That, Which We Choose To Remember

When it comes to our memories, we, as human beings, are not machines. That is to say, we are not cameras, video or audio recorders, or computers. Our memories of people, places, things, and events are imperfect.

And so, of our memories, what is it that we choose to remember?

Or maybe, before we even consider that question, we have to ask whether or not we choose anything in the first place. Our memories change over time -- of that, I'm sure. But the changes to our memories just happen on their own, without us really being that aware of it, right? And when I consider the process, it seems that in general, it goes from more detail to less detail, and from remembering the good and the bad to just remembering the good.

Why is that? Why does the distillation process filter out the negative minutiae... and is this a good thing? Certainly, it's nice to think back on, let's say, my 20s, and on the surface, at least, have a nice bundle of memories that are wrapped up in a pretty ribbon.

I often think back 11 years ago to the time I spent at The Culinary Institute of America as some of the best years of my life. The constant smell of brown veal stock reducing, three meals a day from the kitchens of the greatest culinary school in the country, the immersion in a food-and-wine obsessed student body of 2000 budding chefs, being surrounded by the seasonal beauty of the Hudson Valley... Sometimes I yearn for those days in the same way I used to yearn for the cartoon-filled carefree Saturday mornings of my childhood.

But if I allow myself to look past the memories of slow cooked pork belly and fresh baked semolina bread, I can remember hating the long hours of physical labor in the kitchen, having to wash pots and pans after class, and getting back to my cramped dorm room exhausted only to face several more hours of research and homework. I tend to forget the time that I stabbed my own arm while boning out a leg of lamb, or the time I splashed burning olive oil into my eye while cooking on the line in Caterina de Medici. I can remember the sweltering humidity of the summers and never feeling dry. And winter blizzards meant dealing with my car buried in snow, getting up even earlier than usual to get bundled up, defrost the car, and shovel out a path. If I really concentrate, I can remember what a freak my roommate was, and how I was always worried that he was stealing from me. Most of the student body was male, and the few females that were around were... well... Let's just say that I had a new appreciation for the girls I was used to seeing on the beaches of southern California.

The other day a friend called me up to tell me that he had seen a posting on craigslist for the restaurant manager position at Domaine Chandon, and wondered if I would consider returning to work there again. At the time, I said that I would be open to it. I remembered the beautiful grounds of the winery in Yountville, the open, bright glass walls of the restaurant, the camaraderie of the restaurant crew, the refined fine-dining atmosphere, and the wonderfully long summer evenings. But it took me mentioning it to one of the Angels (we all used to work at Domaine Chandon) to remind me of what a caustic, cancerous corporate environment it was, and how frustrating it was to be "led" by marketing VPs who knew nothing about running a restaurant. "Are you fucking crazy?" she said.

This tendency to forget the bad, the stressful, and the frustrating doesn't just apply to decade-old memories. It doesn't take very long at all, as a matter of fact. I only need to click through my Facebook pictures of the last couple of years to fool myself into thinking that my life is a carefree, glamorous cascade of women, Champagne and dinner parties.

Nothing could be further than the truth, of course. But why is it that it takes so much conscious effort to remember that just six months ago I felt like a big fat loser, with no girlfriend?

Actually, now that I think of it, the reason that this is bothering me so much is that I feel like that big fat loser today. But the fact that I don't immediately remember that I felt that way even a few months ago creates the feeling that my life is worse off today than it was yesterday. It creates the impression that my best days are behind me.

I'm reminded of the US Navy SEAL motto: "The only easy day was yesterday." If I feel like shit today, how sad to think that in a year I'll look back on today and think, "Ah, those were the days of wine and roses."

That's just fucking depressing.