Nothing Simple About It
I read a great quote in Gourmet Magazine, of all places. It was an article written by a guy who had trained as a chef when he was younger. It didn’t say whether he was currently a chef or not, the story just talked about one time when he was able to attain perfection, in the form of an omelet. Here’s what he had to say:
Three eggs, salt, pepper and a little butter. That’s all there is in a classic French omelet, but it’s enough to keep reteaching me this vital lesson: Things are only simple when you’ve stopped asking the right questions of them, when you’ve stopped finding new ways to see them. Because what you find, when you learn how to find it, is that even simple things can be wonderfully, frustratingly, world-openingly complex.
-Gourmet Magazine, March 2008, Chasing Perfection by Francis Lam
I read that and sat there and thought about it for a few minutes. It really rang a note of trueness in my head; I felt like it described what I’ve been thinking for a while about complex things being interesting, and ideas of good and bad not coming into the equation but rather defining art and experiences into interesting and uninteresting, with the goal of always finding ways to be surprised with life.
This past week has been endlessly fascinating. It’s pretty incredible to see all of the variables of a situation I’ve only heard of but never before experienced come together like a symphony. That is what this vintage feels to me, like an orchestra coming together, performing a piece of music that’s never before been heard. The crew, grapes, pickers, weather, temperature, equipment, and a million other variables are all like instruments, and finally when the piece hits the crescendo, and the bottle is uncorked, hopefully what was created merits all of the effort and energy that went into the contents of that bottle and something marvelously special, wonderfully interesting, is poured out.
Last night at about 2 a.m. I was pressing a load of Pinot Gris and took a break to take a look and a smell at a batch of fermenting Pinot Noir. This particular ferment is intriguing to me because it seems to have a greater enthusiasm for life than the others, and has taken off like a wild horse. I held my hand over it and could feel a great deal of heat coming off of the cap and see brilliantly raspberry colored, frothy bubbles of carbon-dioxide being released. I thought about the process of the yeasts breaking down the sugars and converting them into something new, releasing the gas and heat exactly like our own bodies do through respiration and metabolism. I thought about the idea of one life, the grape, dying and decomposing, while a new life, the wine, is created and just starting to live. I don’t think there is anything simple about this art, and I am looking forward to years and years of marvelous fascination ahead of me.
April 5th, 2008 at 12:28 pm
David doesn’t know glamorous when he sees it. He needs to understand “complex” as you described it. What you wrote about the chef and about the process of grapes becoming wine, the common becoming uncommon, is true as well about other creative activities - in my case, painting. Your photo, first views of New Zealand is my desk top background today. Keep writing. It will be priceless to you in years to come, and is inspiring to other who read it. Ciao and cheers.
April 6th, 2008 at 2:43 pm
hi bri , well ive said it befor and ill say it again , you have a great way of expressing yourself so, bravo,bravo, bravisimo!!!!!!!!!!!!!! love, chuck on the east coast xo