{"id":134,"date":"2020-06-01T22:03:38","date_gmt":"2020-06-01T22:03:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/?p=134"},"modified":"2020-06-02T02:42:44","modified_gmt":"2020-06-02T02:42:44","slug":"audacity","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/audacity\/","title":{"rendered":"Audacity"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
by Annie Jessee<\/h6>\n\n\n\n
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The Roots of Audacity<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The creek was cold\nand dark: a murky abyss where treasures were found. It was only with a speedy\ndip of a hand that you would be successful. Trusting your instinct, finding\nyour inner jaguar. Sydney, my step-sister, a year younger, was the best of us.\nShe would square up with the edge of the creek and assume a squatting position;\nbefore you could blink your eyes, she was holding three, glistening, light-brown\ncreepy crawlers in each of her hands. These were crawdads, and we loved to\ncatch them. Long day adventures in our backyard, a 300+ acre forest, had us\nmunching on grubs, worms and other insects we found under the moss of logs. It\nwas all a great game at that time, searching for the best treasures, kind of\nlike Pumba, from Disney\u2019s The Lion King<\/em>. No thought crossed our minds to\ngo in for lunch, of which there wasn\u2019t much. Sometimes, however, we would sneak\nthrough the house on tip toes to the kitchen pantry to make the Hot Dog Bun Special.\nIt was always a stale bun, lathered with JIF Peanut Butter and Log Cabin Maple Syrup. It may\nseem like an odd creation, but it was all we ever had to work with, so we made\ndo. As young kiddos, we loved it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was quite the\nbumpy, unreliable rollercoaster from ages 3 to 10. Switching schools, moving\nevery three months, eating happy meal upon happy meal. What I do remember well,\nare the times we ate together because to me eating was about sharing and giving\nto those you love. Being able to have so many of us together was unmatchable. I\nwas probably 8 or 9 when we moved in with my grandparents. At the same time, my\nAunt Monica, her husband, and 8 children moved in as well. Imagine, 15 people:\n5 adults and 10 children living in a two-bedroom Rambler, with 5 beds, one\ncouch and no dining table. Also, think of the smell that your great-grandmothers\nhouse had: dusty, dog-like, damp, and covered in knick-knacks. On the weekend, grandpa\nwould say, \u201cCaren, here is 60 bucks, go out up to that place on Sheridan Ave\nand buy some pizzas for the lot of us.\u201d My mother would take the money, stick\nit in her bra and yell down the hall, \u201cAny of you little monsters want to help\nme get pizza?\u201d I loved any moment alone with her, so I climbed out of the kid\nmountain yelling, \u201cMe! Me, Mom, I\u2019m coming, one sec, wait! Don\u2019t leave without\nme!\u201d We would come back promptly with a giant stack of cheese pizzas. By the\ntime I had reached the kitchen, the stack of pizza boxes clear over my own head\nwere nearly empty. You couldn\u2019t step into the house with hot, fresh food and\nnot have at least two cousins waiting for you at the door. Once I had settled\nmyself on grandfather\u2019s lap with a sloppy slice, everyone else was on piece\nthree or four. The twins would wrestle on the ground at grandpa\u2019s feet, and the\nadults shared the couch watching the kids play.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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My mom, sister, and me at the beach.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

When my mom had made\nsome extra money, we (my mother, sister and I) would sneak away from the chaos\nat home and head to the ocean. Jumping over waves, eating Cutie mandarins,\ncollecting rocks. We would bask in the sun from morning to late afternoon,\nlaughing, running and burying each other in the sand. Once my sister became so tired,\nthe point at which she couldn\u2019t stand anymore (a toddler she was),  my mom would yell to me at the tide pool,\n\u201cCome on Ann, Emmy is tuckered out, it\u2019s about burger time anyway.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Wave jumping<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Fat Smitty\u2019s, Highway 101, Discovery Bay.  A small cluttered, dimly lit, greasy burger joint. With the famous \u2018Fat Smitty Burger\u2019 for $11.50: $13 with fries, +$1 for bacon. Now I\u2019m sure you are asking yourself. What. On. Earth. Well, maybe not, these days, burgers cost more and do not even come with fries! But ten years ago, this was high and a huge treat, that I begged for the whole car ride. I was twelve for goodness sake, and to take on the burger challenge was a major deal. A double decker sandwich with two \u00bd pound patties, American cheese and veggie accompaniments. And of course, I wanted fries, oh and bacon, duh. It arrived shortly, and well just the size of the thing was enough to make my stomach drop. All I could think was, \u2018How on Earth am I going to defeat this monster?\u2019 Let me take you back though, to the moment I ordered the burger. A wide-eyed waitress, asked me twice, if I meant the Fat Smitty Burger with fries and bacon, Not until the third time did my mother interject to say, \u201cMa-am yes, she has begged all the way here to eat this burger, and she wants it all, and if I know my Annie, she is going to eat it ALL.\u201d Well, I knew then, I was GOING to finish that burger, NO MATTER WHAT. <\/em>Flashback to the grand arrival. And was it grand, the cook came out from the kitchen to hand off the burger to the tiny kid at table 3 (My mom said in a retelling later). Ten minutes in and I was rolling. I still remember the first bite. Juicy, melt in your mouth good. Freshly cut lettuce, in those shreds that end up falling all over your plate. Cheese, perfectly melting down the sides of the patty, and a stout bun with sesame seeds blanketing the top. This was a good burger. My mom likes to tell people about forty minutes in, when I was the only one left eating at our table. A group of large burly motorcycle men had all ordered the same as I had. Probably 50 years my senior, had received their burgers and were asking for boxes. When they did, the waitress just laughed at them, and said \u201cWow, have you seen the kid behind you, she\u2019s accomplishing what none of you men couldn\u2019t!\u201d If you can imagine it now, 5 strangers all huddled around our table, cheering and ahhing at the twelve year old kid who was about to finish the biggest burger, this side of the Mississippi. I would say it took me about an hour to reach the finish line. Bloated like a puffer fish, smiling ear to ear then passing out in the back of Mas\u2019 beater.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    Emmy sizes up the Fat Smitty Burger<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li>
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    Post Fat Smitty takedown<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><\/ul><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

    Being\na child of divorced parents, I would say I have lived two very different eating\nlives. Looking back, the early years were dismal. However, things started to\nreally change when my dad found love after a long slumber in the dark divorce\nyears. Her name was Alex, she was hip, super tall and knew everything about\nplants. A wonder to me, age 6, captivated by all the marvels she could and would\nteach me. The biggest thing that happened at this time was a complete diet\nshift. While at mom\u2019s, the menu consisted of some fast food item, and at dad\u2019s\nthere were salads, full meals. My dad was sparked with curiosity in cuisine and\nbegan experimenting with traditional dishes from all over the world. In all\ntruth I think there was some level of impression being set, but at the time I\nwas just a kid and was loving the audacity my dad had found in the kitchen. Now\nsince Alex had come into our lives, boxes of pop tarts and Kraft Mac and Cheese,\nwere absolutely a no no. It was a salad with every meal or a salad being the\nmain event of the meal. She was creative too and would make fancy sweets at\nbreakfast time, but her passion to teach me about vegetables, how they grow and\nwhy they are good for us was overwhelming in the most positive way. I was about\n10 when I distinctly recall having a week of only fast food with my mother. It\nwas lunch time, so we stopped by McDonalds before getting dropped off at my\nfathers. I remember walking into the house, looking around the door to see my\nfather and stepmother eating large chef\u2019s salads. I dropped the happy meal in\nmy hand to the ground and immediately broke into a fit, crying and begging to\nhave a salad instead of the terrible food from McD\u2019s. It was at this time, a\nmajor shift happened within me. I remember my mother after that day always\npassive aggressively asking me if something was \u201cgood\u201d enough, or healthy\nenough for me to have. I became greatly invigorated by the type of food we were\neating and where it came from. While I\nstill craved the occasional burger or French fries, I wanted to support the\nbulk of my diet with stuff I could grow, or that my family was growing. \n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    Alex holding a giant plant from her garden.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

    Audacious Moments, Drastic\nMeasures<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    The year is 2015.\nI\u2019m a junior at Olympic High School, sitting in front of a computer screen taking\none of those \u2018future career path\u2019 tests. The ones where you answered a hundred BS\nquestions on your likes and dislikes as a person, only to reveal the computer\nthinks you should be an accountant. This is the moment I laugh because as it\nturns out the only class I\u2019m not passing with an A, is Math. And why on Earth\nam I being told by a computer what I will be the happiest and most successful doing?\nWhat I truly wanted to do was something with food. I wasn\u2019t sure what it would be,\nbut I loved the idea of becoming the world\u2019s best Chef!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    I would preach\nabout my restaurant, writing business plans and giving presentations about the\npath to becoming an Executive Chef. At the end of senior year, I signed everyone\u2019s\nyearbook with a note that said, \u2018This is your FREE ticket to my future Farm to\nTable Restaurant. Don\u2019t forget it!\u2019 I spent months applying, and I applied for\nscholarship after scholarship, hoping to make enough money for The Culinary\nInstitute of America (CIA). From the information I had gathered, it was to be\nthe most prestigious; it was a four-year university dedicated to teaching the\nart of cooking. I had bought the first year\u2019s textbook so I could be ahead of\nthe curve. Reading food\nmemoirs and watching Anthony Bourdain travel the world eating made me elated to\nbegin culinary school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Whelp. If you\nthought that the next thing I would tell you was, \u201cIt was everything I could\nhave ever dreamed it would be!\u201d Let me remind you, Disney did not write this\nstory, as it is no Fairy Tale. What really happened was, my GPA was too low, my\nAP scores were too low, and my SAT score was, you guessed it, too low. And I\ndid not win all the scholarships I had excitedly applied for. As well, I could\nnot get enough FAFSA to cover the CIA without putting myself in major debt year\none. So, I opted for the quaint community college in West Seattle; it was easy,\nI could take a ferry there every morning and I would spend far less time in\nschool. Two and a half years, not four, and man were those years interesting. It\nwas during this time that I had decided I would eat anything. The thought was,\n\u201cWell, if I am to be the greatest Chef, I must not hyper focus on expressing\nmyself as a chef, but instead take the time to learn a little bit from everyone,\nand where and why they do the things they do with food. To learn every technique, style and type of cooking.\u201d\nThis was the way I would reach the pinnacle. And man did I go for it! I would stay\nextra hours for Competition class, where we would time ourselves breaking down\nchickens, filleting fish and tourne-ing potatoes. I would work every food event\non campus and became what some would call the Program\u2019s Representative. I even\ngot the chance to plan the school garden boxes outside the kitchen. Sadly, I\nwas the only one to ever harvest from them for the program, but I took\nas many opportunities to teach my peers about the flowers and herbs for\ngarnishes as I could.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    Fresh herbs A.K.A. soon to be garnishes.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

    It was during these three-ish years\nthat I fell in love with the art and history of French cooking. It was\nblissfully romantic. I was studying under Chef Robert Houot, from Alsace\n(Southern France). I decided to focus on Charcuterie exclusively. Spending\ncountless hours in the \u2018Meat Room\u2019, I started making a cookbook for the school\u2019s\nprogram. As the Program\u2019s Representative on campus, I also made beautiful\nCharcuterie boards for staff events, school events, and fundraising events. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    The best work I\u2019ve ever done in my whole life was this Charcuterie.
    It absolutely blew everyone away, even Chef Houot.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

    In my last\nquarter, I decided that the brutal years I had just gone through as a full-time\nstudent and full time cook in downtown Seattle would not be for nothing. I hadn\u2019t\nspent much time with family or friends. Actually, if you were to ask my mother,\nshe would complain to you for hours about the ghost child coming in at 1am from\nwork and sneaking out at 4am to go to school. It was nuts. Utterly crazy. I\nwasn\u2019t eating well, sleeping well, or socializing at all. So, in a desperate\nmove on December 17th<\/sup> of 2017, after I graduated the Culinary\nProgram at South Seattle Community College, I quit my job and bought a $1,600 ticket\nto Auckland, New Zealand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    I had absolutely\nno plan. My mother would not have it. She hung up when I told her over the\nphone. My father high fived me, and my friends questioned why. Hell, even I was\nasking: why? How did I make such a crazy decision on a whim, to go to a place that\nwas 7,000 miles away? After all the hours I had spent commuting, breaking my\nback, getting yelled at, being alone: I had had enough. So, I bought the ticket\non the 17th<\/sup> of December to leave on the 5th<\/sup> of January. Less\nthan a month later, I would be headed to a place I knew nothing about. This was\nto be my great culinary odyssey; I wanted to be the chef that knew how to do\neverything. I decided I could only do this by starting with raw materials. Alex,\nmy stepmother, urged me to look into WWOOFing. (There are many names for this\nacronym: World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, Willing Workers on Organic\nFarms, etc.) I paid for a membership to look at New Zealand on the WWOOFing\nwebsite, and quickly became excited by all the farms I could work on. I never\nresearched anything about the country itself; I didn\u2019t care about what tourists\nwanted to see, all I wanted was pure reality. The essence of food. Still I was\nhesitant to plan. I thought if I did, I wouldn\u2019t be able to run off on a whim\nat any moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    There I was, Auckland\nInternational Airport, starving and tired at 1 am. Of course, I had not thought\nahead to find a hostel or hotel to sleep in. I found the nearest vending\nmachine and realized that I didn\u2019t have the appropriate change. Quarters just wouldn\u2019t\ndo. As I stood there stumped, ghostly and annoyed, a man tapped me on the\nshoulder. He was tall, slender, had long blond dreadlocks and carried a large\nhiking pack. I jumped as I turned, and from his mouth came the most beautiful,\n\u201cOh sorry love, I just see that you haven\u2019t exchanged your change.\u201d Dumbfounded,\nI stood there looking at one of the most gorgeous men\u2014with a French accent\u2014 I\nhad seen in the past 24 hours. Let me remind you of how tired I was: it was an 18-hour\nflight and I had not slept at all. Dead faced, I stood there and managed to get\nout \u201cUh-huh\u201d. He just laughed, fumbled around in his pocket, then revealed his\nhand to me: a pile of shiny silver and gold coins. Of course, I didn\u2019t know the\nexchange rate at that moment, so I just stared at him. I said, \u201cOh, actually, I\ndon\u2019t need anything. Thanks anyway,\u201d then turned to leave in the opposite direction.\nHe said something to me I recognized as French but could not translate. I\nturned and in the sweetest voice he said, \u201cNo need to leave, what would you\nlike?\u201d He put the change into the machine, pressed some buttons and a couple\nsnacks fell to the bottom. He bent down from his great height to grab the shiny\ncolorful bags, then extended one to me. It was a bright blue bag, with a\ndancing penguin on the front. Cheezels<\/em>. He then said, \u201cThese are the\nbest, don\u2019t waste your time on anything else. Trust me.\u201d Then he turned to go, but\nI grabbed him and said, \u201cWAIT!\u201d Which was definitely in a yell, as I startled him. \u201cHow much do I owe\nya?\u201d He laughed, \u201cOh love, you owe me nothing. Have a beautiful trip, Au Revoir.\u201d\nAnd he was gone. I looked back to what would be my first taste of New Zealand: Cheezels<\/em>.\nAccording the imagery on the bag, they would be puffed cheese rounds. I opened\nthe bag, and an invisible cloud of cheese smoke overwhelmed my face. Crunchy, salty,\nsweet. Amazing. An immediate love affair, all because of the nameless French\nman in the Auckland Airport.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    Only months later did I realize that I could fit the Cheezels on my fingers, like I did with black olives as a kid.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

    Now, I had not\njust flown across the Pacific Ocean to eat a bag of processed puffed Cheezels<\/em>.\nI was there to learn and learn I would. My goal was to work with as many organic\nfarmers as possible across the country. What I did know about New Zealand, was\nthe pivotal role that farming had in the economy and everyday life. I started\nby heading North to Starlight Organics<\/em> run by Nye Tatton. She was an\nextremely short woman with a huge personality and passion for growing\nvegetables. With Nye, I learned the beauty and nature of organic farming. I\nstarted by picking weeds, which lasted about three days. Only after then would\nshe give me opportunity to pick and plant. I remember the first moment I\nencountered a 72-cell tray, booming with beautiful little plants. I thought \u201cOh I can do\nthis, easy.\u201d Twenty minutes later I went into the house, saying I was finished.\nShe just stood there laughing, \u201cOh what are you a superhero? You finished all 8\ntrays?\u201d Ha! No. Of course I wasn\u2019t paying attention when she told me I was\nplanting all<\/em> of the trays in the greenhouse. By now it was reaching mid-day.\nWith the sun high in the sky, those 20 minutes slowly extended to 40 minutes,\nand 3 hours later, sweating buckets, I was done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    I streamlined the process by digging all the holes before I started planting.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

    My favorite part\nabout my two weeks with Nye was working the biggest Farmer\u2019s Market in New\nZealand. It was a 3:30 AM wake up call, 5 AM set up and open at 6.30. Nye urged\nme to get ready as the time neared, while I sleepily stacked veggies. Before I\nknew it, there were 15 people in our tiny stall. We were selling out of lettuce\nand sprouts by 8, and beans and cucumbers by 10. It was overwhelming, and exhilarating.\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    Me (center), Nye (right), and another WWOOF-er at my first Farmer\u2019s Market in NZ.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

    I was fortunate to\nmeet some crazy people along the way, and my most notable moment was with\nBarry. I was sitting in the shed braiding garlic when I heard a sputtering\nengine coming up the drive. Curious about the newcomer, I climbed atop a\nprecarious shelving unit to look through the window of the barn. A black Volkswagen\nJetta halted to a stop just before hitting the planters by the front door. The driver\u2019s\nside door swung open forcefully. A towering man with an enormous beer belly and\na thick burley Kiwi accent struggled to lift himself out of the car, yelling, \u201cNYE,\nNYYYYYE. Where\u2019s this bitch I\u2019m taking to Bayley\u2019s?\u201d I was caught off guard, who\ncould he be talking about? Me? I guess I was the only \u201cbitch\u201d he could be\nshouting about, and Nye had briefly told me to be ready for an adventure today.\nI was so nervous, and this did not look like a man I wanted to hang out with. And\ndon\u2019t get me started on his buddy who crawled out of the passenger side, an\nopposite to the previous character. Scrawny and shy mannered, the two were\nquite the pair. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Nye came running\nout of the house, shouting to me, \u201cAnnie, are you ready? Barry is here!\u201d As I\nwatched her approach Barry with the biggest smile on her face, she launched\nherself into his outstretched arms. She seemed the size of a small child in comparison\nto him. As he lowered her to the ground she motioned towards the barn. I quickly\u2014and\nnot so gracefully\u2014attempted to scramble down from the shelves I was balancing\non. As they entered, I was falling off the shelves into the pile of garlic. She\njust laughed, making note of my character to Barry under her breath. I\nawkwardly scrambled up, to shake his hand, to which he remarked at my firm but\ngentle shake. I then grabbed my go bag: Sunscreen, Inhaler, Sunnies (sunglasses),\nwater, and my togs (the New Zealand slang for swimsuit). Not familiar with this\nman, I just looked at Nye through the rain covered windshield of his Jetta, as\nwe furiously backed out of the driveway. Though I had prepared for the sun, the\nweather when we left was dismal, pouring, and grey. The landscape was beyond\ncompare. Even in the storm, the rolling green hills were mystical and never\nending. Little white sheep dotted the land. As we made it down the road, Barry\nstarted chatting with me about the small stuff\u2014 who was I, where\u2019d I come from,\nwhere was I going? In the middle of my life story he interrupted to ask if I\nwould grab a beer from the cooler for him. I had not realized that next to me\nwas a cooler; I opened it, and without question handed one to my driver. He\nthen noted that I too could have a beer, but I quickly declined, realizing what\nan absurd idea it was that we were driving though a storm, on a road that could\nbe described as anything but<\/em> straight. From our small talk, I gathered\nwe were on our way across Northland. In just 45 minutes, we had driven from one\ncoast of the country, all the way to the other coast of the country. Barry\nassured me we would soon be at Bayley\u2019s beach, his favorite place in all of Aotearoa\u2014\nthe Maori word for New Zealand meaning \u201cthe land of the long white cloud\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Bayley\u2019s beach was\ngolden, blue, and resembled the beauty of Michelangelo\u2019s Sistine Chapel\npainting. You know, the fluffy clouds with peachy tones? The sand was a rusty\ngold and stretched for miles. Barry whipped the car down the beach, driving\nover 150km\/hr (90 mi\/hr). Finally, he did three donuts before stopping\nsomewhere down the beach, then we all clambered out of the car and Barry ushered\nme to the trunk. Inside were \u201cnet\u201d bags (the ones onions come in), and a couple\nof coolers. He tossed me a bag and waltzed out into the crashing waves. I ran\nup to him, curious as to our purpose here. He then beckoned me to take a wide\nstrong stance: legs apart, hands free. He said, \u201cI\u2019ll be teaching you the\nTuaTua Twist today chick, are you ready?\u201d Not knowing what on earth a TuaTua\nwas, or why we were carrying empty onion bags into the ocean, I said \u201cSure\u201d. I\nmean, what else could I say? He let a wave wash past us, forceful enough to\nknock me out of my warrior position. He laughed, noting that I\u2019d have to be\ntougher than that to keep my prime position here. Prime position? What the hell\nwas he talking about? It was then that he began to do the twist. No, I\u2019m\nserious. This 6-foot-tall, beer bellied, scruffy man started wiggling his body\nback and forth like the kids used to do back in the day. After a moment he\nplunged towards the water, keeping his feet where they were and crouching down.\nThen, up with his hands came the most beautiful, glistening clams. We were\nclamming! I never had, and this was the most amusing way I could have ever\nthought of doing it. So, I twisted. And beneath my toes I felt their shell,\nsoft and smooth. As a wave passed, I went to plunge. And whooooooooooosh!<\/em>\nThere I was, tumbling over with a wave I had not watched for, carrying me back\n10 feet. Barry belly laughed, beckoning me back next to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    We continued like\nthis for hours, until finally Barry yelled us in. We had so many TuaTua\u2019s, I\nthought we might get in trouble for going over quota. But this was not the type\nof guy to question, so I packed the pounds and pounds of clams into the trunk,\nand then hopped back into his beater. We drove back across the grand rainstorm\nthat had seemed to plant itself between both coasts, and headed home to Nye. When\nhe dropped me off, he said, \u201cSee you at the feast tonight!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    And oh, was it a\nfeast! Nye and I made ourselves look pretty before we waltzed on into the lawn bowling\nclub. Retired men from all corners of the room hooted and hollered when Nye entered;\nshe was the resident badass farmer, and they praised her. I could smell\nshellfish cooking and peeked my head into the kitchen. A table was being put\nup, and atop it were two metal trashcans; one was being filled with cooked\nTuaTuas, the other was empty. It was simple: boil \u2018em in a pot with some garlic,\nsalt, and pepper. Barry ushered me over to delight in my first taste. I pried\nopen the two shells and tipped it back. The grainy sand particles filled my\nmouth as I chewed on the slightly over cooked flesh. Ha! It was stupendous. He\nthen took me over to make me a sandwich. It was 6 or 7 Tuas on top of the whitest\nof sandwich bread lathered in Margarine. Throwing it back with my first ever\ntequila shot made this experience all the sweeter. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    New Zealand was\nbeautiful. Overall, it showed me how important our connection to food is. WWOOFing\nwasn\u2019t perfect, not every farm was truly certified Organic. But every farm supplied\nme with another opportunity to grow a fresh product or to nurture an animal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Fretting the Audacious Lifestyle<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Coming home from\nNew Zealand was emotionally debilitating. I had just spent a year discovering\nthe \u201ctrue Annie\u201d, and developing real opinions about the world, and more\nimportantly, the current state of food affairs. A fire had been lit deep within\nme; I was going to change the food system, and I would start in Kitsap County.\nIt was home, and I could live with my parents rent free while I CONQUERED the culinary\nworld.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Needless to say,\nthus far, the plan has not gone as I thought it would. Being back in Bremerton\nwas bleak, and for two months I shuffled around town, bummed and broke. I was living\nat home, eating food that had no love, flavor, or sense of place. Desperate, I\napplied to the most dismal of kitchen jobs: Spiros<\/em> Pizza, Bremerton\nBar and Grill<\/em> and Anthony\u2019s on the Waterfront<\/em>. I was offered odd\njobs at all three, but I could not bear the idea of working at any<\/em> of\nthem. I kept puttering around, waiting for something exciting. It was the beginning\nof winter, so of course there were no farm jobs available at the time. One day\nI found myself with my grandparents on the way to Bainbridge Island. For Kitsap\nCounty, Bainbridge is the bougiest you can get. My grandmother, thrilled to\nhave her Saturday lunch buddy back in America, had been taking me out every\nweekend since I had come back. She was determined to bring that light back into\nmy eyes, and sadly, I wasn\u2019t having any of it. That was, until we walked\nthrough the doors of the Hitchcock Deli<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    I had read about\nthe chef who owned the place, Brendan McGill: thirties, family, restaurateur, use\nof locally sourced ingredients, and everything made in house. This was it.<\/em>\nI knew the moment we walked in: the smell of the cured meats, the smoker\npuffing away in the back, and the buzz of the cooks bouncing around, singing\nand laughing. The next week, I was sitting at the front door of the nice\nrestaurant adjacent to the deli. McGill owned that too. Oh<\/em>, and the popping\npizza restaurant down the street, as well as two joints across the Puget Sound,\nin Seattle. I had done my homework, and he was a star; a James Beard Award\nWinner, he was praised on the cover of multiple local and Seattle magazines and\nnewspapers. As I sat with a copy of my cr\u00e8me colored resume, awaiting Sara\nHarvey, the Sous Chef, the door swung open. Looking up thinking maybe she had\narrived, my jaw just dropped open. Of course, the man himself had just walked\nin. He looked at me with a smirk, and not a clue in the world who the over-dressed,\nhigh-heeled, 20-year-old, who was sitting at the front of his restaurant was.\n\u201cYou look as though you are waiting for something\u2026 hmm?\u201d he said. To which, in\na very Annie-like manner, I spilled everything about me: my passion for\nCharcuterie, my travels in New Zealand, and my dreams to change the food scene.\nCalmly, he listened through all of it, as if he knew exactly<\/em> who I was,\nwhy I was there, and what my future would be. I kept on telling him about how\nmuch of an asset I was in the kitchen, urging that I wasn\u2019t the best, but would\nget there. He let me finish, held out his hand, shook mine, and said, \u201cI like\nyou kid.\u201d And he was gone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    I waited 15 more\nminutes to finally meet the Sous; she was the baddest bitch I had ever<\/em>\nseen in chef\u2019s whites. A beautiful braid went down her back, and her arms were\nladen with tattoos. She had a crooked smile and an annoyed stupor. Quickly, she\nwent through all the formalities, and then asked if I wanted to check out the\nkitchen. Without any hesitation, I agreed, and we walked back into one of the\nnicest kitchens I had ever been in. There was a wood fire stove, thick wood\ncountertops, copper pans, and it was completely visible to the patrons. I loved\nthat. As we stood in the middle of service, she watched me, googly-eyed,\nlooking around with utter satisfaction. Then in a low, but straightforward\nvoice she said, \u201cNot sure what you said to the boss, but I thought maybe you\nwould like to see the kitchen you\u2019d be working in.\u201d I flipped around, looking\nat her, emotions of happiness and fear all welling up inside me. \u201cSo, you got\nthe job kid.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    I nearly ran out\nof the restaurant crying; I couldn\u2019t believe that I could get a job at a place\nwith the background I had, at the age I was, or as a girl for that matter. Everything\nI thought was working against me was really the disguise that landed me a job\nin McGill\u2019s kitchen. On my first night, I floated around doing odd jobs for\npeople in the kitchen: peeling fava beans, slicing garlic cloves on a mandolin,\nand brunoising shallots (the fancy French word for an exceptionally fine dice).\nI had not eaten anything all day and must have been dehydrated. I told Chef\nthat I wasn\u2019t feeling well and that I needed to go to the bathroom. She\nbegrudgingly agreed. I went to the bathroom and— well there\u2019s no way of\nsugarcoating it: I passed out on the toilet. When I came to, I shamefully asked\nChef to accompany me to the back and told her what had happened. She told me I\nhad to go home. Needless to say, this was one of the most embarrassing moments\nof my life. Well shit<\/em>, I thought, I just lost my one shot<\/em>. The next\nmorning, I woke to a call from the Sous. She was just calling to reassure me\neverything was alright, and that if I wanted to work in her kitchen, I better\ntake better care of myself before showing up to work. I laughed and thanked her\nfor the check in. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Hitchcock<\/em> was a blast. Every day I was receiving produce or fresh seafood. Occasionally, this guy named Preston, a scraggly fellow with ripped flannels, would come in with a case of mushrooms, freshly picked in the Cascades. It was an amusing facade, as Preston was the boss of one of the biggest produce and meat distributors in the greater Puget Sound. I was in my element; not only was I learning crazy new techniques in the kitchen, but I was getting my fill on connection to local food.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    I knew, however,\nthat this wouldn\u2019t last long. Before getting hired, when sitting on the bench\nwith McGill, I told him that my stay would be short, as I was moving to Olympia\nin the spring. I was headed to the Practice of Organic Farming at Evergreen\nState College. Before I knew it, I was leaving Hitchcock behind, bummed, but\nhere I was again: taking a leap. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Unfortunately, the\nOrganic Farm at Evergreen was less than I thought it would be. I don\u2019t know whether\nit was the fact that everything seemed to be falling apart in the background, or\nthat learning about Organic certification made me want to rip my hair out. Don\u2019t\nget me wrong though, the work was fun, the learning was fulfilling, and the connections\nI made are irreplaceable. The Practice of Organic Farming gave me the\nopportunity to learn about stuff that I hadn\u2019t yet, but it also made me realize\nhow much of a fa\u00e7ade Organic Certification is. What I understand now is that it\u2019s\njust another money pit for farmers to pool into. As long as I can have a direct\nconversation with the farmer, see their place and practices, and understand\nthat they are stewards of the land and care for their crop, I\u2019ll support them. I\ndon\u2019t need a governments label to define them, not when the goal is to be as\nlocal, sustainable, and clean as possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Now to the current\nstate of my own affairs. We can only understand this after I give you a brief health\nhistory update since returning from New Zealand. Unfortunately, my health upon\nmy return plummeted. My immune system was iffy, and I was getting sick every\ntime I ate. This led me to cut out red meat from my diet, as it seemed to be\nthe main culprit; but as time went on, over the past two years, things have gotten\nprogressively worse. I couldn\u2019t eat anything without getting sick later in the\nevening, and the worst part was the blank stares I was getting from doctors,\nboth Western and Holistic. I was up all hours of the night, tossing and turning\nin extreme abdominal pain, and would wake up energy-less every morning. In 2019,\nI cut out all dairy completely in hopes that keeping away from red meats and milk\nwould change things. This worked for a month or two. While some of the pain\nsubsided, the energy-less manner, sad disposition, and occasional sickness were\nstill there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Jump to Winter\nQuarter registration, and I\u2019m pumped. A class about food history and culture?\nThis was right up my alley. With food labs ever week, things couldn\u2019t seem any\nbetter. Comparative Eurasian Foodways: A cultural, historical, and\ngastronomic Odyssey<\/em> (CEF). Wow, what a title I thought, so<\/em>\nEvergreen. I absolutely loved having to overly explain this class to people,\njust because the name obviously made their head spin. The burning itch I that\nwas festering after returning from New Zealand was alive and well, and we would\nbe studying abroad: three months of this class would be away on a grand\nlearning adventure. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    At this point, I\nwas classifying myself as a pescatarian with a dairy intolerance. Sounded good\nenough, and kind of ridiculous, but I was making do. It was a peer in CEF who\nstarted ushering me towards\nthe way of veganism by sharing articles, books, movies, and documentaries. Giving\nme the notion, that veganism wasn\u2019t this \u201cunattainable, disgusting waste of\ntime\u201d \u2013 as I had thought for so many years prior. Two weeks later, I started\nputting all my cans of fish in a box, tucking them away in the cupboard. I was\nstill eating eggs, but only those that came from my own parents\u2019 chickens. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    \"\"
    New pullet eggs in comparison to fresh duck eggs.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

    As CEF continued\non, I started to feel like an outsider, puttering along with the class each\nweek. I was getting the notion that my passions for food were dwindling, while\nmy excitement for veganism and animal activism was blossoming. This was the\nclass that I dreamed of, and now here I was, blocking and restricting myself\nbecause my entire opinion about the world and our view of the food system, had\nchanged. Each week, I worked diligently through the readings, loving lectures\nand despising labs. I felt like the hugest burden every Friday, always in the\nback, not filling out all my matrix pieces on lab reports. I used to be<\/em>\nthe girl who tried everything. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    It is funny how\nyou can completely turn your view upside down at a moment\u2019s notice. One day I\u2019m\nlooking at a pig\u2019s head submerged in stock, my first \u2018Headcheese\u2019. The next,\nI\u2019m using social media to spout off the wrong doings of the main populous. I am\nunsure if this would have happened had I not been in Comparative Eurasian\nFoodways<\/em>, but I guess here I am, learning how to live with my past and\naccept my audacious-less future.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

    by Annie Jessee The Roots of Audacity The creek was cold and dark: a murky abyss where treasures were found. It was only with a speedy dip of a hand that you would be successful. Trusting your instinct, finding your inner jaguar. Sydney, my step-sister, a year younger, was the best of us. She would […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":26,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[4],"tags":[],"geo":null,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/26"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=134"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":178,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134\/revisions\/178"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=134"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=134"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.evergreen.edu\/cefie-portfolio-s20-arn\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=134"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}