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I’ve been in a funk lately, a malaise. For weeks I’d attributed it to the exhaustion of being on a book tour for months on end. I knew that focusing so hard on making Duck, Duck, Goose as successful as I could would naturally sap my strength to cook, write and to make Hunter Angler Gardener Cook as good a website as I can possibly make it.
But I’ve been home more than a week now, sitting quietly, and I know there is something else at work. The realization began to creep over me as I was catching up on other websites and reading colleagues’ cookbooks. It solidified when I thought of all the amazing food I’d eaten at my book dinners over the course of those four months. Clear-eyed and cold, I sit here with the stark realization that I am simply not that good.
Maybe it’s just age talking. As we grow older all of us begin to test the limits of our abilities. Our world narrows. The stars we shot for so long ago seem even farther away. It used to be that I could see a chef on TV perform some act of culinary prestidigitation and glibly comment that I could do that, given some time. Now, having seen in person real chefs perform real feats of magic in the kitchen, I am no longer so sure.
In Austin, I had all the time in the world to think about a dish to serve at the finale of my book tour, and all the time and equipment I needed to cook it. I made a German giblet soup called ganseklein, served it with acorn spaetzle, and drizzled a little Austrian pumpkinseed oil over each plate at service. It was a lovely dish. But I’d be a braggart and a liar if I did not say that my friend Jesse Griffiths, who made a German duck kasekrainer sausage with sprouted wheat, pickled radish and homemade mustard, did not blow my dish from the water.
Even in my wheelhouse I was bested. And this was not the only time it has happened. I am not being overly prideful here. I’m not hurt that professional chefs have cooked better duck dishes than I have: I am ashamed of myself for lacking the imagination and ability to either conceive of or execute some of their dishes. In their collective shadow, I’ve been proven to be a competent cook, but nothing more. My knives should be sharper. I need to become a more skilled baker. I ought to be better at sous vide. At desserts. At plating food. At the simple act of cooking beans.
The raw fact is that the exigencies of running this website pull me in so many competing directions I find that I have become the proverbial jack of all trades and master of none. I am a good forager but I know better. I am only an average hunter, and a somewhat better-than-average angler. I can break down animals and fish with the best of them, but even in this realm I know there is a lifetime’s worth of knowledge I have yet to master. Same goes for the act of roasting birds, or searing fish or making ice cream.
It is also a fact that I must earn my living from this website. To do that, I know that most people come here looking for recipes for things like venison chili or roast pheasant or salmon chowder. This is the sort of recipe that quite literally pays the bills, and I honestly enjoy making and eating them. But for every such classic I post on this site, I feel an equal need to create original dishes like Oyster! Oyster! Oyster! or The White Sturgeon or Dessert from the Mountain. In many ways this push-pull of the everyday and the esoteric are what make HAGC as fun as it is to create — and I hope to read.
Several years ago I wrote an essay called A Restless Craftsman. In essence the piece was about me trying to elevate the craft of cooking to an art. I am over that now. Art has become, at least for me, something unattainable in food — fancy plating and odd ingredients do not art make. Art moves the mind, sends it to higher places. Food simply cannot do that. Food can entertain, amuse, divert and even alarm. But can food spark someone to sit back and contemplate greater human truths? I doubt it.
Writing, however, can. A reporter asked me recently what, of all the skills I possess, do I consider that I am best at? Writing was the easy answer. I’ve written for publication virtually every week for 22 years. If there is any real art in anything I’ve ever done with this odd, meandering life of mine, it lies within the written word. Yet even in this realm I feel flat.
Which is why I am writing you this letter, dear readers.
I am still a restless craftsman. Only now I am hoping to renew and restore my love of the crafts I have chosen to pursue: Hunting, foraging, angling. Butchering, cooking and yes, writing. I spent almost the entirety of last year as a public person. I drove nearly 30,000 miles to and from events, traveled to 45 states, did scores of media interviews and talked with literally thousands of people. By the end I felt like a caricature of myself, and I began to hate the sound of my own voice. I will not do this in 2014.
I have found my limits, and they are humbling. Depressing, even. But they are only my limits today. Today I will learn something new, in the field, on the water, in the kitchen or at my keyboard. Today I will become better than I was yesterday. And tomorrow I will get up and do it again.
This is my vow to you. I hope you stay with me for the journey.
Great post. I feel exactly the same. I have come to be led rather than tell people what I want to do. It just wasn’t working.
You describe what has been a whirlwind of a year that has passed. All of the motion has come to an abrupt stop and now is the time to look back and really see what you have accomplished. I am sure you will see many blossoms from your efforts that you are not aware of yet.
It sounds as though you are a bit weary and possibly Leary of losing momentum or maybe even followers but I think I speak for a huge percentage of us who do follow you in saying this. “I have learned much by following along and you have unknowingly given me tasks that I have on my “to do” list”.
I, like you, am a great cook, I have been cooking since I was 15, there will always be somebody that I perceive as better, but there is only one me.
In looking forward, I wish you peace, success in all you do and most importantly happiness. Peace Out
Be impressed, be humble, but don’t let the success and talents of others demean your own talents and accomplishments. You inspired me to take on the duck and to continue to grow my hunting world. I am sure I’m not alone. Thank you for your dinner in Austin and, btw, your soup was my favorite.
Wow. Amazingly insightful and inspiring Hank. Thanks for sharing. I frequently (like hourly) have similar thoughts. Some of this is because I haven’t gone to culinary school, but I know that even if I did go to culinary school, I would still feel that way.
One thing that I try to keep in mind while writing and coming up with recipes is that it just isn’t a zero sum game. The fact that a chef is creating inspiring dishes doesn’t mean that you can’t also do so. Some people may be more drawn to the chef’s creations, but I think it’s fairly apparent that a large number of people love your creations and writings as well. One doesn’t detract from the other.
In fact, sometimes I think it is harmful to chase. Then you fall into the well of simply imitating others.
Great post and a good read for a Monday!
You’ve hit a wall. Take a break, you’ve earned it. Like you said you have been running around like a chicken with your head cut off.
Me thinks you think too much.
You create for a more diverse and larger group then those
that you say bested you on your book tour.
I’ll keep reading, attempt to recreate yours, and buy the books as
you release them.
I understand you feelings, but get your head up and be proud of what you have accomplished. Your writing is great,your book is amazing,and you are one of those very gifted jack-of-all-trades. How I wish my book sold as many as yours, and that I could hunt in all the places you have successfully been.
Your site is one of the few I follow, and many of my friends have received your cookbook as gifts from me. YOU ARE AWESOME!
Hank,
Good Post. We all have our limitations and if we don’t aspire to be great at things what is there? I wish I could shoot better and wish I could cast a fly farther into the wind and sometimes the sauces I make are not all that great. But anyway just as you say we keep at it and try to have fun along the way. I made your Kentucky burgoo recipe with Phesant, venison and squirrel. Pretty tasty dish for a cold early Feb dinner. I love your Web site. If you don’t mind I will share a Bob Marley quote “The greatness of a man is not in how much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively”
Be Well,
John S.
If you want to start over with the mind of a beginner, take up wild yeast breadbaking. I promise you’ll be a humble novice for years and years…ha. At least when you’re hunting, you can SEE the creatures you’re after. No such luck in sourdough.
I think that everyone of a certain age has thoughts like this. It is pretty easy to see that no matter what you do, there is always someone better. That goes for athletes, artists, chefs, electricians, and bricklayers. Such is the way of life.
Just among my small handful of friends, it is clear to me that several far exceed my abilities when it comes to shooting, goose calling, angling, painting, singing, running, and drinking. Among other things.
That said, I like to console myself with the other side of that data. You very clearly do a lot of things much better than 99.99% of the general population. Too many people spend their time watching television, walking the mall, and eating prepackaged food. You should take great pride in being a jack of all trades.
Rest assured that you will be in great demand after the zombie apocalypse, at least that’s what I’m hoping.
and I forgot to add in my comment above, I went to your Amazon site and ordered your two books, which I greatly look forward to using. Thank you for such inspiration and instruction.
Hank,
I hunt and fish, would like to gather more than I do. When I first came across your website, it really spoke to me. I read your blog posts every time they come out. I’ve used several of your recipes and culinary ideas. I always check your site before exploring something new with my store of frozen wild game.
I’m convinced now that being the best is not about the result, but rather about the journey. You’re on a great journey that clearly inspires many others. Keep it up, man.
-tsw
Such lovely responses here from a very loving, warm, and supportive readership!
Leaves me wondering . . . is it possible that ‘limitations’ are mere sign-pointers to possible/probable new and beckoning horizons?
And is the trick to choose only those horizons [whether easy or tough] that bring us joy in the moment?
Then looking back perhaps remembering the joy experienced will far outweigh any feelings of regret . . . perhaps!
please be proud of yourself
at 25 i am an aspiring butcher, hunter, angler, gatherer, painter, planter and cook.
years from now i can only hope to be as well rounded of a ‘jack’ as you are.
keep being awesome,
samantha
I think Heinlein had some words about jacks of all trades
“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”
— Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love
May I suggest painting. You look like you could master painting.
I think we all feel that way sometimes Hank. I’ve always been cursed as the Jack of trades and very conscious of the limitations of that status, I have to say that sometimes your site makes me feel unimaginative and quite elementary. But Thanks you so much for helping me use more of the animal in delectable ways and raise the bar on cooing game meat. You’ve given us so much Thank you. Hope the funk leave you soon.
Meant to include this: my step-grandfather, a brilliant and interesting man, was constantly researching, reading, and challenging himself. His favorite expression was “Still learning!”. He used it often, after making an error, or finding an article or study that corrected something he had previously thought to be true. When he died at 79, the inscription he had ordered was put on his grave marker: Still Learning.
If we are awake and aware and moving forward, we are still learning.
one of my old friends, dead a number of years, was considered the best climber in the world for a number of years. One comment he made over and over was that the best climber was the one having the most fun, cause there is ALWAYS someone better than you. So have fun and realize how many folks you have inspired, including me.
Hank,
Don’t be so hard on yourself. You inspire a lot of folks to move beyond what they normally do and try new things.
You have made hunting, fishing, and foraging cool.
In my opinion you are one of the best ambassadors for hunting out there.
I just tried your Kielbasa recipe with some nice black bear meat that my son bagged last May in Prince William Sound. I may have gone a little heavy on the pork fat but I tell you the results are just excellent.
Thank you for the great website. It is always interesting to see what’s new there.
Keep it up.
Mike