Speed Dating

“I watch cooking change the cook, just as it transforms the food.”

Laura Esquivel

Introducing oneself to an audience for the first time can feel a lot like speed dating. You’re afforded the briefest of moments to leave a lasting impression on a group of people who know nothing about you. If you’re lucky, some of those people could potentially become a significant part of your life, while others will simply remain passing acquaintances who hope to never cross paths again.

This initial interaction requires finesse. You need to find a way to reveal just enough about yourself to entice the reader to want to know more – to further explore the intricacies of your strengths and flaws, and hopefully find enough for them to persevere long enough to build something akin to a connection.

So, where to begin? How does a writer like me create a situation that persuades the reader to invest a few more moments in something new?

The truth is that there is no right answer. All you can do is just go for broke and be the most articulate, intriguing version of yourself that you can possibly be and hope that someone, somewhere makes it to the bottom of the page.  Unfortunately, for me to be best version of myself I first have to take a few moments to acknowledge that I haven’t been anything close to that person for quite a while. You see, 2023 was not my year.

For most of the calendar year, I found myself in state of deep unhappiness. Chasing the dream of owning a home, a goal that had never held too much significance for me but had somehow become the focal point of my existence, I was in a state of emotional turmoil. Financially stretched and miserable as hell, I raced through life desperate to escape the situation I’d gotten myself into. 

Experiencing panic attacks on a near-daily basis, I shut myself off from the world and became emotionally unavailable just to survive. My relationship with my girlfriend became strained as we fought often and moved around each other in a state of mutual avoidance, and I hid behind a façade of happiness around my friends and family as I tried to maintain the illusion that I wasn’t unravelling on the inside. 

Then, my physical health took a blow. What started as a pulling sensation in my groin escalated into pain radiating from my testicles down into my toes within in the space of a few hours. A visit to the emergency room led to a battery of blood tests, ultrasounds, and having to expose myself to more doctors and nurses than I could count. Thankfully, all the really bad shit was ruled out quickly. I didn’t have cancer, or testicular torsion, or a few other conditions the doctors had tabled. Instead, the diagnosis was two holes in my abdominal wall. The pain I felt was the direct result of two inguinal hernias requiring surgical repair. 

Post-surgery, my mobility was severely limited. Doctors described the procedure as something akin to a C-section for men and explained that it would take months for my abdomen to repair and fuse with the surgical mesh embedded within me. This temporary physical setback was difficult to swallow; it was such a humbling adjustment to my previous breakneck speed that I struggled to accept that even raising a cup of coffee was a strain.

But somewhere in the midst of my recovery and trying to accomplish seemingly mundane tasks like bending over to wash my own legs in the shower, I gained a newfound admiration for women raising a child post c-section, and a deeper appreciation for the transient nature of life.

Resisting the urge to force my recovery along, I spent the latter part of the year letting my body heal and embracing a decelerated lifestyle as best I could. After a while I began to learn that life shouldn’t be rushed or spent pursuing ‘dreams’ that leave you in a state of perpetual angst or flux. It should be savoured, enjoyed slowly like a good cup of coffee or a glass of fine wine, as it is often the seemingly inconsequential moments and spaces between them that ultimately contribute to a more fulfilling existence.

Unfortunately, this perspective isn’t universally shared in our modern era. Many of us are overstimulated, overstressed, and rushing through life with an erratic energy, leading to unfulfillment and the constant sense that our time is fleeting. We often move swiftly, allowing half-embraced experiences to pass us by in a blur, seeking satiating dopamine hits from likes on our social media highlights over something more meaningful. And while there are signs of our mindless rush through life in so many aspects of our existence, its prevalence is most evident in our rapidly evolving attitudes towards relationships and food.

Don’t believe me? Countless studies of American households have revealed a drastic transformation of cooking habits since the 1960s. Back then, the average person devoted somewhere between 140-150 minutes per day to cooking, whereas that number has now fallen to a paltry 67 minutes in the present day. Closer to home here in Australia, the ready-made meal market is now projected to grow at a rate of 5.2% annually until 2030, as reported by RationalStat. 

On the relationship front, society’s transition from slow-burning connections to brief encounters aided by online dating platforms has become undeniably apparent. We date fast, marry quickly, and shag each other’s brains out like it’s going out of style, placated by the knowledge that it’s easier than ever before to walk away from a partner or situation because there’s always an alternative just a simple swipe away. Even our friendships are becoming more transactional in nature as we adopt a burgeoning sense of self-importance and an over inflated view of our place within the macrocosm. 

Let’s be clear – I’m not passing judgement or attempting to offer any relationship advice here. As a male in his mid-thirties, the allure of fast food and faster woman was all too appealing in the not-too-distant past. Truth be told, I’ve enjoyed my fair share of both. Rather than judge, I’m merely highlighting that we’re all caught in this lifestyle defined by busyness and a feeling that we have to live fast to survive. And that the more absorbed we become in this whirlwind of bustle, the greater the risk of our lives becoming increasingly hollow as we neglect the present and incessantly focus our attention toward the future. 

Personally, that desire to rush through life became so draining that there were days where I could almost feel my brain clawing at my skull as it searched for a way out. It took ripping a few holes in my abdomen to realise that slowing down is essential if I want to feel happier in my own skin. Being (relatively) healthy, I know there is a near endless list of options of ways available to me to slow down and be more present. I’m trying to put my phone away when I take my dog for a walk, I’m easing my way back into the gym, and spend my weekends reading or at the beach. Yet whenever I think about ways to become more immersed in my own existence, my mind inevitably returns to the themes of relationships and food. 

Being childless at thirty-five, the reality is I’m probably never going to have a big family of my own. I’ve surpassed the average age of new fathers and am honestly a little too fucked in the head to be responsible for raising another human being. While I haven’t entirely missed the family boat just yet, it is revving its engines and preparing to depart, while I’m lingering at the shoreline, idly skimming rocks across the water’s surface like a halfwit. Combine this with the fact that being in a relationship has shifted my focus away from fast-paced connections, and I’ve established some clear boundaries on the relationship front.

Sure, I can try to be a better friend, brother, son, or even stranger, as one should strive to be. However, this in isolation doesn’t provide a large enough mechanism for slowing down and savouring life more fully.

Which is how I’ve ended up writing about cooking and food. I’ve always enjoyed the end result of cooking and consider myself fortunate enough to have shared some amazing meals in the company of wonderful people. However, until I started to learn how to slow down, I viewed cooking as a task best completed in haste, enabling me to spend more time racing headfirst towards what ultimately became an existential crisis.  I never truly appreciated the significance of time, effort and love that was invested in good food. 

Goddamn. There’s a hell of a lot of words there. Perhaps we I should finally get on with the speed dating introduction of who am rather than this self-indulgent soliloquy…

My name is Chris Nicholas. I’m a man who has experienced incredible highs and endured devasting lows throughout my life. I’ve had moments where I’ve been an eater of worlds; and times where I’ve been swallowed whole. I’m a writer who has been fortunate to see my work in print more than once, who also hasn’t written a thing in almost a year. I’m nowhere near as harsh on myself as I was in my youth, and yet I still struggle accepting compliments from others. And finally, I’m someone who faced a health scare and managed to come out the other side with only some surgical mesh in my stomach and a newfound desire to slow down to show for it.

This is not intended to be your typical food and culture blog. I’m not interested in chasing popularity, soliciting free meals to review restaurants, or using aesthetically pleasing images to become a social media darling. I’m also not a chef, so if I ever attempt to share a recipe, it should be approached with extreme caution. 

Instead, this blog presents an opportunity for me to delve into new experiences, embracing my inner bon vivant as I explore food and culture from a fresh perspective. It serves as a reminder to slow down and savour the vibrant array of tastes and the kaleidoscope of living colour that cooking can offer. It also acts as a means to rekindle my connection with the written word following a substantial breakdown in our working relationship. Ultimately, this venture is about finding happiness and rediscovering a passion for life that has eluded me for much of my third decade on this floating rock we call Earth.  

If you’ve made it this far, then I’ve survived our initial encounter without boring you to death or losing you to more engaging content. From this point forward there’s no more unnecessary chatter about who I am or awkward anecdotes about exposing myself to doctors. Instead, I just want to talk about food and cooking, celebrating the people and cultures that have embraced the pleasures of a deliberate and meticulous approach to both. I don’t know where that takes us. Or even if this site becomes anything more than a failed attempt at something new. But I’m excited to find out.