During icebreakers where we often have to share a bit of surprising information with new colleagues, I generally offer the same “secret”: You may not believe this by judging my size, but I love to eat. I elicited the same chuckles from my peers at the magazine where I interned as I did at the two telecommunications companies where I previously worked. But my revelation meant more at the mag.
Having applied near the end of the spring semester, which is usually the last minute for such coveted positions, I prayed for the food desk intern position. I always had some desire to write for a magazine. Granted I envisioned a beauty editor’s position with Essence, but I experimented more with food than I did with cosmetics.
While many of us only consume for nourishment, I also eat for pure enjoyment, savoring every bite. I especially enjoy complex flavors: salty and sweet (chocolate-covered bacon) or briny and spicy (oysters-on-a-half-shell topped with a hot relish) or spicy and sweet (crispy calamari with a side of pepper jelly.)
I’m open to new cuisines, but I’m no Andrew Zimmern. Certain animal organs and parts – tongues, livers, heads and feet – shouldn’t mix with mine. And I’m rarely a picky eater. Although I love bananas, don’t mix one into a smoothie and expect me to drink it. The banana overpowers the other fruits. But I’ll eat the bananas in a dessert. Or don’t add walnuts to my cookies, brownies, cakes or breads. The textures are unbalanced. But I’ll gladly eat the walnuts in my salad. Despite my little idiosyncrasies, I won’t outright wrinkle my nose at a dish without even trying it first. And I won’t add steak sauce to my New York strip or ketchup to my Chicago-style hotdog.
Keeping one eye open to new food spots and trends was one of my pastimes since working fulltime cut into my pseudo-chef time. I often dined out for breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner. The new burger joint with the side of jumbo, grilled asparagus in Arlington? Yeah, I went there for an extended lunch. The upscale, Italian cafeteria-style establishment in Reston? I already patronized the DC location during a pre-Christmas gathering. And about that cocktail. Fresh herbs and infused syrups are in, not the bottled mixers!
That position was mine.
For about two months, that is, as I impatiently waited for the school refund that was earmarked for my basic living and commuting expenses to and from class and work. Daily concentration was impaired. Suddenly, traveling a mere eight miles let alone eating for sustenance became nearly impossible. As counterintuitive as it sounds, I needed money to maintain my job! But my refund seemed to be a priority only to me.
I began to doubt not only my decision to attend a community college as the vehicle to a new career, especially after a seamless experience at a four-year university, but also my career choice as a food writer. My inner food critic morphed into just an inner critic that fed me lies. Writing about food took the fun out of eating, anyway. Who wants to pose her food and then eat it? It’ll be cold! I unpublished my personal food blog posts and eventually buried my magazine articles. I even downplayed the exclusive event invitations. Yeah, I attended a cook-off between a top regional chef and a top South American chef and ate eight delectable courses. No big deal.
But I had garnered an audience, albeit a small one. The members started sharing with others the blog that I no longer updated. They asked me when I was going to post again. I tried to divert them to my other blog, but the reply was the same: “There’s no food on that one!” Yet, I cringed each time I saw a Skinny DC Foodie email or a new Twitter follower. I simply wanted the blog to disappear, but something just wouldn’t allow me to deactivate the accounts.
Around Christmas, I started trying my tested recipes on my family members. “This is good! What did you put on these pork chops?” I started snapping food flicks again, just in case.
Then I saw a “Today Show” segment on the Miami Wine and Food Festival. Giada De Laurentiis was instructing Willie Geist how to mix gnocchi while onlookers appeared to hope for a sample. But my reawakening was less about the dish and more about the camaraderie and my passion for food and drink. I pictured myself there as a representative of a foodie magazine. I remembered how I want to pen articles for numerous food publications and ultimately serve as a guest judge on “Top Chef.” That was the moment I decided to revive my food blog.
As I draft my “first” blog post, I reflect on how perhaps the issue isn’t with what I choose to do but how I choose to get there, although an internship would have been more improbable without having been a student at the time. But no matter how short-lived my internship, I gained experience, authority, credibility and a revised answer to the tell-us-something-we-don’t-know-about-you icebreaker request. I love to eat. And now I write about it.
