My somewhat illicit love affair with food kind of encouraged me to be an epicurean and a culinarian, and eventually pursue it academically. While I was stationed as the Chief Classifier at Navy Recruiting District Denver, I didn't have much of a social life, not a lot of friends, or didn't have that much interest on doing things that the city of Denver or the State of Colorado offered. I, for a lack of a better word, "hated" Denver, Colorado. The summers were scorching hot, and the winters are miserably icy, lonely, dark and cold. During summers, I never dared go out unless I really really had to (damn work!) because the heat of the sun was burning, and in winters, I had to literally wrap myself up in layers and layers of thick clothing and full winter gears so I could walk to work almost 10 blocks away. I had to walk because there's no way I would drive on block ice or 4 feet of snow! Fucking hell no!
The only saving grace of my hatred and loathing of Denver, Colorado was my love for food and eating. Had it not for that, I would've gone doubly nuts! I say saving grace because Denver happens be one of the few cities in all of that US that has a local Johnson & Wales University campus. J&W is one of the most respected culinary academes in the country, if not the world. Few of the alumni are Bill Bigham, Michelle Bernstein, and the famous TV personalities, Tyler Florence and Emeril Lagasse. One Sunday afternoon, out of sheer boredom, I was driving around the city and came across an old school going through major massive renovations and a big sign that on the site would be the location of the new Johnson & Wales University-Denver Campus. I kid you not, the following day (M0nday), I didn't go to work and went to the Admission's Office and inquired and... enrolled at the same time in their pilot program for Associates in Culinary Arts. So, for the next 2 years, I would change from my military uniforms to the standard culinary student uniform (the checkered pants, the white coat and funny small cap and handkerchief around my neck), and went to school from 7pm to midninght. It was a blast. The 5 hours of class everynight, both theoretical and practical, went by literally unnoticed. Oftentimes, we would stay later because we had to clean and sanitize the kitchen, top to bottom. There were 16 in my class, all working mature adult professionals who all had regular daytime jobs but chose to pursue one thing they would rather do or love to do. Everything was provided by the school: the uniforms, the books, and all the ingredients, utensils, gadgets and equipments. All we had to do was show up, study and cook!. I enjoyed it tremendously, I had so much fun, I ate so much (as so did my weiner dog, Joey) for free, and the best part? I didn't have to pay for it. The Navy, under the Tuition Assistance (TA) Program, paid for it. Well, if you want to be more technical, YOU, the taxpayers, paid for it. Even after the program, I still don't consider myself a chef or even dare call myself one. I never had the chance to put into practice what I learned academically because I was still fully employed by the Navy then. I didn't get to work or cook, even as a prep cook, in any eating establishments. The word "Chef" is a hard earned title. To be one or even called one literally and figuratively takes years (many many years) of experience and expertise, of sweat, blood and tears. You don't just freely use it or freely address people as such. I still give a funny look and smile when I hear people call and address regular cooks as Chefs. I am not and don't think will ever be a Chef. I do, however, consider myself an educated cook, a damn educated good cook!
Let's talk about my dog, Joey (may he rest in dog heaven). He, a miniature dachshund, was almost 2 years old when I got him (inherited, I guess) from one of the recruiters who was getting transferred to Hawaii. He was named after the Joey character from the TV show "Friends". He was one of the 6 litters and all were named after the show's lead actors. Joey was a very smart, very loyal, very caricatured and very well trained dog. You know what they say about dogs and their masters eventually looking alike? well, we didn't exactly looked alike but he picked up my habit. Yes, he also loved to eat, and in that regard, I went a little overboard and spoiled him. He never once ate dog food. He ate nothing but leftover food from the school. Expensive leftover food. Joey was having better food than the average American. You see, in Johnson & Wales, we cooked 8 to 12 different dishes, not including the two choices of salad, few appetizers, soup and a couple choices of dessert, to be able to come up with at least 3 or 4 full entrees' good for 50 servings. Fifty (50) servings were for us (the students, but we ate last after all the meals had been served), for some of the faculty chefs, and for our guests. Yes, we were allowed to invite and bring guests to sample our food so long as they didn't mind waiting and having formal dinner at 11:00 in the evening. Even if we bussed 50 servings, we still had leftovers. Always. So, the only options for leftovers were either to throw them away down the industrial garbage disposal, or take them home. Left overs were never given to orphanages, or jails, or homeless centers, or to any organizations that feed the hungry and the poor. Reason? possible lawsuits. (You know, what if one of those homeless died because he was allergic to peanuts, or had food poisoning, or somebody was sent to the hospital for any kind of food reaction, or even just diarrhea?) So, the whole time I was going to school and I had Joey, he ate bacon, ham, lamb, pork...anything I brought home from the school. More often than not, I would have food for him for weeks on end that I would have so much junk in my fridge that I had no choice but had him eat 6 times a day so I could have more room for more leftovers. He loved it! But all good things come to an end, sad to say. When he was going through the medical test/evaluations for his clearance and certificate to travel overseas to Greece, he was diagnosed with obesity. Accurately, the doctor said he was "morbidly obese". He had hypertension, he was diabetic and had kidney problems. "What have you been feeding him?", the doctor asked. I gave him a blank sorry ass look, "Food", I remember saying, but I didn't specify if it was dog, or people food. Joey was put on medications (figures), and on a very strict diet (double figures). With only 6 months between his diagnosis and our departure to Greece, how could he possibly lose 15 -20 pounds? (Oh, by the way, Joey was almost 10 inches high, almost 18 inches long, and almost 40 pounds heavy. The normal average weight for his size was 15-20 pounds. He got so fucking fat that when he walked, he dragged his belly and his chest and you could see the marks on the ground. He never ran, because he couldn't run. Sometimes, no matter how excited he got when he saw me coming home with bags of goodies from school, he just wiggled his tail, sat down and waited for me to approach him. Funny, but sad!) I left Joey with my brother when I flew to Greece in 2002. He lost most of the unwanted weight, but hardly recovered from the complications of obesity. He was put to sleep last year, he was 8 years old.
"It's amazing how food can feed the need for subsistence and can support the life cycle and the maintenance of the human mankind; how food can eradicate hunger; how food can enable the addicted, how food can enrich people in so many ways and how food fuels gluttony. It's tragic and disheartening though when food as a lifeline can cause havoc and chaos; how food can be used as a tool for control, fear and authority; how food can be used as a poor excuse for war; how food can encourage greed and discontent; how food can cause so many illnesses and diseases; how food can vanish a village, or a tribe; how food can cause suffering, even death".
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