Steak Frites & High Standards

by Amy

Peter had been here. He’d committed this sight to canvas, as best he could. Trying to record wonder. Awe. Not just beauty, but glory.

And he’d mailed it off. Away from here. Why?

And where was he now? Had he moved on, heading deeper into his own wound? Still searching?

Or – Gamache stared into the crater. Had Peter never left? Was he with them now, lying in the woods at the bottom of the cliff? Becoming part of the landscape? His silence profound because it was now unending?

Beside him, Clara stared at the river Peter had painted, and let the emotions roll over her. Her own, and his. She felt Peter very keenly.

Not his presence but his absence.

They’re walking in Peter’s footsteps. Retracing his steps. Trying to understand the path he trailed in search of himself. It was a very long way home. He made it, though. Part of the process was recognizing greatness, recognizing potential and not settling or conforming with mediocrity. It wasn’t about competing with other artists or being famous (although I’m sure that wouldn’t hurt). It was about facing himself and trying to fearlessly find his own own greatness.

Throughout the book, art is used as a metaphor for self-knowledge. Both Ruth and Clara expound on the theme of finding your place as an artist by expressing things that cannot be contained (Ruth’s lump in the throat), starting off with a mess, and growing from there.

Peter was a master. A safe, mediocre, playing by the rules, blanched-out, emotionally stunted master. What he did on his journey was hard. He divested himself of his expertise and started over. He went back to the basics and he learned to feel again. He used painting as a means of expression and relearned how to feel through his art.

Beuvoir got up and wandered around the brasserie. There were paintings on the walls, with price tags slightly askew. From years of dusting. They were pretty landscapes, but in Charlevoix a painting needed to be more than that to sell.

If he hadn’t looked into the windows of the Galerie Gagnon, Jean-Guy might have thought these were quite good. But he had looked. And now he knew the difference. Part of him regretted that. He might now like better things, but he also liked fewer.

Like Beauvoir, Peter might have continued to ignore the difference. But he was married to someone with a fearlessness and faith he lacked. He had lived with an artist who threw herself recklessly into exploration of her soul. He had seen a true master’s work evolve and take root and bloom.

Like Beauvoir, Peter had looked. And now he knew the difference.

That might be one of the hard things about coming face to face with greatness. Be it a wonderful piece of literature, a beautiful painting, a flawless dance, a perfectly cooked meal, or a person with genuine kindness and goodness? We are drawn in.

We are also challenged in our humanity.

It is easier to be contented with mediocre accomplishments when we do not have greatness to compare it to.

I don’t mean that we are all to be masters at everything. That would be impossible anyway. What I do mean is that we should, I believe, have high standards for the things we set out to accomplish. Isn’t there an old saying that ‘Any job worth doing is worth doing well’?

While we need not be masters at everything, we can all strive to be masters at being our own unique selves. We can strive for authenticity, honesty, integrity, kindness, and love. We can invest in giving our best in the things we propose to do.

It does not mean we will be brilliant. Sometimes the process to greatness starts with a dog’s breakfast, Isn't that how Ruth described it? Sometimes it looks like crazy paintings with upside-down smiles. Sometimes it’s a hand that trembles or a part-time recovering addict Surete officer.

And we’re all works in progress. We aren’t finished.

There are levels of competence. I think it works for anything we try to master: reading, writing, math facts, cooking, playing tennis, and our own characters. (Link: Four Stages of Competence).

Making mistakes is part of the process of learning competence. It is part of the humanity and slip-ups of maintaining competence.

I have written about kindness lately. In consciously trying to exercise more kindness I have become increasingly aware of my incompetence, my prejudices, my resentments, my sense of entitlement, my selfishness. Like Beauvoir, my standard is now higher, so I am more conscious of my shortcomings.

“What is a soul?”
He looked up, smiled, studied her face. “Why ask me?”
“It just seems to me that you would know.”He shrugged. “On the basis of my vast learning and experience, I would say – it is what you can’t get rid of. Insult, deprivation, outright violence – ‘If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, thou art there,’ and so on…”(Home – Marilynne Robinson)

Recognizing a greater standard for greatness and embarking on a journey into oneself to try to reach it means we first run into incompetence. Before we begin to learn anything, we become aware of how very little we do know, how very incapable we are.

Over the years I have done an archaeology of my own thinking, mainly to attempt an escape from assumptions that would embarrass me if I understood their origins. (When I Was A Child I Read Books – Marilynne Robinson)

Poor Peter.

He tried to run. He tried to find the magic “place” or muse or secret key to unlock the magic that shone in Clara.

You can’t run from yourself, though.

“It’s like the people who believe they’ll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but who learn it doesn’t work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you. If you see what I mean.” (The Graveyard Book – Neil Gaiman)

But while it is true that we cannot outrun ourselves and we cannot outrun our incompetence, we can grow. We can learn. We can strive to be better versions of ourselves. We can become masters at our crafts. We can gain competence. We can be brilliant.

“You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” (The Graveyard Book – Neil Gaiman)

While THE LONG WAY HOME centers around Clara’s search for Peter and Peter’s search of himself, one of my favorite threads in this book is the “new and improved Beauvoir”. In this book we see him a bit more mature and open-minded. Art is used as a metaphor for this as well. Where Jean-Guy once disdained most art and poetry, he slowly starts to realize his lack of knowledge… and slowly, slowly comes to appreciate art more as he learns (not always willingly or consciously) more.

He might now like better things, but he also liked fewer.

This is also a book where he regains his appetite. While I rarely share his taste (I’m not much of a meat eater), he’s one of those people I’d enjoy cooking for. Even through the books I can just picture how much he relishes his meals. Aren’t those the best guests?!

Steak frites all around, the steaks char-grilled and thick. The fries thin and seasoned.

I did make steak frites. Not quite like the ones described, though. The only judge of the steak was my husband. He said it was good. I confess that I didn’t eat any. It looked okay, though. The fries were oven baked potatoes. My son said the very, very thin ones were okay. The thick ones were “soft” (this is a child that loves French fries, but gags with mashed potatoes, so texture is an issue). I thought the potatoes were blissfully perfect. Especially the thick ones!

So… there’s another consideration. Even masters cannot please everyone. Also, perfection is subjective and dependent on the judge.

Steak

I used flank steak – I’m still learning about the types of cuts here. I marinated it overnight in lemon juice (about 4 tablespoons), olive oil (a splash… maybe 1-2 tablespoons), salt (about ¾ teaspoon), and I was going to add a bit of brown sugar, but I had the left-over juices from canned peaches, so I just threw that in. I popped it into the oven for about half an hour along with the juices from the marinade. It’s probably a bit more well done than most meat lovers would like, it’s still red enough to make me uncomfortable, and for the husband to eat happily.

Frites

Oven was preheated to 475 degrees (Fahrenheit) I used russet potatoes and peeled and sliced them. I made thick wedges, but about 1/3 of them I sliced thinner to make my son happy. I let them soak in warm tap water for about 10 minutes, then patted them dry. I covered a cookie sheet with aluminum foil and spread 4 tablespoons of olive oil and about 1 teaspoon of coarse salt onto the sheet. I added one tablespoon of olive oil to the potatoes and tossed those before spreading them out onto the cookie sheet. For the first 5 minutes, I baked them covered in aluminum foil. After that, uncovered for 30 minutes (flippling them at the 15 minute mark).

Son had his very thin, crispy potatoes plain.

I had mine (the thickest wedges) with a roasted tomato (with salt and fresh thyme) and sour cream and mustard dip.

My husband had his with steak.

We obviously cannot agree to all eat the same meal. Ever.