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this is not a book. nor a cookbook. a book without the story. a cook without recipes. its about a chef. me. who refused to lower standard. even when life. everything fell apart. on the surface, i was composed. but in reality. i faced depression. anxiety. struggling. intrusive thoughts after a late ex. all while trying to pursue michelin level excellence. the discipline of refinement or obsession of hospitality was not meant to be loud. just meant to ground me. giving me one more night. i wanted to kill myself. so i kept saying 'one more night'. finding kitchens way past midnight. the searing anxiety disguised itself in productivity. the kind that looks like drive. something people praise. i just cooked. sometimes in silence. listening to what the food was saying. at the center. a love story. not sentimental. not exaggerated. shaping silence through each morsel i could conjure. sometimes. cooking as if i could change the past. alter reality by selling my soul through food. food became everything. everything that led to a single light being turned on when i got home. a sign to just cook. the book narrates the way recipes due. in stages. fragmented. direct. intentional. memories tied to techniques. plating past thoughts and moments lost in time. the external pursuit of greatness running parallel with the internal weight most dont see. i dont want my journey. my darkness to be romanticized. or inspirational. just honest tension held in contention between grief and ambition. learning to live without someone. the only person who believed in me. anxiety is recognized through constant internal measurements. depression hiding quietly between the lines. many will understand the costs. what it takes to get up each day. i can only hope that this book demonstrates that. this isn't about earning a michelin star. just me. my pursuit and why i chase one. i was stripped down to find myself. (the minded chef) just eat potatoes. be a bird, happier with a french fry.
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this is not a book. nor a cookbook. a book without the story. a cook without recipes. its about a chef. me. who refused to lower standard. even when life. everything fell apart. on the surface, i was composed. but in reality. i faced depression. anxiety. struggling. intrusive thoughts after a late ex. all while trying to pursue michelin level excellence. the discipline of refinement or obsession of hospitality was not meant to be loud. just meant to ground me. giving me one more night. i wanted to kill myself. so i kept saying 'one more night'. finding kitchens way past midnight. the searing anxiety disguised itself in productivity. the kind that looks like drive. something people praise. i just cooked. sometimes in silence. listening to what the food was saying. at the center. a love story. not sentimental. not exaggerated. shaping silence through each morsel i could conjure. sometimes. cooking as if i could change the past. alter reality by selling my soul through food. food became everything. everything that led to a single light being turned on when i got home. a sign to just cook. the book narrates the way recipes due. in stages. fragmented. direct. intentional. memories tied to techniques. plating past thoughts and moments lost in time. the external pursuit of greatness running parallel with the internal weight most dont see. i dont want my journey. my darkness to be romanticized. or inspirational. just honest tension held in contention between grief and ambition. learning to live without someone. the only person who believed in me. anxiety is recognized through constant internal measurements. depression hiding quietly between the lines. many will understand the costs. what it takes to get up each day. i can only hope that this book demonstrates that. this isn't about earning a michelin star. just me. my pursuit and why i chase one. i was stripped down to find myself. (the minded chef) just eat potatoes. be a bird, happier with a french fry.