The Power of a Passion.
Since the beginning of this journey I have known that there was something within myself which I was yet to discover, I knew that despite the hurt that comes with Cancer there is without a doubt an indoctrination of insight and growth which also attaches itself to the terrible word.
Over the last few days I believe that I may have unlocked one of these insights with full effect. A fews days ago Jeffrey the Sourdough Starter so humbly acquainted himself with the confines of our lovely Kitchen in Franschhoek, and demanded the same attention as a new born child. Though I knew that cooking was a hobby for which I had a great love I did not realise that my love affair with the kitchen was so great until Jeffrey came into my life. In the transformation of this somehow elegant mould from a bubbly sticky mess into a magnificently arresting dark golden brown carrier of light, airy butter-engulfing carbohydrate I have realised that my passion for the kitchen is paramount.
I am consumed, fully and wholeheartedly by the kitchen. The sound that erupts when a perfectly matured organic steak meets oil that is trying to escape the heat of the cast iron blanket is a surreal experience. The crisp splattering of acrid juices that cause tears of joy when their onion father finally meets its execution is a bewildering event, a pain that attracts more participation. The picture of yellow mustard seeds popping just before they get smouldered by rich dark tomato paste, a lucrative assortment of spices and a see of stock is harrowing, there is a cry for help before they realise that what is coming is a storm that will soon turn into a pot of creamy, aromatic spicy gold; a perfect medium for warm buttery bread to swim in and consume. I can think of nothing more satisfying than the warm smell of rosemary that creeps out from the hot confinement of glass walls to alert the household of a crispy golden brown crust that is forming around their fingerling friends.
Jeffrey, and the wonderful therapy that came from nurturing his mouldy body into something spectacular was awakening. The alchemy of ratios and the mastery of timing turned labor to love. A past time became a passion.
There lies great power in knowing what ones passion is. I am so lucky to have found mine. And it was my disease, my heart breaking diagnosis, my darn faulty testicle that brought me home to Franschhoek, to the kitchen that I love most, to a mother that shares a similar passion, to my happiest place. It was that small insignificant lump that has taken away so much, and now given so much back.