Passion Post: FOOD!

Individuals blog for a variety of reasons. When we ask our students to blog, we attempt to give them some sort of direction so they will not spend countless hours muttering "I don't know what to write about". At the same time, we try to allow enough freedom for the students to stretch a little and dive deeper into topics of their choosing.  As with any activity, some students seem energized by blogging and the opportunity to express themselves and hash out ideas in a more modern forum and medium, while other trudge through it with grimaces and groans. This is fine. Not everyone is going to enjoy writing, although I would like to make it a little more worthwhile and rewarding for them. What I do not understand is how a person can complain about having to write a "Passion Blog" which is essentially the opportunity to write about what excites you, what lights your fire, what makes your heart beat, or what makes you think.

This post will be one of MY passion posts. I am passionate about many things. My relationships with my family. My teaching, both in the classroom and on the field. Literature of many forms. Exercise.

This post is about something I have a passion form which has brought me a great deal of pleasure as well as no small amount of frustration. What is this passion, you ask? I have an undeniable passion for food.

I love food. Entire days at the State Fair have been scheduled as to allow optimal food variety and consumption without causing the potential gastrointestinal discomfort that can come from a lack of planning in such matters. Trips to Wichita, Lawrence, and Kansas City have required carefully attention to detail so that we can enjoy the fare at specific restaurants during limited time. I jump to The Food Channel as often as I click over to ESPN, and I have watched "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" marathons on more than one occasion. I bothers me that "Good Eats" is no longer on, and I prefer "Cutthroat Kitchen" to "The Voice".

I realized recently that the only Snapchats I have sent to the limited number of friends who I have in the social circle have included shots of food I was grilling, frying, roasting, or broiling. I always said I would not be one of those people who tweets his supper at a restaurant or posts dessert on Facebook. However, snaps do not seem to bother me. I have also discovered that such snaps torture young men who do not have such delicacies at their disposal, so it has become more acceptable to send a perfectly seared pork loin or pan of bacon-wrapped peppers through cyberspace.

My passion for food goes beyond just eating, although that is an activity that I do truly enjoy.  I really enjoy cooking. I do not consider myself a "foodie", really, because I am not that sophisticated. My knife skills are primitive. I chop stuff. Or slice it. I an not sure what a proper jullienne cut is, and I had to look up exactly how to spell it correctly. I have no idea what saffron tastes like, or what dish I would use it in.

What I do know is that if you apply high heat to red meat, a chemical process occurs that alters the molecular structure of the meat, and the result is an incredible flavor that cannot be achieved in any other way. I know that if you roast garlic inside a cavity in a beef roast, it will mellow and sweeten as it imparts its flavor into the meat. I know that put tomatoes that you pick from your own garden in a weird pan with holes in it, and you place that pan on a barbecue grill, those tomatoes will caramelize, and if you blend those tomatoes together and simmer them over low heat, the sauce will evolve into something special. I took my cooking lessons from Mom, Dad, Nana, Grandma, and Huck Finn. Huck talked about how he liked stew, how the bits and pieces cooked together, each one lending its own flavor to the pot, until the mixture was much better than the bits and pieces that were dumped into the pot separately. Twain was saying many things through Huck, and I have to agree with most of them.

I am not a chef, and I will never impress anyone on a judging panel of some cooking competition show. But I know what I like, and I know that my wife and kids seldom hesitate to eat what ends up on our table. Unfortunately, I seldom fail to consume my share of what I cook either. Or seconds of most of it, most times. I like eating, and I like eating the food I cook. That is a good thing, but as with everything, too much of a good thing is no longer a good thing. I am working to stop before I take seconds. It does not work very often, but I am trying. Passion is a terrific, terrifying thing. It makes life not only worth living, but worth enjoying. It can be dangerous if uncontrolled, but it can be so valuable when directed and harnessed.

So, there is my passion post for the day. And in closing, I offer you my latest SnapStory. I made chili in between breaking down film on Saturday. I apologize for the typo. I was not wearing my glasses and did not reread it close enough. I hope you enjoy.

Reluctant Heroes and The Walking Dead (CRR)

Beowulf stood before the king of the Danes in Herot and boasted of his prowess. He slew beasts in the murky depths, dispatched trolls and she-wolves, and bathed in the blood of the enemies who foolishly challenged the Geats. Who would not want to follow such a hero into battle, whether it be against a devilish descendent of Cane or an opposing army? This is a man who knows what he wants, knows he is a hero, and will not hesitate to lay his heroic qualifications on the table.

Sir Gawain, in innocent modesty, requested from his King the honor of taking up the challenge issued by a magical knight of greenish hue. He expressed how undeserving he was to take the place of the king in stepping in so heroically, but he knew that it was his place. He was a knight, and he had his seat at the Round Table. He might blush and feign modesty, but he realized his heroic stature, and he took up the mantle with no hesitation, much to the chagrin of the older, more establish knights who sat in astonishment. And then he followed through.  He was a hero.

These are the traditional, the classic heroes of our literary history, figures that serve as examples of how we expect our leaders and our heroes to behave, not only on the page, but on the battlefield, on the political stage, in the boardroom, and in the athletic field.  However, not all heroes as so willing to stand up and snatch the mantle of heroism so boldly. Some are reluctant or even stubbornly resistant.

One week from today, The Walking Dead premieres its new season. As the audience anxiously gears up for the return of Daryl, Beth, Michonne, Rick, and Maggie, the question of who must lead this little band of survivors as they navigate the desolation of the zombie apocalypse? Some of you who are fans of the series are already shouting, "But what about Carl and Glenn? They are returning too!" Let's face it though, Glenn has become a bit of a whiny pain in the tuckess since he found love, and he does not have the "it" factor that leaders have, even though he wishes he did. Maggie has it, and I think that may be the issue for Glenn. He wants to be the protector her father thought he could be when he gave them his blessing, and he is doing his best to fill that role. He is just not a leader of men. And Carl? Let's just say that every episode that Carl evades the teeth of a walker and instead talks trash on a sleeping father or pigs out on a gallon of chocolate pudding, thousands of viewers are disappointed.

What is the world does this have to do with Beowulf and Sir Gawain? Heroes. Those two literary heroes were confident and willing, bold and anxious. That is the classic hero. However, literature, and life, often turns to a different type of hero, one burdened with reluctance. The reluctant hero.

The two main characters who seem to be presented as hero in the journey of The Walking Dead are Rick and Daryl. Maggie may prove, in the end, to be a true leader, but she has not developed fully in that direction. Michonne is an enforcer, a sergeant at arms, loyal and willing to do the dirty work, but she is not a leader. Hershel is dead. He is out. Rick and Daryl. Heroes?

Rick was presented in the early episodes of the series as the obvious hero. He was hero before the world turned dark, literally turned dark for him as he spent the period of plunge that the world experienced in a coma. He was a sheriff deputy, and took a bullet in that role. When he joined the group in the woods after awakening and weaving his way out of an urban jungle of the undead, they immediately looked to the badge and the hat to lead them to safety. Well, everyone except Shane did, but the whole taking his best friend's wife as his own and then learning he had potentially fathered a child who would possibly call Rick "Dad" made that a difficult situation. For a time, Rick seemed to desire that role of hero. Then, when things got truly difficult, Rick backed away. He hung up his gun, and he deserted his post as hero. It was someone else's turn. Michonne, Hershel, Glenn, anyone could pick of the banner, and he did not care who, as long as it was not him. Carol tried to be heroic, and Rick banished her, for she had done what he could not do, and what he had decided he could not stop her from doing. He now wants to be a hero again, for his annoying son, who has vacillated between bratty prepubescent  to rebel without a clue to innocent child. I am sorry Rick, bailing on the hero role at a critical time makes you much less heroic, no matter how much you embrace the role later.

So, that leaves us with Daryl. By Daryl's own admission, he was nothing before the fall of the civilized world. He was the brother of criminal methhead who was raised to be nothing but a drain on society. However, as Beth told him before they torched the shack that represented his past and her desire to give up, it does not matter what he was before; it is what he is now that matters, and that is all that matters. A hero.

Daryl may not be a leader of men, but he is a hero. He does not want to be because by being heroic, he becomes more than he ever thought he was destined to become, something more than a drain on whatever society provided the fringe that "his kind" hung on to. Despite his reluctance, however, he had to be a hero. He puts others before himself. Not the way Rick tries to do, but in a truly sincere, unselfish way. From the first time the redneck biker pulled on the leather vest adorned with a guardian angel's wings, he was the hero of the group, no matter how far away from that distinction he attempted to ride. He rode for supplies when that is what they needed, not because baby formula would keep his daughter alive, but because it would keep someone else's little one alive. He searched for a lost girl, not because doing so would earn him favor or make his life easier, but because she was all another human being had left to live for, and he had to do what he could. He took a seat on the leadership counsel, not because he wanted to lead, but because he knew that counsel would have to make difficult decisions, decisions Rick would not be strong enough to make, and he was the guy who could tell it like it was, and everyone would know the reasons were sound and true.

Even taking Beth to swig her first buzz-inducing taste of moonshine was somewhat heroic. She needed to go through some relatively normal rite of passage in a world where nothing normal seemed to exist. He allowed her to do that in a protected environment. At the same time, he needed to allow her into his sphere, to let her inside his circle, where she could trust him and he could allow her to do do that. He needed a moment of vulnerability, even though he could not admit it to anyone, which would allow him to deal with the guilt he had placed upon himself. That's what heroes do. They put the pressure to be heroes on themselves, even when is unfair to do so, and then they find a way to be a hero. Sometimes heroes need a hug. And to burn stuff. And then flip it off. In doing so, he accepted the fact that he was more in the world than he was ever expected to be, and that he could flip the bird at his loser self from that time so long ago. It did not matter what he was before. It only mattered what he had become. And he had become a hero.

Daryl is a literary hero, and his heroes journey is progressing. Our literary heroes serve as examples to those of us who live in the more mundane realities that we call our real world. Daryl, no matter how reluctantly, is such an example, just as Beowulf and Gawain before him.

 There are some truly horribly written and acted television shows and movies. However, when someone gets it right, it is as powerful as what Hemingway, Dickens, Shakespeare, and Twain put to the page. Good literature, no matter what the medium, is neat.