Month: May 2017

Our Culinary Conundrum

What’s the universal language?

Some would say love. Or numbers. And they wouldn’t be wrong.

Both have brought us together and torn us apart. They’ve allowed us to sustain and grow over the millennia.

And they’re consistent around the globe. But that might be a problem.

You see, language is defined as much by its variations as by its meaning. By the differences between a Boston accent and a Minnesota one. By the chasm between French and French-Canadian.

The concept of love doesn’t quite have these distinct variations. And the world of numbers is standardized by definition. Due to these concrete realities, I feel that neither of them qualifies as the universal form of expression.

So, what do I consider the universal language?

Food.

Much like love and basic arithmetic, we need food to survive. But the way we go about satisfying that need varies greatly by palette, dietary restrictions and region.

Yes, much like traditional language, food certainly has its intricacies. A sandwich filled with sliced steak might be known as a Philly Cheesesteak, a French Dip, or an Italian Beef — depending on how and where it’s prepared. Although these dishes have a similar base, they’re actually quite distinct.

Our palette for these variations has spurred its own word — cuisine. And if we happen to live in a major metropolitan area, there’s a pretty good chance that we can explore much of what the world of cuisine has to offer without hitting the road or hopping on a jet.

Yet, this appears to be changing.

***

I’ve lived in North Texas for the past several years. While there are many things to love about Dallas, the wide variety of food options is certainly high on the list. In fact, I’ve had everything from Cuban sandwiches to Cajun delicacies, Nashville-style Hot Chicken to Texas barbecue in or around Dallas.

Lately, however, I’ve seen those options dwindling. New restaurants in resurgent parts of town have abruptly closed up shop, and regional chains have shuttered many of their locations. Abandoned restaurant properties now line the highways and major intersections like an eyesore.

The bursting of the restaurant bubble has left me in a bit of a bind. I now have to drive further to get something other than fast food, Chili’s or quick-service Mexican fare. And if I have a hankering for something like the aforementioned Italian Beef, I might be out of luck entirely. (Despite the large influx of Chicago transplants in Dallas, Illinois-style eateries have struggled to find traction.)

At the same time that restaurant selection is dwindling, so are my options at the supermarket. In the past year, my grocer has pulled several varieties of cold cuts from the deli and stopped supplying basic items such as sausage buns, skirt steak and coarse ground beef. This has forced me to either improvise or drive to a competing grocer for supplies when making such basic dishes as fajitas, chili or bratwurst.

I understand the financial realities that have led to these cutbacks. Commercial rents in are rising — both in North Texas and across the United States — but people are still unwilling to help cover that increase by paying more for their meals or groceries. It’s an equation that doesn’t add up, so culinary variety inevitably ends up on the chopping block.

Still, I’m discouraged by these cutbacks. On one hand, it limits my options and makes cooking more challenging. On the other, it shows that our society doesn’t varied meal options.

Consider the implications of this shift:

  • Food is being constrained into two classes: Widely accessible junk and highly restricted healthy options. If you don’t want fatty burgers, greasy pizza or gooey mac and cheese, you’ll most likely have to spend extra time, fuel and money to get something better for you — or even something different.
  • Dietary issues are ignored. Despite the best efforts of the gluten-free Millennial revolution, cutbacks on food options mean those of us with actual sensitivities to wheat, dairy, sodium or processed fats often find ourselves struggling to find a suitable meal option.
  • We’re lowering the bar. While we must adapt to dwindling food options, we can at least remember that there was once a greater amount culinary variety lining both the streets and the store shelves. But if the current trend holds, the next generation won’t have this perspective — which means it will be less likely to be reversed.

None of this is ideal. But while we’ve been complicit in our culinary demise, we’re not at the point of no return.

***

If we can see the value in our universal language and recommit to exploring it en masse, we can turn the tide.

That means swallowing our pride a bit, and getting out of our comfort zone. It means putting an end to our crusade to pinch pennies when filling our mouths — a losing proposition anyway, given the expensive health issues junk food leads to down the line.

It means committing to try new things and support the establishments that provide them to us. If restaurants see the cash register ringing, they’re more likely to thrive. And if items are flying off supermarket shelves, they’re less likely to end up in closeout.

Ultimately, it means using our collective voice to serve notice that we demand more options, more variety and more accessibility. The Internet age has given us the tools to do this, but we must do it together.

Don’t let our universal language suffer the fate that the Comanche, Welsh and Latin languages did. Our culinary future is at stake, and we have the booming voice needed to make a stand. Let’s use it.

Our Double Standard

Few concepts are as taboo as that of the double standard.

Hypocrites in our society might as well wear a scarlet letter. They’ve broken the cardinal rule.

After all, there’s a reason why phrases like Say what you mean, mean what you say or Talk the talk, walk the walk are gospel. We strive to be treated with honesty and respect, and we don’t like having our time wasted with lies and deception.

In an inherently unfair world, these unwritten rules are the closest thing to a pact we’ve got.

So, we might as well continue our credo, right? We might as well eradicate any semblance of double standards that remain?

Not exactly.

I’m actually a proponent of double standards, when it comes to the bar we set for ourselves. That’s the level of excellence we strive to meet as a person, an intellectual and a member of society.

I believe we should set that bar higher for ourselves than our friends, family and loved ones. That we should always demand a higher level of excellence of ourselves while not being too demanding on others.

It creates a chasm of hypocrisy, sure. But a worthwhile one at that.

You see, if we were to raise the bar of expectations for everyone in our circle, we would run the risk of pushing them away. We’d likely come off as cold and demanding — two terms that are not exactly conducive for social interaction.

We don’t make friends, associate with family members or fall in love with our soulmate in order to demand more out of them. No, we interact with these people so that we can just be. We strive to soak up life’s moments with them, rather than asking more of them at all times.

We might not agree with everything those in our circle say or do. But for the most part, we understand that they’re fine the way they are; that’s what drew us to associate with them in the first place.

When it comes to ourselves though, change is always needed. We can always do more to fix our flaws, expand our knowledge base and improve our relationship with those we care about. Taking the view that we’re fine the way we are is dangerous, as it short circuits this mission.

So, we’re obligated to set the bar higher for ourselves. And when we reach that bar, we’re obligated to set it even higher — or else we risk getting stuck in the mud.

This all sets up a new kind of double standard — on built on honesty and truth. We’re staying true to ourselves by demanding continually increasing excellence, and staying true to the members our circle by not forgetting what it is that brought them into the fold.

There’s a balance in this setup, one between changing and maintaining. A balance worth standing behind.

So, let’s pursue this double standard in lieu of the others. It’s a win-win.

Award Mentality Aversion

I still remember the first award I ever received.

OK, that’s a lie. I grew up during the beginning of the dreaded “Participation Trophy” era, so I surely got some ribbons or certificates for preschool activities that I can no longer recall.

But the first award that ever had any weight to it — I got it more than half my life ago.

It was for a top 15 finish in a Cross Country race — the charter school state championship race for freshmen.

I remember taking my medal and thinking, “I deserve this.”

You see, I was a scrawny kid back then. Couldn’t have weighed more than a buck thirty. I didn’t much care for running long distances, but I did want to play baseball. So, when the Junior Varsity baseball coach approached me about joining the Cross Country team (which he also coached), I was in no position to say no.

But I was also in no position to succeed.

The idea of pushing myself to the limit was a bridge too far for my 14-year-old self. So, I ate greasy food and downing sodas before practice. I walked backcountry portions of the course. And I counted down the days until I wouldn’t have to run quarter mile windsprints uphill in a driving rainstorm.

When I won that medal in the last race of the year, I viewed it as my reward for time served. I walked away from Cross Country, never to return.

Only now — 15 years later —  am I running outdoors regularly again.

***

I still remember the second award I ever received.

I got it my senior year of college, at the student TV awards ceremony. It was a ceremony I helped organize, through my role as treasurer of the student broadcast council.

I spent most of the evening sitting near the back of the courtyard where the ceremony was being held. I deliberately stayed out of the spotlight, as my friends and mentors picked up well-deserved accolades for their work with UMTV — our college TV station.

This night was about them, and I was happy just to be a part of it.

One of the final awards of the evening was the Rex Pompadur Award, honoring exceptional service to UMTV. I was preparing to applaud the winner when I heard:

“And the award goes to…Dylan Brooks.”

I froze.

“Is Dylan here?” the presenter asked.

Still stunned, I shakily stood up and took the long walk to the podium, nearly tripping over an audio cable on the way there. I sheepishly accepted the award to loud applause. Then I took the long walk back to my seat, wondering what in the world had just happened.

Never in a million years did I think I would win an award that night. And when I did, my only thought was, “I don’t deserve this.”

Don’t get me wrong. I was proud to volunteer many hours of my week to writing and producing various news and sportcasts on UMTV. But there were so many others who put in just as much time, if not more.

I felt the award belonged to them, not me. In fact, I felt so strongly about this that I emailed the UMTV faculty advisors, asking to return the award. They refused my request, explaining that I was indeed worthy of the award. So, I reluctantly held on it.

***

Fast forward to today. I still have both awards.

The Rex Pompadur award sits on a display tower in my living room, underneath only two items — a picture of my family at Christmas and my grandfather’s Naval portrait from World War II. The Cross Country medal is hidden in a closet.

The placement of these items speaks volumes.

You see, I’ve grown a lot in the years since I first put that medal around my neck. In particular, I’ve learned that nothing in life is granted, and that a life chasing accolades is a life wasted.

I’ve come to appreciate the journey over the destination, the grind over the glory. And I’ve witnessed firsthand how helping others to achieve their hopes and dreams can help me achieve mine more than a plaque, medal or framed certificate ever could.

In short, I’ve developed a healthy aversion to the award mentality, and all it represents.

Today, I’d rather display the award I didn’t expect — and the one I didn’t feel I deserved — to the one I desired for all the wrong reasons. It’s a better representation of who I am and what I stand for.

And while I’m not one to throw stones, I do feel the world would be a better place if more of us practiced Award Mentality Aversion.

For the dogged quest for trophies and accolades runs can corrupt us, keeping us from being team players. It can lead to self-absorbedness and narcissism, and make us less likely to share and communicate.

This is a particularly problematic trend in our divisive society. And it runs counter to the spirit of awards, which are meant to be more an honor than a giveaway.

But it’s not too late for us to change the narrative. It’s not too late to shun the award mentality and focus on what really matters.

Ready to begin?

Eyes Wide Open

It’s amazing what a bit of perspective can do.

As I grow older, it seems that I’ve finally got my eyes wide open.

Everything is coming into focus. Not only the way the world works and where I fit within it. But also the way I work, and how that affects those around me.

These types of things took time, experience and deep introspection to fully grasp. Yet, once I did grasp them, I found myself full of regret.

Regret for the ignorance of my youth. Regret for the way I once treated those closest to me. Regret for the biased worldview I once carried with me.

Yes, the error of my prior ways rang true and clear. And all I could do is play the What If game, wishing that my current perspective on life also existed in years gone by.

This, of course, is ridiculous.

Our mind doesn’t come fully loaded. We must experience, learn and grow in order to build perspective.

It’s a process that takes time, patience — and a lot of mistakes. To err is human, because the lessons from those errors allow us to explore the boundaries between right and wrong.

This first-hand experience can be messy at times, and even cringe-worthy in hindsight. But it’s also essential.

For without this, we can’t have perspective. We can’t have meaningful introspection. We can’t get to the point where our eyes are wide open.

And that’s a spot worth getting to.

So, let’s take all those regrets we might have for our prior ignorance and replace them with a new sensation — gratitude.

Let’s be grateful for the road we have traveled. For the lessons we have learned. For those who have continually stood by us, even back when we were naïve and immature.

Let’s be grateful for our newfound perspective, and for the time we have ahead of us to apply it to our experiences. Let’s be grateful for all we have now, and for all the great things that could be in store for us moving forward.

Most of all, let’s forge ahead with a clear mind and a full heart.

For while much can be learned from the past, life can’t be lived there.

Best to be looking forward with eyes wide open.

Sharing the Burden

It’s not you. It’s me.

We’ve heard this cliché line again and again. And we know it means bad news.

Regardless whether these words come during a breakup or the breakdown of a business partnership, they effectively mean, “It’s over.”

Or, more accurately, “It’s over ‘cause I said it’s over. You had no hand in the decision.”

What a load of bull.

Of course, the other party had a hand in the decision, whether they know it or not. And pretending to fall on one’s sword over who’s to blame only serves to paint that other party as the villain.

It’s a twisted bit of guilt-tripping that paints a gray world as black and white.

Here’s the truth: If it takes two to make a thing go right, it takes two to make a thing go wrong as well. Partnerships are a shared burden. And when things break down beyond repair, both parties are culpable for letting go of that burden.

Now, this is not to say that all blame gets split 50-50. There are times in any partnership where one half of the equation might not act in good faith. Spouses might cheat, business partners might act fraudulently and friends might make selfish choices. In these instances, the blame for these actions fall on the offending parties alone.

Forgiveness could understandably be fleeting in times like these, as the moral ground has clearly been tilted. But if these feelings of tension and anger lead to the end of a partnership, the blame goes both ways.

For the fact remains that both parties once agreed to enter into that partnership in good faith. The dissolution of that partnership — justified or not — is the very definition of bad faith.

In the wake of this decision, the hoodwinked party should not be considered a victim. Instead, they’re guilty of dealing themselves a bad hand — even if 20-20 Hindsight is the only way they could know it. And they will ultimately have to pay the price for the decision they made — a price that will manifest itself in the ashes and scars of a once-promising agreement that goes down in flames.

So, don’t be fooled: There are no winners when a partnership breaks down. The responsibility weighs heavy, and both parties are eternally beholden to sharing the burden. Punting or posturing will only get them crushed in the end.

Put “It’s not you. It’s me” out of your mind. The only word that matters is us.