Cooking code & cheer
This weekend is something of an odd one for my family. The 11th was the 3rd anniversary of my father’s passing and tomorrow is ‘Mother’s Day’; my mother’s being taken out to a lovely lunch and then to the movies. Obviously, this is all giving me some pause for thought about the influence of our parents on who we are, our values and what we’re capable of. I remember all the times my father would explain natural phenomena and engines to me even before I could walk and my mother — whilst she wanted me also to be a young lady — never batted an eye when I wanted to be able to do “boys” things (like climb trees, catch dragonflies and build models: lego and now computer ones).
Yet she trained me to be happy in the kitchen too as much as in my career. Below are the yummy peanut-sesame snowballs we made this morning. Yes, even though I’m now an adult I am the child (LOL) who helps my mother texturize the dough and is there to LISTEN & LEARN from her wisdoms. Readers can search the Web to their hearts’ content but they’re unlikely to find snowballs as delicious as my mother’s because she has “magic hands”.
This concept of “magic hands” is important. For example, everyone can have exactly the same recipe sheet and yet someone’s snowball will turn out to be tastier and more presentable than all the others. This is purely the skill, expertise and experience of the person who’s handling the dough. My mother is someone who takes great pride in her productions and strives towards excellence. She can take what is a standard recipe and transform it into food magic simply because she’s thorough, considers how all the ingredients work together and applies the lessons that she’s learned from previous attempts to make something even better……..until it’s a complete “HIT THE BALL OUT OF THE PARK” success.
In a sense, the cooking scenario is the same as start-ups. The recipe is all there, yet it depends in whose hands the dough is entrusted (the CEO and management team and their savoir-faire) whether or not goodies are properly baked, thrown into the bin or raw and cause upset stomaches.
LOL, that’s a Twain metaphor for something quite profound probably.
