Gastronomicom II- A Retrospection

There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting. -Buddha

My mother, being the ever-curious woman that she is, asked me the most challenging question when I returned from France. She asked, "What weren't you prepared for?" I think she expected me to say something about the language, the cultural differences, a certain skill or expectation at school, but despite it being a difficult answer, without hesitation I responded, "Coming home."


Coming home was hard for so many reasons. I left behind amazing people. People I fell in love with in two short months. People I carry with me into an unwritten future. I left behind a lifestyle of 24- hour learning. Learning from my instructors, from my friends, from the country and from within. A life of pure independence unchained from bills, taxes, social obligation and expectation. And most importantly a life of freedom to spend every day unapologetically consumed with what I love- food. Coming home felt like returning to a cage. To a life that never before had seemed dull but now seemed achingly monochromatic in comparison to my technicolor escape. My flight or fight response was heightened and in some cases I attempted both.

Don't get me wrong, of course I missed home. My husband. My family. My friends. And ultimately it's all of those things that drew me back from the brink of an existentially fueled leap. But I felt completely changed by the experience, as dramatic and narcissistic as that sounds, and I didn't want to backslide. To digress into the person I was before France. Complacent. Ready with an excuse. Scared.

And I realized something, somewhere between watching inflight movies and crying over Iceland on the way home; I had a choice. A choice to make room in my life for continued learning and growth. I had a part to play in how this shook out. I wasn't choosing to throw all caution to the wind and start a drastically new life...yet, but that didn't mean I was giving up or caving in. I was making a choice. A choice that would open up other choices for me down the road. There was no right or wrong. And more importantly I didn't succumb to death by decision paralysis. Shudder.

The other challenging question I've been asked is, "What did I learn?" Woof. I don't think it's possible to catalogue everything I learned so I'll jot down a few and then get to the important one. I learned how to speak French, un petit peu, and how to use agar agar. I learned how to guestimate the weather in Celsius and about a hundred dirty words for different parts of the human body. I learned protein breakdown techniques, new knife skills and the difference in French flours. I learned about the wind in the south of France and politics in Australia. Gravitational waves in space and kibbutz kitchens in Tel Aviv. I learned how to make chimneys, form parchment paper pastry bags, temper chocolate without a thermometer and decorate BB-8.

But the most important thing I learned was to not be afraid to make a mistake. Seriously. This may not seem like a big deal but to me it was huge. Surprise, surprise I'm a bit of a perfectionist. My first week at school I was so worried about making a mistake I didn't try anything creative. A very talented, southern girl told me early on, "We're students. We're not expected to do everything right the first time," and it's stuck with me ever since. I felt free. Free to experiment and try new things. Maybe I made a few more flops in cuisine but I really learned too. Learned what didn't work as much as I learned what did.

This was critically important when I started taking French class the second month. I rely heavily on verbal communication (again surprise, surprise) and now I was forced to face the reality that I was going to sound like a child because I was speaking something other than my mother-tongue. And that was ok. The worst thing I could do was not try. To not start.

The more I opened up to making mistakes the more vulnerable I became. Naturally, this is uncomfortable, but the more open I became, the more I began to really appreciate the vulnerability in others. Even the instructors were always looking for ways to learn by asking if they didn't know something.  This was a community of teachers. Not just a classroom with students.

And while I still find myself sensitive to acknowledgement of my mistakes it is motivational too. (I can now say mille feuille properly btw) What was I so afraid of? What are we all so afraid of? When did not knowing something become reason to hide rather than an opportunity to learn?

So go out there and make some mistakes. Be brave. Approach a problem with determination and persistence. Find a solution. Even if it takes fifty tries, a hundred or even if you never get it right. Learning is growing and growing is everything. Don't let anyone stop you, not even you. Surround yourself with people who aren't afraid to make mistakes and who will support you through yours. And when you find those people, you'll know you're home.

Me? I'm going to try macarons again. One success in eight attempts? I'm out for revenge now!