roughly two years ago, I wasn't feeling very well liked. (Even though I was liked by many). I don't have the strongest sense of focus, but when it comes to finding fault, pointing fingers, making excuses, I can focus like a damn Zen monk. So I felt that.
After two years in NYC immersed in my own penchant for the negative, I discovered somewhere along the line that I am far more productive when I feel a sense of acceptance. Ironically, having or not having that sense comes entirely from me. This is hopefully something that most people take for granted. Because they're awesome.
I am surrounded by an incredibly strong and supportive family who has basically adopted me over the past twelve or so years. For the longest time, I couldn't figure out why they remained so vigilant in their fanatical support of my journey even through my constant fits of childish fancy. They have taught me, among many other things, what it means to love. And what I'm worth (which is, in trade, about sixteen and a half pounds of regionally produced cheese from a small village in the Irish countryside). Just kidding.
Now here I am back in Houston, feeling like I'm lost on a jungle-y road with myriad flora and fauna jumping and swimming and murking and bubbling and buzzing around my roiling crock pot cabeza. Which is a great thing about me, as long as I can accept it and find a way for it to add value to the world around us. I've come back to this old familiar town to find the little garden box in my backyard overgrown with dimensional rifts and concentric loopholes of potentiality beyond my singular comprehension.
I'm glad to be home. Not in some physical sense of being back in a surrounding that contrasts the unfamiliar adventures of a foreign place, I feel at home now in my path. Luckily my path has brought me back to a city where I have spent several formative periods of my life.
I feel honored and accepted back into its warm underbelly. I am struck by the revival of its artisans, by their thoughtfully crafted provisions that I have let pass too often unappreciated. I am inspired by the ox-ridden heart of its farmers, harvesting the humble crops that have made it a home and a haven for those seeking a reef (or a roost) safe enough to keep us from the anvil of the Gulf's windy hammer.
I now find myself in the undertow of a current that was set in motion by a connate community of chefs, spurning one another on in a lycanthropic frenzy to be the one and only king of the hill. They've antithisized their competitive natures and built a remarkable and unified team. A team that is now recognized as a world-wide wrecking ball, an international force to be reckoned with.
Its pretty fucking epic.