The Polls Have Closed!

The voting process for my Anthony Bourdain Medium Raw Challenge is now over. I have ranked #23 with 1,570 votes. I couldn't be happier with that!!!! I'm extremely exicted/nervous for this month of a waiting game that lies ahead. Thank you so much to all who voted for me, that truly means a lot! And for those just stopping by and reading, here's my essay:

Consider me quite possibly the youngest food prep in culinary history. I found myself, at the tender age of 6, highly attracted to the busy, boisterous kitchen of my grandparent’s popular Cuban restaurant. There are these faint, yet vivid memories in which I find myself stuffing and shaping “papa rellenas”, chopping up some kind of produce, and scrambling eggs during breakfast hour for the hungry, awaiting customers. The sound of the meat grinder, the pounding of steaks, and the crisping, crackling sound of the deep fryer. I knew for a fact, even in the midst of my pure innocence, that being in the kitchen was meant for me.

I’ve always considered cooking as a form of art. We are artists. Each and every one of us. No, we might not use a brush and paint to precisely smother a canvas with captivating imagery. But instead our brushes have become 8inch blades and our paint is now aromatic, beautifully tasting herbs and spices. We have created mouth-watering plates, canvas’, in which are cooked well. Damn well. And speaking of artists, considering the fact that I grew up in the restaurant, my grandmother was the first one I laid eyes on. The sweat trickling down my Abuela’s forehead as she was cooking up the best fucking black beans known to man. Her tiny 5’1” body making moves, making sure every morsel being put together was filled with pure, unconditional love. Yeah, she definitely was, and still is, an artist. An artist crazy enough to let her grandchild use a chef’s knife.

Food always seemed to be somewhat of an adventure to me. It is all about leaving the bland behind and going for something a bit more bold and daring. Every chop, every whisk leads you to that final product. That delectable plate of well-cooked food in which is going to fill that hungered, unfilled belly of yours. And when those flavors hit your palate, it’s as if an incredible explosion just set off in your mouth, on your tongue. But with the thrill, also comes a form of relaxation. I, 16 years after my “food prep days”, use my cooking as a tool for stress relief. Tuning into the jazz station, I then grab my knife and in me, I find a sense of control; I am at peace. I am truly me. I chop away and begin some magic in the kitchen. The jazz infuses my body and soul with a sweet melody that plays deep into my heart and straight into the food. Mmm…

So although the memories of my childhood, alongside my self-taught chef of an Abuela, are worth reliving, I am more than happy to be where I am today. In my blood I carry the ultimate DNA in which will lead me on a culinary adventure until I’m finally asked to kindly leave this earth. And that is exactly why, I not only cook food well, but enjoy the shit out of it, too.