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wanna-b-poet31 · 5 years

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Gabriel’s Gaslighting

One of the most concerning things (to me at least) about Gabriel is how sickeningly effective his abuse is. The most prevalent, and insidious tool in his abusive toolbox is gaslighting.

So that everyone’s on the same page, the National Domestic Violence Hotline says gaslighting:

“may seem like just a harmless misunderstanding at first. Over time, however, these abusive behaviors continue, and a victim can become confused, anxious, isolated and depressed while losing all sense of what is actually happening. Then, the victim may start relying on the abusive partner more and more to define reality, which creates a very difficult situation to escape”

In VERRRRRY broad terms, it means that the abuser is trying to reshape the perception of their victim’s reality. This can be done a variety of ways:

Trivializing: Making a victim’s feelings feel insignificant

Withholding: Pretending not to understand why a victim is worried/concerned and refusing to listen for a better understanding.

Countering: Purposefully questioning the victim’s memory when they know the victim is telling the truth/correctly recalling events

Blocking/Diverting: Changing topics to make the victim question their experiences/feelings/thoughts

Forgetting/Denial: or pretending to have forgotten what actually occurred or denying things, like promises or appointment they made to the victim

And, the main way Gabriel wields his verbal weapon is through trivializing Aziraphale’s worries/needs/feelings so that they seem unimportant. Through gaslighting, Gabriel can control his perception of reality and consequently control his actions. And let me tell you there is a fuckton of overt and covert gaslighting happening throughout the show.

Gaslighting Aziraphale’s Love of Food

Aziraphale is, at heart, a lover of food. He finds genuine joy and pleasure from eating, and in many ways, it’s an intimate part of who Aziraphale IS. Crowley takes note of this, and on more than one occasion has gone out of his way to get food, even if we (the audience) have no evidence that he ate food himself. Although, Book!Crowley explicitly eats with Aziraphale, purposefully ordering desserts to share. It’s tender, sweet, and clearly shows the mutual respect the two shares.

We can see in Aziraphale’s second scene just how much Aziraphale loves food.

Look at the calm smile, look at the relaxed features. This is an entity who unabashedly happy about his sushi.

But, we see a sudden emotional shift when a Wild Gabriel appears! Notice how the smile is long gone, and his glance at the food is hesitant.

Gabriel then asks: “Why do you consume that? You’re an angel” with palatable judgment. Harmless right?

Although the question could be seen as simple “interest”, Aziraphale instantly starts making excuses, hiding an integral part of who he is from someone who is supposed to support him and love him unconditionally. More, Gabriel later insists that eating is “sullying the temple of [one’s] body” and is purposefully condemning Aziraphale’s actions.

By bringing attention to the “you’re an angel” Gabriel is drawing a line in the sand, defining what it means to be an Angel, and creating a world where Angels, at least good angels, don’t eat, lest they “desecrate” their holiness. You can see Aziraphale’s face IMMEDIATELY fall.

We, the audience, can see this is untrue. There’s no reason to believe food is harmful to supernatural entities, and more importantly, it brings so much unbridled JOY to Aziraphale. So why point it out? Why deliberately trivialize our favorite Angel’s feelings like that?

Control.

All traces of joy from the first GIF are gone. Instead, he responds in genuine confusion, and he looks like Gabriel thinks him crazy. He is pleading with his eyes as if to ask Gabriel not to hurt him for indulging in his loves.

By pointing out Aziraphale’s choice to eat, >not to mention enjoying eating< Gabriel’s putting the power in his own hands. He is twisting Aziraphal’s perception of reality so that he is the ultimate authority on what the principality should/not do.

This does not mean Aziraphale stops eating (we see him dining at the Ritz with Crowley hardly a day later), but it means that he’s made to feel guilty for his passions, making excuses to avoid further belittlement. He notably hides his love of food from all other celestial beings (besides Crowley).

Speaking of, contrast Crowley’s treatment of Aziraphale’s love of food with Gabriel’s. He actively invites Aziraphale to get lunch, even if he is not particularly passionate about it, because of Aziraphale’s love of food, not despite it.

Gaslighting Aziraphale’s Books

In my meta on Crowley and the Bookshop, I talk about how Crowley is the only character in the whole damn series to care about any of Aziraphale’s interests. However, the scene alluded to in the gif above shows us that, in 6000 years, Gabriel has either never seen a book before in his life -- which is unlikely given the reports they have to send and the fact that (in a deleted scene) he’s visited the bookshop previously -- or he doesn’t care enough to learn about what Aziraphale is doing.

>Like he actually manhandles Aziraphale’s books. That’s got to be as violating as being intimidating and pinned to the wall of his bookshop<

Like, I know the scene is meant to be comedic, Sandalphon helpfully providing “pornography” as the kind of scandalous reading material that would allow them privacy, and Gabriel just kind of rolls with it as Aziraphale looks (rightly) confused and put out. It is exactly because of Aziraphale’s discomfort that this scene troubles me.

Look at the gif below, sure, he’s “smiling” but look at how it doesn’t reach his eyes in the same way sushi does. He has some uneven breathing and a tense posture that SCREAMSSS anxiety. More, if you go back to watch the scene, the concerning way the smile immediately falls the second Gabriel’s attention is off of him.

Although Aziraphale’s reaction is certainly due in part to the surprise appearance of Gabriel, Aziraphale’s face betrays clear discomfort that extends beyond his fears about his feelings for Crowley being exposed.

Gabriel's implicit dismissal and mistreatment of his books reinforce the idea that in this world, Angels don’t think books matter. But by extension, then neither does Aziraphale.

This distortion of reality is one solely of Gabriel (and perhaps Heaven)’s own creation. Dismissing the book’s value is particularly harmful because the bookshop is such a large part of Aziraphale’s life. It is perhaps one of his most beloved possessions which he independently spent a prolonged amount of time (at least 200 years) protecting and curating his book collection.

Crowley picks up on the sheer intensity with which Aziraphale loves his books and has an emotional and physical breakdown, presuming the only way for Aziraphale’s books to be on fire, the Angel must be dead.

Gabriel doesn’t care.

The consequence is not a diminished love of the bookshop, but rather, a fear of expressing interest around the people he’s “supposed” to care about and are supposed to care about him. He starts lying to avoid the put-downs and reality twists. This interaction shows that Gabriel’s presence makes Aziraphale a less confident, less relaxed entity.

Gaslighting the War

Okay, so Aziraphale lies ALOT, but we know for a fact that he’s told Gabriel his intentions to try stopping the war.

The archangel knows the general gist of Aziraphale’s plan to “prevent” the war. Aziraphale has made his intentions excruciatingly clear. However, besides blatantly lying to him about Heaven’s position on saving the world, he trivializes the very real concerns Aziraphale poses. It’s not just that he thinks Aziraphale can’t stop the war, it’s that Gabriel deliberately misleads him, allowing him to believe that if Aziraphale successfully climbed his mountain, he would be accepted by Heaven. (He’s not)

Then, in the above GIF, he dismisses Aziraphale’s transparent, clear plea for help.

CONTEXT: This is how Episode 4 opens. Aziraphale has found the Anti-Christ, met and rejected Crowley’s offer to fly off to Alpha Centauri at the Bandstand, told the love of his life his best friend that he doesn’t even like him and is in full out freak mode. Then, apropos of nothing “runs” into Gabriel and is in dire need of support to stop the end of the world. He NEEDS a lifeline, now that he thinks Crowley is fleeing Earth, never to see him again.

He firmly asserts that humanity is worth saving and that they COULD do it, (they’re Heavenly after all), but Gabriel does not give a single flying fuck about Aziraphale's feelings.

Instead of answering Aziraphale’s prayers, Gabriel reinforces his own interests (see: the never-ending war) and changes the conversation to focus Aziraphale’s “gut”. The glance in the below GIF is unnervingly condescending.

Look at how “disappointed” Gabriel appears glancing up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes before pointedly looking to Aziraphale’s belly. It is if, with his eyes, Gabriel is insinuating Aziraphale’s appearance is a personal failing and a somehow more important problem than stopping the end of the world.

The pivot from Aziraphale plea “we need to stop the end of the world” to “you’ need to lose the gut” is classic “Diverting” from the situation. It deflects from his own manipulative behavior and leaves Aziraphale to constantly second-guess himself. It puts the power squarely in Gabriel’s hands because the topic is no longer rooted in Aziraphale’s valid concerns or feelings.

Gabriel leaves the scene, with a more distraught (which, really how was that even possible) Aziraphale than the one he ran into. And, we hear Azirgaphale say he’s soft, in a hopeless, joyless voice that’s full of self-doubt. It’s a heartbreaking moment because of how powerless Gabriel (and Heaven for that matter) has made him feel, and how lost without Crowley as his lifeline he is.

However, Gabriel’s gaslighting comes to a head once Aziraphale is pushed passed his breaking point.

Aziraphale Want(s) To Break Free

After the altercation in the park, Aziraphale:

is “dumped” (again),

is attacked by angels, (presumably sent by Gabriel?)

is discorporated,

is verbally yelled, berated, and belittled for being a “bad angel”

realizes anything demons can do, he can do better

possesses 1-3 people

reunites with Crowley

“helps” save the world

Needless to say, he’s been through some shit.

However, he doesn’t encounter Gabriel until after the armageddon has been thoroughly avoided (read: his concerns have been validated, he’s taken steps to address his issues, and he’s reformed relationships with people his abuser pushed him to second-guess).

When Gabriel reappears, he has every reason to believe that his gaslighting will work to “control” Aziraphale. Because, while he may now be aware of Aziraphale’s friendship with Crowley, abusers will do anything to get the desired power dynamic (with them controlling all of it, and the victim none), and why abandon his most effective tool?

Just one thing though.

Crowley.

Crowley absolutely does not gaslight Aziraphale. Instead, he seeks to understand and validate his Angel’s concerns. Sure, occasionally they’ll fight, or push each other’s buttons, but Crowley never tries to manipulate of control Aziraphale. He remembers and encourages Aziraphale’s passions, actively seeks to participate in joint interests, and the sole act of saving Aziraphale’s books because he knows just how damn important those books are to his angel.

He’ll even go as far as to prioritize Aziraphale’s needs/comfort above his own. Is Aziraphale chained in a prison during the Reign of Terror? Sure, let’s just appear to rescue him. Aziraphale is getting double-crossed by Nazi bastards? Let’s just put ourselves in danger and walk on the consecrated ground and be to rescue him and his books.

It would be a bit of an understatement to say that Crowley cares about Aziraphale and wants to promote his wellbeing.

At the Airfield, Gabriel has never interacted with Aziraphale with Crowley around (deleted scenes notwithstanding) and able to support him. The simple act of having a support system there definitely boosts Aziraphale’s confidence and gives him the strength to make an actual choice.

Intervene.

He chooses to walk up to Beelzebub and Gabriel and ask, if they are sure of their reality, because, now Aziraphale sure as hell does. He knows where he stands and who he stands with. He is no longer under Gabriel’s control.

Never before has Aziraphale had a single honest choice. Sure, he made the choice to enter the “arrangement” with Crowley, to raise the (wrong) anti-christ, to lie to God. But these choices are rooted in self-preservation and self-defense. Also, he’s not transparent about these choices to Gabriel.

Once Armageddon is averted, and Aziraphale’s chosen to side with Crowley, to jump out of Heaven if need be for humanity, there is very little holding Aziraphale back. And, Aziraphale is finally being lifted up.

Gabriel tries to intimidate Aziraphale into submission, to tell him the questions he’s asking are insignificant, and that his opinion doesn’t matter. But, Aziraphale no longer is blind to the gaslighting, and pushes on. Crowley, in turn, backs him up and they support each other (and Adam) as they defy their respective abusers.

Once Gabriel’s control over him is broken, and his support system (Crowley) is reinstated, he can finally, openly and unabashedly love his passions.

I mean, just look at this happy face! He never smiles so honestly around Gabriel (or Heaven).

TLDR: Fuck Off Gabriel

Thanks for coming to my Tedtalk

SOURCES:

Many of Gabriel’s actions seem to leave Aziraphale feeling worthless, and powerless in their dynamic. If a person in your life makes you:

constantly second-guess yourself.

ask yourself, “Am I too sensitive?” multiple times a day.

often feel confused and even crazy.

always apologizing to your partner.

can’t understand why, with so many apparently good things in your life, you aren’t happier.

frequently make excuses for your partner’s behavior to friends and family.

find yourself withholding information from friends and family so you don’t have to explain or make excuses.

know something is terribly wrong, but you can never quite express what it is, even to yourself.

start lying to avoid the put-downs and reality twists.

have trouble making simple decisions.

have the sense that you used to be a very different person – more confident, more fun-loving, more relaxed.

feel hopeless and joyless.

feel as though you can’t do anything right.

wonder if you are a “good enough” partner.

The National Domestic Violence Hotline has some valuable resources for you to get any help you need.

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arecomicsevengood · 5 years

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Nick Drnaso’s SABRINA

This was one of the best-reviewed comics of 2018, shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize. I had no interest in reading it. When a friend saw the profile of Nick Drnaso in The New Yorker, and texted to ask me if I liked him, I had to admit I hadn’t read anything he’d done. There’s a ton of comics coming out all the time, and one of my rules for whether or not to read something is if I think it looks good. Drnaso’s work doesn’t meet this standard.

it looks like reheated Chris Ware. That is obvious, but I mostly hear it from people online who don’t like Chris Ware, which is a perspective I can’t trust. Ware’s work has beauty in it! That’s part of his work’s effect, is the contrast between the beauty of the natural world and the depressive inner lives of the characters that inhabit it. Drnaso’s stuff is ugly, and it’s basically depicting characters whose inner lives we don’t have access to, often because they are so repressed or in pain they don’t have access to it either. This is a valid artistic choice, and I get it, but it’s not that hard to see coming, and it’s off-putting. I’ve read Sabrina now, and it’s utterly joyless. The color palette gives a “pizza under a heatlamp” look at reality, exchanging the vivid for the coagulated.

I didn’t buy it, but a friend gave me a copy recently. It makes sense to me that you’d give it to someone else after reading it. (Tim: Do you want this back?) It’s hard to imagine wanting to open the book up and flip through it after reading just to look at he drawings, which is a big part of the reason I buy comics. Drnaso’s art is the sort of thing that makes people who don’t know anything about comics look and go “So they make this on the computer?” It is very easy to look at it and not think about drawing in any kind of normal human way. There’s an absence of life to it that feels inorganic, factory-made. It feels like a Tupperware container.

I knew that going in. I also knew that the experience of the comic, the quality, could still theoretically transcend that and offer a good reading experience. The book’s blurbed by the novelist Zadie Smith. It’s a “literary comic,” not an “art comic,” to cite a relatively recent distinction I don’t really believe in. I love literature. I am a pretty big reader of “actual” books, and have written reviews of fiction and poetry before and would like to do so again. However, the idea that reading “comics as literature” means not caring about the drawings seems to derive from some mistaken idea, gleaned from a comic shop clerk, about what “good” comic book art is. Or perhaps the crowd is more highbrow, and so have an idea of “good” art that derives from a gallery context where the human figure rarely appears. Either way, it ignores the role good comic book art defines the reading experience. For any book people that might be reading this, let me try to explain it in brief: I don’t know if they use it on newer printings, but all of the Nabokov books I own have this blurb on them from John Updike, where he says “Nabokov writes prose the only way it should be written: Ecstatically.” I’m sure a ton of book people have read this, and even internalized it, but have yet to apply this standard to graphic novels. Comics should be drawn the same way prose is written: Ecstatically. Most comics, it should be noted, reach this standard. It’s notable that both Updike and Nabokov were fans of comics, long before the graphic novel era.

The same way I flip through a comic to look at the art after reading it, you might do the same thing with a book of fiction or poetry, if it had good good scenes, dialogue, interesting sentences. All of these things compel you through a book the first time, beyond just “reading it for the plot.” What’s funny is that reading a book for the plot is largely disdained by the literary crowd- all the aspects I highlight are generally considered what marks a book as being “worth reading” by those with even a normal amount of snobbery. A plot is secondary to the amount of feeling a work of literature can inspire.

Sabrina is not particularly plot-intensive. I don’t think it’s particularly sharp in its characterization either: While prose could depict a subjective internal landscape, and a more active art style in a comic would to, Drnaso resists this. The world of the book feels mediated, through these isolated and atomized means. The vibe is that of CCTV cameras or twitter icons. The thing I think of as being Sabrina’s virtue is its timeliness. Weirdly, this is something I think book people disparage a lot! I think there’s even bits of general advice given by writing professors where the use of brand names is disdained because of the way it dates a text, although this might be changing.

So the praise for Sabrina seems highly conditional to me. It’s based on an understanding that drawing takes a long time, so the appreciation for its timeliness is really an appreciation of prescience, which normally you have to wait a few years to praise a book for. Of course, in 2018, timeliness and prescience do feel particularly jumbled. It seems like everyone’s memory is shot, and no one has any idea of when anything happened. Everything happening, however, has been foreshadowed and is somewhat unsurprising, given the precedent, but it still feels shocking because things are happening at a rate of speed they can’t really be processed.

Let me summarize this book. The title character, Sabrina, disappears. Her boyfriend falls into a deep depression, assuming she’s dead, and goes to live with a friend, who is in the military. They don’t talk a lot. They’re both depressed and isolated individuals. The boyfriend starts listening to an Alex Jones style radio show. Eventually it comes out that Sabrina is not just dead, but her murder was filmed, with the killer sending the video out to news stations, before killing himself. There’s then talk on the radio show about this story being a false flag, causing everyone who knew Sabrina in real life to be harassed by the radio audience.

The feeling in this book is pretty limited. It’s a pretty small emotional range. I can appreciate a wallow in bad feeling, or something so emotionally intense you don’t really go back to it often for how demanding it is. (I haven’t reread Building Stories, for instance.) A lot of the joy in comics comes from the drawing, from witnessing perception, seeing how another person sees manifests through their hand. This book feels less about interiority, and more about the media, and experiencing life through this depressing mediated scrim. It’s presented almost as a choice— choosing to embrace computer screens, talk radio, etc., rather than having personal relationships because genuine feeling is too intense. But the sadness of the book comes down to this presentational style where the natural and organic never enters into it.

Because of this narrow range of feeling, I don’t feel like any of the characters are well-developed or interesting. The thing that makes them feel “real” is how inaccessible they are, absent any passions. The opening sequence depicts Sabrina, but it doesn’t really seem like there’s joy or warmth in her life, or love in her relationships. The spiritually drab quality of distance in this sequence marks the rest of the book, which she’s dead for. In terms of presentation, there’s little difference between sequences involving Sabrina’s sister (who is arguably handling things better and more gracefully) and her boyfriend. The narrative distance from each character is equally voyeuristic. It isolates them, and creates an effect also present in Jimmy Corrigan, where it seems like they’re incapable of relating to one another, and so only hurt each other.

Within the context of the book, there is an article that explains the weird paranoid narrative of Sabrina’s death being a faked tragedy as bizarre right-wing weirdness. This article is spread over sixteen panels, each containing a sentence or two, one of the ways the comic’s layouts remind you of reading on your phone on a mobile app. That article is written by a Molly O’Connell. This character, the one who’s able to see through the falsehood of things and perceive things accurately, takes their name from Molly Colleen O’Connell, a visual artist and cartoonist whose work is very much the opposite of Drnaso’s: It’s wild and free and funny and joyful, more likely to be appreciated as “fine art” or get gallery shows than to be viewed as “literature” by major press outlets. Presumably the two of them know each other through the Chicago comics scene. It is really funny and interesting to me that the character who sees through the falsehoods of the media narrative in Sabrina is named after someone whose work basically explodes all the contrivances Drnaso builds his style around. The person who sees through the notion of a mediated narrative as a tool to isolate people and prey on fear is named after someone whose work feels very natural and human, but is genuinely eccentric, and so has yet to find a mass audience.

This is what the real Molly O’Connell’s work looks like, your reward for scrolling past those Drnaso sequences:

Even if Drnaso isn’t intending to argue that O’Connell is a better artist than he is, I think he understands that his approach has certain limits. That whole New Yorker profile is built about self-deprecation, a Comics Journal interview with him had him saying that he almost threw the book away rather than print it. He knows his work is depressing, but he’s only capable of making the work that he makes. I get that. I respect that, even. It’s just funny that the book, with its critique of the media as this thing that isolates us from one another, ends up creating this additional critique of the media as they respond positively to the book, where they choose this joyless half-dead thing as a high point of a medium which is capable of work that genuinely gives life back to readers.

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

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Food, It Turns Out, Has Little to Do With Why I Love to Travel

It’s the people that make a place — but these days, human interaction is hard to come by

I used to love to travel. I’d wander through new cities for days on end, eating and drinking (but mostly eating) in four-seat izakayas, farm-driven pizzerias, southern seafood halls, and boat noodle cafes, talking to locals and walking for miles. Restaurants have always been my joyous entry point to a place and its people. The food, I thought, was what made me love to explore the world.

That slowly fading memory — what it felt like to discover a new city, stomach first — is what excited me about going out on the road again, which I did a couple months ago, driving from Los Angeles to Corsicana, Texas and back, stopping to eat in places like Albuquerque, Amarillo, El Paso, and Phoenix.

Let me be clear: I absolutely would not and do not recommend frivolous travel. In my case, a looming publishing deadline on The Bludso Family Cookbook is what sent me on the long, not-so-winding road to Texas in the midst of a global pandemic, where I would be staying with my longtime friend, mentor, colleague, and big brother Kevin Bludso. Once there, we would be cooking, writing, recipe testing, interviewing, living together, and, in all likelihood, drinking a fair quantity of brown spirits at the end of each night (please, someone get that man a Hennessy sponsorship).

I’ve spent the better part of the last 15 years working in the food industry in one capacity or another. I’ve been a bartender, server, chef, culinary director, restaurant consultant, cookbook author, and food writer. My plan since last year had been to continue writing and consulting on the side, but also to finally open my own restaurant. Nothing extravagant. Something small and intimate. A humble, comforting place of my own — clean and well-lit, a true neighborhood restaurant where people can get to know each other, where the food and the service is unassuming and genuine, something with no desire for expansion or duplication. I consider myself unbelievably lucky that I didn’t open a restaurant right before the pandemic hit.

Instead, I’ve spent the last several months at home, making a quarantine cooking show with my wife called Don’t Panic Pantry. It’s been a good distraction, but I thought a work-related excuse to drive through the American Southwest and its expansive desert would be a cleansing, meditative, soul-resetting break from what I’d begun to think of as perpetual purgatory.

I took every precaution. A nasal-swab COVID test right before I departed. I also hopefully still had antibodies (my wife and I both had COVID-19 way back in March). It was, at the very least, the polite thing to do: Get tested before joining someone in their home for two weeks.

I had planned on driving straight through Arizona from LA, avoiding anything except gas stations until I made it to New Mexico, surviving on a sturdy mix of cold brew and air conditioning to keep me awake. I’d never been to New Mexico before. I’d pored over Instagram photos of chile-drenched Southwestern Mexican food, enchiladas oozing with melted cheese, their red and green chile sauces popping with Instagram photo-editing exposure. My usual pre-trip Google map was loaded with thoroughly researched restaurants along my route. In earlier times, I’d have peppered each map point with essential info like hours of operation and must-order dishes; now, I was looking up intel like outdoor seating, takeout quality, and, most crucially, whether or not a place had managed to stay open at all.

I had slowly but gradually heaped unreasonable expectations on a green chile cheeseburger.

I left with a bullish heart. But each stop to fuel up took away a notch of my optimism-fueled excitement and replaced it with caution. Each person in a mask made me a little more depressed; each person without, a little angrier.

Ten hours in and I had made it to New Laguna, New Mexico. I stopped at Laguna Burger, an iconic mini-chain inside of a gas station. It’s a fast-food place to be sure, but according to old photos online there used to be stools set up against the counter, and even a couple of tables and a few chairs. Those are, of course, gone now — pushed to the side of the room and leaving in their place a vacuous emptiness, even for a gas-station dining room. The staff was nice but appropriately wary. I did not partake in the self-serve Kool-Aid pickle jar. I got my food and then sat in my car, emotionally deflated and no longer very excited to eat my first-ever green chile burger — something I had wanted to try for years.

Ordering a burger at a place like this was supposed to be a tiny gateway into the culture and personality of the place, however small that sampling was going to be. There is an emotional atmosphere, a vibe, that’s specific to each and every restaurant, and I had perhaps never been so truly aware that such a thing existed until I noticed it had been zapped entirely from this one. In its place was a blanket of nervous, sad precaution — added to, I’m sure, by my own nervousness.

So I sat in my car with my sack of food, gloomily disappointed even before the first bite. They forgot to salt the fries and it felt oddly appropriate. In this moment, to no fault of the restaurant itself, the food didn’t matter. It couldn’t have. I had slowly but gradually heaped unreasonable expectations on a green chile cheeseburger, wanting it to justify a 12-hour drive and to somehow soothe an anxious mind. But the food, it occurred to me, wasn’t what I was after at all.

Later on, in Albuquerque, I picked up a four-pack of beer from Arrow Point Brewing and received the now familiar and appropriate treatment: measured, cautious polite gratitude. It was a transaction, appreciated by both sides, but with a higher degree of precondition from both sides as well. I followed it up with a takeout bag of enchiladas and a taco from the beloved and iconic Duran’s Pharmacy, taking them back to the motel room I checked myself into earlier. It was 5:30 p.m. The enchiladas had sloshed in the bag. I took a bite and understood: It was comforting, but not nearly enough. Like being single and reconnecting with an ex, only to both immediately discover that there’s nothing there anymore — two empty vessels with no connection beyond a memory.

I took a sip of beer and fell asleep for an hour. When I awoke the city had turned dark and I knew there was no point in going anywhere. The world felt dystopian and deflated. I’d left my redundant, loving, comfortable bubble to experience life alone on the road, and all I wished was that I was right back there with my wife and my dog.

When my wife and I had COVID-19, we lost our sense of smell and taste for a bit. It was, as my wife put it, “a joyless existence.” Now I had my taste back, but somehow the joy of eating was still gone.

The enchiladas, in a box, alone, on the floor of my motel, were just enchiladas. Because here’s a thing I’ve come to understand of late: context really does affect flavor. A place, its atmosphere, the people within it, their mood (and ours) genuinely change the way things taste. A restaurant lasagna has to be twice as good as your mother’s — or that one you had on that trip to Italy — for it to remind you of it even a little. A rack of smoked pork ribs will never taste as good on a ceramic plate atop a tablecloth as it does from within a styrofoam box on the hood of your car, downwind from a roadside smoker. I hope that I never find out what Waffle House tastes like while sober, eaten in broad daylight.

So as it turns out, when it comes to my lifelong love of food and travel, the food might not have mattered — not to the degree I thought it did, anyway. Not without everything that goes along with it. The surly bartender in the dark room who fries your chicken behind the bar at Reel M Inn in Portland while a guy two seats down makes fun of you for being from California is a huge part of why that might be my favorite fried chicken in the world. The friend of a friend who abandoned his family (thanks Marc!) to drive a stranger, me, around Toronto for two days and show off the city’s outstanding versions of goat roti (from Mona’s Roti) and bún riêu cua (from Bong Lua) makes me realize that yes, the food is outstanding, but that it’s the people — excited to show off their hometown, its restaurants, and their community — who make travel worthwhile.

Would Tokyo be my favorite eating city in the world if my now-wife and I hadn’t befriended two total strangers in a six-seat dive bar, knocking back cocktails until we both threw up, only to come through to the other side fully bonded over late-night grilled pork skewers with another stranger who gave me his business card and said that he had been eating in this stall for over a decade? What is a bar without a bartender? It’s just, well, being home.

The restaurant business can be both horrible and wonderful. It pays poorly, it requires incredibly long hours, and in many instances, you are going broke while making food for people who complain that it’s too expensive. But it is, as Anthony Bourdain often said, the Pleasure Business. It has always been a place for camaraderie, human connection, and community. Those were the things that made the nearly unbearable parts of our business worthwhile — and that connection, when you can have a genuine one between staff and customer, is what I think everyone really, truly wants out of the transaction. Those things still exist, I suppose, but all at arm’s length, or across an app.

I still eventually want to open my own restaurant. I think. But maybe I just want to open my memory of what it would have been in a different, earlier world. I don’t want to be a dinosaur, yearning for the good old days. But I also don’t want to live in a world where a third-party tech company stands between the restaurant and its customer. I don’t want someone to visit my city and think that a robot delivering them a sandwich is the best that we have to offer. I don’t want to have to download an app to order a cup of fucking coffee. Human connection, it turns out, is essential too, and we need to find a way to make it a part of our essential businesses again.

So what, in the midst of a health and humanitarian catastrophe, can we do? Well, we can decide where we spend our money. We support human connection and small businesses. We pick up takeout with our own hands from the places and the people that we love (safely, responsibly). We know that it is just gauze pressed against an open, oozing knife wound, but we try anyway.

So we travel because we have to, whether for work or as a needed break from monotony, and we reset our expectations, we open ourselves up to receiving that connection, we seek out the places that are adapting and we smile through our masks, and ask each other how we are doing, if only to show that somebody cares.

When I eventually made it to Corsicana, Texas, hoisting a large bag of dried red New Mexico chiles, I was greeted with an engulfing hug by Kevin Bludso; it was the first truly comforting thing that happened on the whole trip. I melted into the arms of my friend. I was back in a bubble, connected to something.

I spent two glorious weeks in that bubble, taking turns doing Peloton workouts and then drinking vegetable smoothies, before recipe-testing dishes like Fried Whole-Body Crappie and Ham Hock Pinto Beans; researching Kevin’s family history and then, true to form, sipping rye (me) and Hennessy (him) before I had to head home. Kevin’s food was outstanding, but it was made all the better by the time spent together cooking it. So when I readied myself to get out on the road again, my expectations had changed. I knew the food alone could only do so much.

This disease has been a reflection and amplifier of all of our weak points — and the restaurant business is certainly no different. This industry was already ripe with flaws. It has been teetering on the brink of a seismic shift for years — COVID-19 just accelerated it, and all the platitudes, Instagram stories, and false optimism won’t fix anything. But there have always been bad restaurants as well as good restaurants. I suppose it’s no different now. Yet it is maybe just a little bit harder to give and to be open to receiving the human connection that makes the whole experience worthwhile.

I hope that I never find out what Waffle House tastes like while sober, eaten in broad daylight.

I hit the road early, and after about 10 and a half hours, fueled by caffeine, Christopher Cross, and Bonnie Raitt — with one depressing pit stop in El Paso at the famed H&H Car Wash, where an old curmudgeon out front insisted I take off my mask before going inside — I arrived in Las Cruces, at La Nueva Casita Café. I called ahead, hoping not to have to wait so I could just grab my food and get back on the road. My guard was still up, but then the woman on the other end of the phone was so charming and kind that I was immediately disarmed. She graciously steered me toward the chile relleno burrito (“it’ll be the easiest one to eat in the car”). A few minutes later I came inside to pick up my food and the two women behind the counter were, frankly, a delight. I paid, and was promptly handed my food and thanked with genuine, casual appreciation for coming in. The burrito was excellent.

Bolstered by the kindness of strangers, I drove another five and a half hours into Phoenix. As a bit of an obsessive pizza maker (I had the tremendous fortune to train with Frank Pinello of Best Pizza in Williamsburg, and also had a hand in helping to open Prime Pizza in Los Angeles), I was here to try the new 18-inch New York-style fusion pie by the great Chris Bianco at their Pane Bianco outpost on Central.

Just as at La Nueva Casita Café, the staff was friendly, genuine, helpful, and kind. In retrospect, it took so little but it meant so much. When I expressed a need for caffeine, they sent me next door to Lux Central for a large iced coffee, where the barista talked to me from a responsible distance, wished me a safe drive, and gave me a free blueberry muffin. Even eaten in my car, Chris’s pizza was truly outstanding — crisp, thin, and pliable, successfully pulling off the New York-modern Neapolitan (ish) fusion that, in lesser hands, turns into an 18-inch bowl of soup.

I drove the last six hours home, finding myself encouraged by these final two restaurant experiences, excited by what the best in our industry are still somehow capable of in spite of everything. It was, frankly, inspirational to find genuine interaction, care, and kindness in this new reality.

It reminds me of my mother, actually. I remember when I was a kid, she would pick up the phone to call a restaurant, or Blockbuster Video, to ask them a question. I would always hear her say something like: “Hi Randy! How are you today?” and I would say, “Mom! Do you know him?” and she would shake her head no. Then she would say, “Oh that’s great to hear, Randy. Hey listen, what time do you close today?” My brother and I used to make fun of her for that — for forcing this connection with someone she had no real relationship with beyond an exchange of services. Now, I plan to do exactly that, whenever and wherever I can.

Noah Galuten is a chef, James Beard Award-nominated cookbook author, and the co-host of Don’t Panic Pantry. Nhung Le is a Vietnamese freelance illustrator based in Brooklyn, NY.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34Oc66Q https://ift.tt/34RJ8TD

It’s the people that make a place — but these days, human interaction is hard to come by

I had slowly but gradually heaped unreasonable expectations on a green chile cheeseburger.

I hope that I never find out what Waffle House tastes like while sober, eaten in broad daylight.

Noah Galuten is a chef, James Beard Award-nominated cookbook author, and the co-host of Don’t Panic Pantry. Nhung Le is a Vietnamese freelance illustrator based in Brooklyn, NY.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34Oc66Q via Blogger https://ift.tt/314xEef

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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operationdisciple-blog · 7 years

Video

vimeo

DAY 1 OPERATION DISCIPLE

Part I: Living as a Disciple Maker

1: What Is a Disciple?

Two thousand years ago, Jesus walked up to a handful of men and said, “Follow me.”

Imagine being one of those original disciples. They were ordinary people like you and me. They had jobs, families, hobbies, and social lives. As they went about their business on the day Jesus called them, none of them would have expected his life to change so quickly and completely.

The disciples could not have fully understood what they were getting into when they responded to Jesus’s call. Whatever expectations or doubts, whatever curiosity, excitement, or uncertainty they felt, nothing could have prepared them for what lay ahead. Everything about Jesus—His teaching, compassion, and wisdom; His life, death, and resurrection; His power, authority, and calling—would shape every aspect of the rest of their lives.

In only a few years, these simple men were standing before some of the most powerful rulers on earth and being accused of “turn[ing] the world upside down” (Acts 17:6). What began as simple obedience to the call of Jesus ended up changing their lives, and ultimately, the world.

What Is a Disciple?

What does it mean to be a disciple of Jesus Christ? As you will discover, the answer is fairly simple, but it changes your life completely.

The word disciple refers to a student or apprentice. Disciples in Jesus’s day would follow their rabbi (which means teacher) wherever he went, learning from the rabbi’s teaching and being trained to do as the rabbi did. Basically, a disciple is a follower, but only if we take the term follower literally. Becoming a disciple of Jesus is as simple as obeying His call to follow.

When Jesus called His first disciples, they may not have understood where Jesus would take them or the impact it would have on their lives, but they knew what it meant to follow. They took Jesus’s call literally and began going everywhere He went and doing everything He did.

It’s impossible to be a disciple or a follower of someone and not end up like that person. Jesus said, “A disciple is not above his teacher, but everyone when he is fully trained will be like his teacher” (Luke 6:40). That’s the whole point of being a disciple of Jesus: we imitate Him, carry on His ministry, and become like Him in the process.

Yet somehow many have come to believe that a person can be a “Christian” without being like Christ. A “follower” who doesn’t follow. How does that make any sense? Many people in the church have decided to take on the name of Christ and nothing else. This would be like Jesus walking up to those first disciples and saying, “Hey, would you guys mind identifying yourselves with Me in some way? Don’t worry, I don’t actually care if you do anything I do or change your lifestyle at all. I’m just looking for people who are willing to say they believe in Me and call themselves Christians.” Seriously?

No one can really believe that this is all it means to be a Christian. But then why do so many people live this way? It appears that we’ve lost sight of what it means to be a follower of Jesus. The concept of being a disciple isn’t difficult to understand, but it affects everything.

1. Up to this point in your life, would you call yourself a follower of Jesus Christ? Why do you say that? Do you see evidence of your faith as described in Luke 6:40?

How Do I Become a Disciple?

To understand how to become a disciple of Jesus Christ, it makes most sense to start where Jesus started. While it is true that He said to the disciples, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matt. 4:19), the Bible records one message He proclaimed before that. In Matthew 4:17, Jesus said, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

Try taking this phrase literally. If someone warned you to be prepared because a king and his army were coming, what would you do? You would make sure you were ready to face him. If you weren’t prepared to fight this king, then you would do whatever it took to make peace with him.

The word repent means “to turn.” It has the idea of changing directions and heading the opposite way. It involves action. In this context, Jesus was telling people to prepare themselves—to change whatever needed to be changed— because God’s kingdom (the kingdom of heaven) was approaching.

So how do we prepare to face this heavenly kingdom? How do we make sure we are at peace with this coming King?

Jesus says we need to repent. This implies that we all need to turn from the way we are currently thinking and living. Romans 3:23 explains that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Every person reading this sentence has done things that are evil and offensive to this King. Romans later explains that “the wages of sin is death” (Rom. 6:23). Because of our sin, which is an offense to God, we should expect death. But then comes an amazing truth.

“But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8). The death penalty we should have faced from this King was actually paid for by someone else. The King’s Son, Jesus Christ!1

The Scriptures then say, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Rom. 10:9). We are saved by the grace of God through faith in Jesus Christ. It is all about who Jesus is and what He has done. Part of our repentance is to turn from believing that there’s anything we can do to save ourselves—for everything was accomplished by Jesus Christ.

The thought that someone else has paid for our crimes is strange to most of us because it defies our natural way of thinking. And the idea that we need to trust in another person’s sacrifice on our behalf is even more foreign. But understand that while it is strange to us, it is consistent with God’s actions throughout the Scriptures.

We get a picture of this when we read the book of Exodus. In this story, Moses warned Pharaoh repeatedly about what God would do if he did not repent. It climaxed when God said He would bring death to the firstborn of every household if they did not repent. Meanwhile, He told His people that if they put the blood of a lamb over their doorposts, His angel would pass over their homes and not kill the firstborn of that house. So even in the story of the exodus, we see that people had to trust in the blood of a lamb to save them— and this was the only way they could be saved.

2. Read Ephesians 2 carefully and take some time to consider the truths it presents. Do you trust in the death of Christ for your salvation? Do you ever struggle with believing you need to do something to save yourself?

The Lord of Grace

Salvation is all about the grace of God. There is absolutely nothing that you can do to save yourself or earn God’s favor. Paul said, “By grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Eph. 2:8–9). No one can brag about his or her good deeds because our works cannot save us. Salvation comes through the grace of God as we place our faith in Jesus Christ. All salvation requires is faith: Do you believe that Jesus is who He says He is?

But keep in mind that while this is simple, it’s not easy. Faith in Jesus Christ means believing that He is Lord (according to Rom. 10:9). Have you ever thought about what that word Lord means? We sometimes think of it as another name for God, but it’s actually a title. It refers to a master, owner, or a person who is in a position of authority. So take a minute to think this through: Do you really believe that Jesus is your master? Do you believe that He is your owner—that you actually belong to Him?

Paul is so bold as to tell us: “You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body” (1 Cor. 6:19–20). The same Lord who by His grace set us free from sin and death now owns us. We belong to Him, and He calls us to live in obedience to His rule.

The problem is, many in the church want to “confess that Jesus is Lord,” yet they don’t believe that He is their master. Do you see the obvious contradiction in this? The call to be a disciple of Jesus Christ is open to everyone, but we don’t get to write our own job description. If Jesus is Lord, then He sets the agenda. If Jesus Christ is Lord, then your life belongs to Him. He has a plan, agenda, and calling for you. You don’t get to tell Him what you’ll be doing today or for the rest of your life.

3. Evaluate your approach to following Jesus. Would you say that you view Jesus as your Lord, Master, and Owner? Why or why not?

It All Comes Down to Love

But don’t get the impression that following Jesus is all about joyless sacrifice. More than anything else, following Jesus boils down to two commands, which He said were the most important commandments in the Old Testament Law:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets. (Matt. 22:37–40)

It all comes down to love. Peter expressed it well for people like us, who didn’t see Jesus on earth but follow Him nonetheless: “Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory” (1 Pet. 1:8).

Following Jesus is not about diligently keeping a set of rules or conjuring up the moral fortitude to lead good lives. It’s about loving God and enjoying Him.

But lest we think that we can love God and live any way we want to, Jesus told us very clearly, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15). The love for God in the first commandment is made practical in the love for our neighbors in the second commandment. John actually told us that if we don’t love the people that we can see around us, then we don’t love God, whom we can’t see (1 John 4:20).

True love is all about sacrifice for the sake of the ones you love: “By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers” (1 John 3:16). When we understand love in this light, it’s not difficult to understand that love for God and obedience to Jesus Christ cannot be separated. God’s love changes us from the inside out and redefines every aspect of our lives.

4. As you look at your life, how would you say that your love for God is shown in your actions? (If you’re having trouble coming up with an answer, take some time to think through some changes you may need to make in your lifestyle.)

Count the Cost

As you work your way through this material, you will be challenged to consider what it means to be a follower of Jesus. You will think through what the Bible teaches and its implications for the way you live your life today. Everything you study will be for the purpose of applying it to your life and teaching other people to do the same. But before you set out to teach other people to be disciples of Jesus, you need to examine your heart and make sure you are a disciple.

Read the following words from Jesus slowly and carefully. Understand that Jesus is speaking these words to you. Think about what Jesus is saying and how it should affect the way you approach this material and your relationship with Him. After you have read this section, use the questions below to help you count the cost of following Jesus.

Now great crowds accompanied him, and he turned and said to them, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, ‘This man began to build and was not able to finish.’ Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:25–33)

5. If you choose to obey Jesus’s call to follow, what might it cost you? (Avoid being vague. If following Jesus would cost you specific possessions, comforts, or relationships, list them below.)

6. What might hold you back from following Jesus at this point? Are you willing to let go of these things if necessary?

7. Before you end this session, spend some time in prayer. Ask God to work in your heart and prepare you for what is ahead. You don’t need to have all the answers or know specifically how God will use you. He simply calls you to follow wherever He might lead. As you pray, be honest about your doubts, hesitations, and fears. Ask Him to give you the strength to proceed and follow Him no matter what the cost. In other words, place your faith in Him.

Watch the video for this session.

1 These simple truths will be unpacked in far greater detail in Parts III and IV: “Understanding the Old Testament” and “Understanding the New Testament.” The full significance of these truths will be explained then, but the truths themselves are important to understand from the outset.

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