by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.
In the interest of trying to achieve some work-life balance, I like to cook. This is not to suggest I’m terribly good at it; if you’ve ever seen those articles about what Pinterest projects look like in real life, my cooking could be featured in them. Still, there’s nothing quite like spending the better part of an afternoon improving my onion mincing, or watching the process of milk and flour become pot pie, all with a little music on in the background (Beethoven’s first piano concerto really makes the old masters pretty approachable).
My interesting goes back to BRF—Before the Rise of the Foodie—and even though America’s love for Rachael Ray has cooled, there is a residual effect to this wave of culinary interest that has come with a terrible price. Recipes are now eight pages long.
This snuck up on me one busy Wednesday, when it was my night to cook, and I was caught short for something to make. I picked up the phone, typed in the name of two ingredients I had, and up popped a picture of something I thought I stood a chance at making. Two clicks later, I thought, and I’d be at the list of ingredients, and on my way.
Oh no.
As I recall, here’s the essence of what came next. “My love for this dish goes back to the shores of Ellis Island, where a shy son of an Italian watchmaker and an Irish girl with a rare love of oregano met in line to begin their new lives. Little did my grandparents know that their chance encounter would lead to their spending those lives together for the next fifty-six years. It also led to the best Sunday Chicken Croquette recipe known to the New World.”
And on it went. Four more paragraphs about Lorenzo and Saoirse, followed by an in-depth review (and seven pictures) of the diameter of the bubbles the milk should show while blending the ingredients. Thinking the end was in sight, I carried on, until we got to the discussion of the ratio of oregano in the Italian breadcrumbs.
I then opted to use my phone for its more primeval culinary purpose. I ordered pizza, asking for extra oregano in the crust, out of respect for Saoirse.
I’m pleased to say most recipe websites are getting the message, as most of them now have a button at the beginning of the post that says “Skip to Recipe.” Still, I can’t help but wonder how the makers of these sites got it in their heads in the first place that I would choose to go to a recipe website to do light reading. I’m looking for a recipe so I can cook. Is that really all that hard to understand?
Since work-life balance is supposed to benefit both parts of life, I’ve taken my lesson from Lorenzo and applied it to my work as a counselor. How many times does a student come in looking for some pretty basic information, and I feel compelled to inundate them with the theory of Carl Rogers? If a student wants to know the average ACT score for students admitted to Michigan State, do I really need to explain the limits of standardized testing, or can I trust them with just the number, and know they get what that means?
It’s certainly true many clients come through the door asking a question that has nothing to do with the issue they really want to talk about, and our professional training gives us the skills we need to make the difference in their lives they really need. At the same time, if a student comes running into our office and asks what time it is, it’s pretty likely they don’t need to be given the history of the sundial—they just don’t want to be late for class.
Our time as counselors is precious, and so is the time our students give to us. Let’s make sure our advice respects that, and is equally precise.
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