Devotion

To excel at a task requires devotion. Of course, devotion alone does not guarantee competence but that hardly matters. What matters is the work, the striving for perfection without the anticipation of it. I do not speak of devotion to a faith or a supreme being. That is too abstract. I speak of a more personal, hand crafted effort.

The ranks of stalwart pianists and violinists have diminished and so, in their place many fresh faces have appeared. It is comforting to see and hear them. Music has definitely changed. There are new interpretations of classic pieces. And the level of virtuosity has sky rocketed.

Most of these new player’s biographies begin while they are four or five years old. In the past, these musician’s lives would have been considered freakish, but not now. It seems to be standard operating procedure. Just like in sport where athletics become taller, faster, more coordinated, and break every long standing record, so with music. Exceptionalism has become the norm.

This of course does not mean that they have something to say, or something to add to the interpretation. In the process of searching my library’s music section, I have listened to many new artist recordings. The standard fare is Chopin’s Etudes or Bach’s Partitas. These pieces seem to be the coming out party for young phenoms.

They do not always have something to say. The music can be technically flawless but lack heart. There are many ways to read the notes and measures. There are many ways to hit a piano’s keys or to pluck a violin’s strings. The variation is infinite even within the constraints of classical music.

But I error, Bach does not micro-manage. The scores have plenty of freedom to allow for personal exploration. And with venues like SoundCloud and YouTube, no one can force a musician to conform to a specific view. If you have the skill (or not) and an iPhone, there is a platform to share your view of the world with others.

Persistence in developing the intellectual and physical skills, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, is the key to unlock the constraints hidden within us. It does not matter if the skill desired is playing Danny Boy on the penny whistle for your friends on St. Patrick’s Day or performing a Beethoven Piano Sonata in Carnegie Hall.

In my world, I have been practicing chanoyu since 1984 give or take a decade to concentrate on a career. In all that time my goal has been to make tea without worrying about making tea. It is odd to see that in writing. What is the big deal about that, but it is elusive. There is always second guessing and self doubt creeping in. It creates a roadblock.
The mere fact of doing tea repeatedly in every possible combination, with many types of utensils, with seasonal changes breaks down resistance simply by exhaustion and complacent familiarity. Without devotion, practice devolves into a chore, comforting maybe but fruitless.

And though it is a month too early for a New Year resolutions, mine next year will be to be more devote. Not to an external entity or institution but to myself. To expunge self doubt and get on with the task of living the years left to me in a fashion that may not lead to Carnegie Hall but to excel . . . competently or not!

December 2018

Rising

My mother was a cook and a baker. These are not always compatible traits. To prepare her wonderful Sicilian dishes required a kind of slapdash attitude. Rarely was there a recipe. It was the little-of-this-and-a-little-of-that school of cooking. But when it came time to bake, the recipes came out, as did measuring spoons and cups.

I learned that baking is deterministic. The recipes have to be trusted, not questioned. And that cooking is a more egalitarian pursuit. I am skeptical of a recipe until it has been proven. If an ingredient, or an amount, or a procedure, or a temperature, or the timing does not sound correct, I have no compunction about changing it.

Now that I have said this, it does not apply to baking bread. Bread occupies a space between cooking and baking. It did not when I first began to bake. That was in Southern Illinois, Carbondale to be precise. It was my second attempt at college. I was twenty-five and a bit desperate to move on with my life.

At the same time I decided to become a vegetarian, I still am. Carbondale had a slightly world weary hippie feel to it. There was a lot of the counter culture mixed in with academics, partying, and environmentalism. This was packaged in a small rural town 350 miles south of Chicago. It turned out to be a good place to reinvent myself.

My first loaf of bread was a failure. It resembled a rough brick and weighed about as much. No matter, the apartment smelt good and I was the envy of my friends. I ate every bit of it all the time recognizing its deficiencies. Learning to bake was an off and on thing. I was busy, my mind was busy, my body was busy, but I kept at it. It was like chasing the Holy Grail.

I cannot remember when I finally succeeded but it was decades later. By then, I had stopped referring to recipes in favor of ratios. To fill two trusty ceramic bread pans I start with two cups of water. Once I had the feel of the dough, measuring the other ingredients is unnecessary. Yeast, salt, oil, and sugar are added by intuition.

That said there are a couple of inviolable truths that cannot be varied if bread is going to rise. The first is pure microbiology (my favorite class in undergrad): do not kill the yeast. Yeast is a living thing, even if dormant.

Recipes often break down here. Some will give specific temperatures implying that the yeast will not grow unless the temperature fits into a tight range. Some are more vague, stating that the water should be luke warm, whatever that means.

Yeast is a robust organism. It has been found to function even after thousands of years sitting in a Pharaoh’s tomb. The only thing it cannot take is heat. A temperature over 120 Fahrenheit/49 Celsius and the yeast is dead. Yeast will rise in cold water it will just take longer, so if not sure, error on the cool side. If you are more scientific or have a background in engineering, and cannot proceed further without a precise temperature; then use 100 Fahrenheit/38 Celsius.

The second truth is that the second rise cannot be prolonged. The first rise is not a concern. Put it in the refrigerator overnight; leave it in the kitchen for hours, all that’s needed is to punch it down and start kneading. The flavor may even benefit from its neglect. But once it is rising for the second time it has to be watched. Too high and it will deflate, a sinking feeling.

There is this concept not often discussed called oven rise. The yeast soaks up the heat of the oven and starts metabolizing CO2 and alcohol. The bread rises until the yeast is killed. If the dough rises too high before being put in the oven, its gluten backbone cannot sustain itself and down it comes.

Spend the last half hour of the second rise sitting in the warmth of the kitchen and watch the miracle happen. And just when it starts to peak over the rim of the pan slash the top and put it gently into the oven.

Bread inhabits both worlds. Precision and a laissez-faire attitude are needed to produce a memorable loaf of bread. I guess this is what I learned from watching my mother cook and bake. And when I think of it, it is probably not a bad way to live a life.

November 2018