PEELING
THE ONION Written and photographed by Michael Crouch, Executive Chef at Bistro 1860
As I tear the skin and untangle each layer from the onion, a tear may fall ... but the eventual end will tantalize your taste buds. An essential ingredient. Maybe it wasn't the ideal plan I had imbedded in my mind. My path to where I have landed seems unlikely and by chance I suppose, never truly knowing what it was that life had in store, what my calling was ... IS. Perhaps I still find myself wavering. Possibly, there may be a much larger means that I have yet to discover. The fact of the matter is I became a chef, whether I like or not. And here I am. I was born on the 22 of January in 1976, a beautiful, perfect boy (according to mom) in small-town Shelby County, with hopes and dreams as far the mind can reach. Endless possibilities, only time will tell. In my very early years in grade school, I knew what I was destined to be: an archeologist – traveling through the temples of Peru and the ancient ruins of Egypt, taking on the Nazis, and eating the brains of monkeys in India. Certainly, this could very well have been related to me watching Indiana Jones films over and over and over again. I mean, hell, I already owned a whip, so I felt I was more than qualified for the position. All I needed was Short Round and a fedora. Thirty-three years later, here I am, digging into my soul with my calloused hands; patiently waiting for the next radical idea to execute; flaunting my skills and declaring my dominance to all; justifying I'm worthy of my craft; doing what hasn't been done, yet has been done over and over; and desperately anticipating that my undeniable capability will carry me as far as I so desire it will.
78 slmag.net
