Number 52

The ads started appearing in February or March. Shore Lodge in swanky McCall was inviting all to their second annual King of the Culinary Mountain cook off, and it moved me to consider the inevitable.
It was a year ago when matriarch Joyce and I took our tax refund and gambled it on entering our daughter, Becky, into this culinary contest. She dreamed of becoming a chef, of working in a kitchen, but in her last semester as a English major at college, and with a pedigree that included the bakery at Walmart and stock clerk at Williams Sonoma, her dream needed a jump start. We didn’t know what the outcome would be, but we knew at least that the experience of working with professional chefs would open her eyes to what a life in a kitchen might actually entail.
She had thought about cooking school, but those costs were extravagant. She voraciously devoured cooking shows like they were an addiction. Yet, when we dropped her off for the weekend, Joyce and I both prayed that this would be a point in her life to which she could look back and say: it turned there.
Well, the story did turn there. She teamed up with house chef Steve Topple and with the help of her dessert choice, won the competition. It was there she met competing chef Wiley Earl, was offered a job at Alavita, and as a show of support, was the genesis for this blog.
It has been a year of incredible ups, a few downs, and a bucket of body ink (I never knew that chefs were the pirates of the culinary world). It started with a dream realized, and led to more dreams, realized and deferred, and a horizon of possibilities that continue to expand. It is the unbridled optimism of youthfulness waking to an unwritten day.
This marks the full year’s cycle for this blog, published every Saturday without fail. I don’t know what the average life of a blog is, or if there are rules that govern its demise if it should go on too long. I guess it remains up to each blogger to decide when it is time to go.
I am a writer by trade, so posting 200-500 words each week is like eating a McDonalds hamburger, only, I would hope, a bit more nutritious. Writing about my daughter is as easy as breathing, because as parents, we believe our children are literally and figuratively an extension of our breath. But like an athlete pondering the end of a career, (and a year with a blog feels like a career or a lifetime), is it better to leave a year early than to linger too long and be rendered boring or irrelevant?
I know I have met fascinating people from all over the world through these posts. Many are amazing young women, like my daughter the chef, with bold culinary dreams or just dreams that remind me what youth is meant to be. (One last plug for back2spain and jessicaandlove). Some other bloggers are lost souls, self-absorbed, writing as if only seeking to impress an audience of one.
Becky’s journey is begun. It has been my privilege to share 52 small steps along the way, a year recounting a daughter’s growth and a father’s pride. I am grateful for my family’s patience and willingness to allow me to share their lives with you, and all the oddities and endearments those lives entail.
For those of you who follow faithfully, thank you. I hope the blog has encouraged you, made you laugh, or maybe, as it has many times, for me, helped you appreciate the lives of those around you, the lives of those you love, of those God has given to your care.
The first post on this blog was about Becky trying to grow grapes from seed. Never seeing the symbolism of it all, I know now that such has been the nature of this endeavor. Dreams, carefully tended and nurtured, bring new exciting life into the world. Those dreams grow a little at a time, discerning their own paths along the way. A blog is like a branch, just one small outgrowth on the way to something much bigger and grander.
I will continue to post on ocassion, whenever a major branch reaches out somewhere new, interesting or unexpected sprouts. But as for weekly updates, maybe it is time for nature to work more quietly, less under the discernment of a doting father.
As for the grapes, four plants are sitting in the ground outside the window. There, eager anticipation perches; faith comes in knowing that whether this particular dream comes true, there is always hope that something wonderful or unexpected awaits just a dawn away. Thank you and for now, good-bye.

Geeks, gamers and liontamers

I am a dork. I know this because my daughters tell me that all the time – most often Becky after she reads my posts. They, however, are geeks – a less highbrow version of a dork, if I understand correctly – and gamers, because of their interest in video games, of both console and online varieties. Becky has tattoos from her favorite video game, tattoos this dork doesn’t fully understand.
However in pursuit of her passion for cooking, Becky is venturing into a new cage (hence, liontamer). She is experimenting with a line of higher end dishes that should appeal to geeks and gamers who live for food products beyond fake cheese crunchies and soda made with high fructose corn syrup.
Last week, she bought cornfed ribeye steaks, some dried mushrooms and organic carrots and created a dish that could have been produced in a high-end restaurant. She took a picture of it and posted it online to her Tumblr account. While she already has one follower, she said she will likely start a blog of her own about her efforts to expand visibility. From a dork’s perspective, I think this is a wonderful idea, but hesitate to say too much, lest the dorky smell scare her off. I hope she continues to build up her repertoire for this menu, because gamers and geeks are quickly outgrowing their own niche economy, and are certain to become the dorks of the future. Such is the promise – and fate – of my daughter the chef.