The Slow Food movement, which began in the mid-1980s in Bra, Italy, was a response to the rise of fast food and industrialized eating. Spearheaded by Carlo Petrini, an Italian activist and author, it encouraged people to embrace traditional cooking methods and a slower, more deliberate approach to food preparation.
Predictably many articles and books were written, restaurants opened, and celebrity chefs championed the concept.
Over time, this idea expanded beyond food, into broader cultural values, emphasizing the importance of slowing down to savor life.Today, the word “slow” has entered the cultural zeitgeist, and now associated with doing work of high quality, and done with care, and thoughtfulness
In several areas of life, slowing down makes sense. In academia, for instance, the profession I work in, taking the time to collect data, analyze it using appropriate methods, writing up one’s findings, and then subjecting the paper to peer review is crucial. Using this approach leads to a steady accumulation of knowledge and occasional breakthroughs.
However, when it comes to restaurants, not all slow cooking is a virtue. Sometimes slowness in food preparation isn’t a sign of quality—it’s a sign of inefficiency, low skill levels, or poor planning. This can include: sitting in a restaurant, waiting for what feels like forever for a meal that eventually arrives, long waiting times between courses, or people at your table getting their food at significantly different times. Assuming that the dysfunction is not a result of miscommunication between the front of the house (the wait and serving staff) and the back of the house (the kitchen), the problem here isn’t the concept of slow cooking, but rather a kitchen that doesn’t have its act together.
All this to say, is that there’s a fine line between a deliberate, well-executed slow-cooked meal and a disorganized kitchen that simply can’t keep up. While the former elevates the dining experience, the latter leaves customers frustrated and unsatisfied. More specifically, not every meal that seems to take an extra ordinary time to be cooked means the chef and their cooking staff is taking extra care—sometimes, it just means the kitchen is poorly managed.
Cross cutting through this argument is the economic realities of running a restaurant. Although some high-end establishments succeed with slow dining models by offering limited seating and charging premium prices, most places can’t afford the luxury of having only one seating per night. For them, slowness can jeopardize economic viability.
So, while the Slow Food movement offers valuable lessons about authenticity, patience, and quality, it’s important to recognize that not all slowness is a sign of craft. In some cases, slowness is simply a symptom of inefficiency. Just because a meal takes longer to prepare doesn’t always mean it’s better.
Ultimately, the difference between thoughtful slowness and outright inefficiency comes down to intention. Is the chef (and kitchen staff, if they exist) deliberately slowing things down to enhance the flavors and the experience? Or is the kitchen simply unable to keep up with orders? As with many things in life, context matters. Slowness is only a virtue when it’s done with purpose and planning—whether in a restaurant kitchen, an academic setting, or beyond.
Photo Credit
The Three Stooges from “Half-Shot Shooters” (1936).
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/Screenshot-2024-09-14-at-11.09.14 PM.png650864Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2024-09-15 12:06:272024-09-15 16:29:06Is It Slow Food or an Inefficient Kitchen?
When I was an adolescent, my parents shipped me off to a month-long overnight summer camp for boys. Among the usual group of misfits in my cabin was a boy my age that we nicknamed Stinky. He had one quirky goal: to wear the same shirt every single day of camp.
Predictably, the shirt got dirty and smelly. And to stay in the good graces of his fellow cabin mates Stinky would occasionally wash it. However, given the rough and tumble nature of camp activities, the shirt sustained minor tears and rips. As the days and weeks passed, those rips grew larger. Stinky’s unusual and visible goal, and his dedication to it, made him a camp celebrity. Some campers, knowing his mission, would pull on the tears, trying to frustrate him, and make the shirt unwearable.
By the final week, the garment looked less like a shirt and more like a rag. But Stinky persevered. Despite the damage he kept wearing it. I’m not sure what he did with the shirt after camp, whether he (or his mother) threw it out, framed it, or burnt it, but Stinky (and no one else) owned this accomplishment.
Years later, while listening to an episode of This American Life, titled “The Good Guy Wins,” Stinky’s public act all made sense to me. The segment tells the story of Jonathan who is obsessed with participating in a unusual, low-stakes racing competition against an anonymous competitor. The joy wasn’t in winning, but in participating, doing something that mattered to him, even though it seemed trivial to others.
The story got me thinking about the value of “silly” goals—those personal challenges that might seem pointless to others but carry deep meaning for the person pursuing them.
For Stinky, it wasn’t simply about wearing a deteriorating shirt, nor was it some pre-punk rock fashion statement, nor was it a quiet rebellion against contemporary norms. It was a declaration of personal agency.
Why Does This Matter?
Most people go through life on autopilot. They wake up, go to school or work, and spend their days without really thinking about what brings them joy or fulfillment. They follow routines, driven by societal expectations rather than personal desires, and end up feeling like zombies—disconnected from or rarely examining their own likes and passions.
But silly personal goals, like Stinky’s mission to wear the same shirt every day, or Jonathan’s to participate in a race with an anonomous competitor can break that monotony. And as long as these goals are not immoral, unethical or illegal, they don’t harm anyone. Although they might seem pointless to others, they can bring a sense of purpose, fun, and fulfillment to those who pursue them. In a world where success is often measured by external standards—grades, promotions, or social status—accomplishing a “silly” goal reminds us that life is more than just meeting society’s expectations.
The Value of Personal Goals
Stinky’s goal wasn’t about impressing anyone or achieving some grand feat. It was about his personal determination to do something unusual, something that gave him a sense of identity and accomplishment.
Similarly, Jonathan’s quirky racing competition wasn’t about winning or beating anyone. It was about participating, enjoying the process, and doing something that mattered to him—even if it seemed trivial to others.
What makes these goals so fulfilling? It’s the fact that they’re entirely self-directed, free from external expectations. These “pointless” challenges give us a sense of autonomy and creative control over our own lives. Silly goals help us connect with ourselves. They remind us that life’s meaning doesn’t always have to come from serious or lofty pursuits.
Winning Isn’t Always the Objective
Neither Stinky nor Jonathan won something concrete. What they achieved was a sense of satisfaction from staying true to their goals.
In many cases, the real reward isn’t a trophy, a raise, or a round of applause—it’s the joy of the journey, the lessons learned, and the personal satisfaction of accomplishing something you set out to do, no matter how small or silly it may seem to others.
Photo Credit: Blacqubook
IStockphoto
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/iStock-485870443-scaled.jpg17072560Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2024-09-08 06:09:502024-09-08 06:09:50Lessons From a Ripped Shirt
There’s probably no musician alive today, whose music I’ve followed as closely, as Bob Dylan’s.
Not only have I bought and listened to most of his albums, read articles and books about him, including his memoir Chronicles: Volume One, watched numerous music videos of him playing, but I’ve also seen him perform live.
That being said, I would not consider myself to be a Dylanologist.
Needless to say, over his long career Dylan has written and performed numerous memorable songs, ones that have appealed to and in some cases defined different generations. Some of my favorites include, “Like a Rolling Stone,” “Lay, Lady, Lay, ” “Hurricane,” “Mississippi,” or “Gotta Serve Somebody,” but I keep on coming back to “Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight.”
Written in 1982 and appearing on his album Infidels, this melancholic song has been covered by other famous musicians like Aaron Neville, Bettye LaVette, and Chrissie Hynde.
It’s hard for me to put into words why I like “Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight,” so much. For those unfamiliar with the song, the lyrics depict a boyfriend or husband pleading with his girlfriend or wife to not abandon him and their relationship. He asks her to stay strong and give their love another chance during a difficult time. The lyrics capture a deep sense of vulnerability, desperation, and the fear of losing love. The argument that the boyfriend/husband presents appears logical for the context, and the words are chosen with both economy and precision.
There are a handful of things about this song that appeal to me.
To begin with I’m sure that watching the music video of Dylan playing “Don’t Fall Apart on me tonight,” live with well-known talented musicians in a studio helped.
The song also capably combines blues, rock, folk rock, reggae and country music sounds.
“‘Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight’ clearly benefits from the talented guitar performances of Mark Knopfler, formerly of Dire Straits, and Mick Taylor, formerly of the Rolling Stones. The track also features accomplished reggae musicians Robbie Shakespeare on bass guitar and Sly Dunbar on percussion.
But what makes the song memorable to me is Dylan’s ability to capture the universal nature of this scenario, highlighting both the importance of tenacity and the value of second chances in relationships. In a world, where personal connections are often fleeting, sustaining meaningful relationships during times of emotional stress can feel like it requires superhuman powers. Sometimes, this means temporarily letting down your guard and hearing out the other person, even if, in the end, it’s best to abandon the relationship.
https://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/Screenshot-2024-09-01-at-8.23.55 AM.png6481042Jeffrey Ian Rosshttps://jeffreyianross.com/wp-content/uploads/jeffrey-ian-ross-logo-04.pngJeffrey Ian Ross2024-09-01 12:46:372024-09-22 12:16:55What’s my favorite Dylan song?
Is It Slow Food or an Inefficient Kitchen?
/by Jeffrey Ian RossThe Slow Food movement, which began in the mid-1980s in Bra, Italy, was a response to the rise of fast food and industrialized eating. Spearheaded by Carlo Petrini, an Italian activist and author, it encouraged people to embrace traditional cooking methods and a slower, more deliberate approach to food preparation.
Predictably many articles and books were written, restaurants opened, and celebrity chefs championed the concept.
Over time, this idea expanded beyond food, into broader cultural values, emphasizing the importance of slowing down to savor life. Today, the word “slow” has entered the cultural zeitgeist, and now associated with doing work of high quality, and done with care, and thoughtfulness
In several areas of life, slowing down makes sense. In academia, for instance, the profession I work in, taking the time to collect data, analyze it using appropriate methods, writing up one’s findings, and then subjecting the paper to peer review is crucial. Using this approach leads to a steady accumulation of knowledge and occasional breakthroughs.
However, when it comes to restaurants, not all slow cooking is a virtue. Sometimes slowness in food preparation isn’t a sign of quality—it’s a sign of inefficiency, low skill levels, or poor planning. This can include: sitting in a restaurant, waiting for what feels like forever for a meal that eventually arrives, long waiting times between courses, or people at your table getting their food at significantly different times. Assuming that the dysfunction is not a result of miscommunication between the front of the house (the wait and serving staff) and the back of the house (the kitchen), the problem here isn’t the concept of slow cooking, but rather a kitchen that doesn’t have its act together.
All this to say, is that there’s a fine line between a deliberate, well-executed slow-cooked meal and a disorganized kitchen that simply can’t keep up. While the former elevates the dining experience, the latter leaves customers frustrated and unsatisfied. More specifically, not every meal that seems to take an extra ordinary time to be cooked means the chef and their cooking staff is taking extra care—sometimes, it just means the kitchen is poorly managed.
Cross cutting through this argument is the economic realities of running a restaurant. Although some high-end establishments succeed with slow dining models by offering limited seating and charging premium prices, most places can’t afford the luxury of having only one seating per night. For them, slowness can jeopardize economic viability.
So, while the Slow Food movement offers valuable lessons about authenticity, patience, and quality, it’s important to recognize that not all slowness is a sign of craft. In some cases, slowness is simply a symptom of inefficiency. Just because a meal takes longer to prepare doesn’t always mean it’s better.
Ultimately, the difference between thoughtful slowness and outright inefficiency comes down to intention. Is the chef (and kitchen staff, if they exist) deliberately slowing things down to enhance the flavors and the experience? Or is the kitchen simply unable to keep up with orders? As with many things in life, context matters. Slowness is only a virtue when it’s done with purpose and planning—whether in a restaurant kitchen, an academic setting, or beyond.
Photo Credit
The Three Stooges from “Half-Shot Shooters” (1936).
Lessons From a Ripped Shirt
/by Jeffrey Ian RossWhen I was an adolescent, my parents shipped me off to a month-long overnight summer camp for boys. Among the usual group of misfits in my cabin was a boy my age that we nicknamed Stinky. He had one quirky goal: to wear the same shirt every single day of camp.
Predictably, the shirt got dirty and smelly. And to stay in the good graces of his fellow cabin mates Stinky would occasionally wash it. However, given the rough and tumble nature of camp activities, the shirt sustained minor tears and rips. As the days and weeks passed, those rips grew larger. Stinky’s unusual and visible goal, and his dedication to it, made him a camp celebrity. Some campers, knowing his mission, would pull on the tears, trying to frustrate him, and make the shirt unwearable.
By the final week, the garment looked less like a shirt and more like a rag. But Stinky persevered. Despite the damage he kept wearing it. I’m not sure what he did with the shirt after camp, whether he (or his mother) threw it out, framed it, or burnt it, but Stinky (and no one else) owned this accomplishment.
Years later, while listening to an episode of This American Life, titled “The Good Guy Wins,” Stinky’s public act all made sense to me. The segment tells the story of Jonathan who is obsessed with participating in a unusual, low-stakes racing competition against an anonymous competitor. The joy wasn’t in winning, but in participating, doing something that mattered to him, even though it seemed trivial to others.
The story got me thinking about the value of “silly” goals—those personal challenges that might seem pointless to others but carry deep meaning for the person pursuing them.
For Stinky, it wasn’t simply about wearing a deteriorating shirt, nor was it some pre-punk rock fashion statement, nor was it a quiet rebellion against contemporary norms. It was a declaration of personal agency.
Why Does This Matter?
Most people go through life on autopilot. They wake up, go to school or work, and spend their days without really thinking about what brings them joy or fulfillment. They follow routines, driven by societal expectations rather than personal desires, and end up feeling like zombies—disconnected from or rarely examining their own likes and passions.
But silly personal goals, like Stinky’s mission to wear the same shirt every day, or Jonathan’s to participate in a race with an anonomous competitor can break that monotony. And as long as these goals are not immoral, unethical or illegal, they don’t harm anyone. Although they might seem pointless to others, they can bring a sense of purpose, fun, and fulfillment to those who pursue them. In a world where success is often measured by external standards—grades, promotions, or social status—accomplishing a “silly” goal reminds us that life is more than just meeting society’s expectations.
The Value of Personal Goals
Stinky’s goal wasn’t about impressing anyone or achieving some grand feat. It was about his personal determination to do something unusual, something that gave him a sense of identity and accomplishment.
Similarly, Jonathan’s quirky racing competition wasn’t about winning or beating anyone. It was about participating, enjoying the process, and doing something that mattered to him—even if it seemed trivial to others.
What makes these goals so fulfilling? It’s the fact that they’re entirely self-directed, free from external expectations. These “pointless” challenges give us a sense of autonomy and creative control over our own lives. Silly goals help us connect with ourselves. They remind us that life’s meaning doesn’t always have to come from serious or lofty pursuits.
Winning Isn’t Always the Objective
Neither Stinky nor Jonathan won something concrete. What they achieved was a sense of satisfaction from staying true to their goals.
In many cases, the real reward isn’t a trophy, a raise, or a round of applause—it’s the joy of the journey, the lessons learned, and the personal satisfaction of accomplishing something you set out to do, no matter how small or silly it may seem to others.
Photo Credit: Blacqubook
What’s my favorite Dylan song?
/by Jeffrey Ian RossThere’s probably no musician alive today, whose music I’ve followed as closely, as Bob Dylan’s.
Not only have I bought and listened to most of his albums, read articles and books about him, including his memoir Chronicles: Volume One, watched numerous music videos of him playing, but I’ve also seen him perform live.
That being said, I would not consider myself to be a Dylanologist.
Needless to say, over his long career Dylan has written and performed numerous memorable songs, ones that have appealed to and in some cases defined different generations. Some of my favorites include, “Like a Rolling Stone,” “Lay, Lady, Lay, ” “Hurricane,” “Mississippi,” or “Gotta Serve Somebody,” but I keep on coming back to “Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight.”
Written in 1982 and appearing on his album Infidels, this melancholic song has been covered by other famous musicians like Aaron Neville, Bettye LaVette, and Chrissie Hynde.
It’s hard for me to put into words why I like “Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight,” so much. For those unfamiliar with the song, the lyrics depict a boyfriend or husband pleading with his girlfriend or wife to not abandon him and their relationship. He asks her to stay strong and give their love another chance during a difficult time. The lyrics capture a deep sense of vulnerability, desperation, and the fear of losing love. The argument that the boyfriend/husband presents appears logical for the context, and the words are chosen with both economy and precision.
There are a handful of things about this song that appeal to me.
To begin with I’m sure that watching the music video of Dylan playing “Don’t Fall Apart on me tonight,” live with well-known talented musicians in a studio helped.
The song also capably combines blues, rock, folk rock, reggae and country music sounds.
“‘Don’t Fall Apart on Me Tonight’ clearly benefits from the talented guitar performances of Mark Knopfler, formerly of Dire Straits, and Mick Taylor, formerly of the Rolling Stones. The track also features accomplished reggae musicians Robbie Shakespeare on bass guitar and Sly Dunbar on percussion.
But what makes the song memorable to me is Dylan’s ability to capture the universal nature of this scenario, highlighting both the importance of tenacity and the value of second chances in relationships. In a world, where personal connections are often fleeting, sustaining meaningful relationships during times of emotional stress can feel like it requires superhuman powers. Sometimes, this means temporarily letting down your guard and hearing out the other person, even if, in the end, it’s best to abandon the relationship.