Empty cup

We all know the ancient Zen koan:

A Japanese Zen master was visited by a university professor to inquire about Zen.  While serving tea to the professor, he poured the tea into the professor’s cup until it reached the brim then kept on pouring.  When the tea spilled over, the professor said, “The cup is overflowing.  No more will go in!”  The Zen master said, “Like this cup, you are full of your own ideas and opinions.  How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

Embarking on this writerly life, with its requisite lexicon, mindset and lifestyle has been a gradual process.  Maybe too gradual, considering it was birthed back when Soft Cell’s Tainted Love was on the radio and I had feathered hair.  Now that I’ve finally grabbed the snail by horns, and my habits are catching up with my dream, I’m pretty sure I’ve emptied all the damn cups in the house.  Twice.  The past seems so far away now;  New York already is dusty in my mind’s attic.

But a blank slate doesn’t always get you the corner table.

Last night, after attending a reading at the Rockland library, I decide to forgo the gym and treat myself to dinner out for the first time since moving up here.  Suzuki’s, the area’s only sushi restaurant, has more than its monopoly on Nippon cuisine to recommend it.  One, it’s owned by Keiko Suzuki, a woman.  Two, she sources Maine seafood for her menu.  I’d eaten here over the summer, and knew it would be up to par.  What I didn’t realize was, despite my years in the restaurant business along with my tendency to eat out most meals when I lived in New York, that I might not be up to par.  An evening of errors ensued.

The PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign greeted me and I sauntered right by it on my way to the vacant sushi bar.  I was intercepted by a server who needed to check the reservation book first, and then graciously waved me on.  My first faux pas.  I ordered the cold sake, but from the wrong part of the menu, so it came out in a carafe instead of the smaller vessel I was expecting.  My server patiently accommodated me.  Settling in, I examined the menu for any specialities and decided on a (local) crabmeat and cucumber roll, one unagi roll (smoked eel) and one ama ebi roll (sweet shrimp).  Looking forward to a small meal of Penobscot Bay seafood, I was confused when I was presented with a large tray.  I had ordered the wrong shrimp and twice as much sushi as I had thought.  I tried to blame it on fatigue, or the fact I’d forgotten my reading glasses, but either way I didn’t read the menu properly.  Everything, however, was beautifully presented and satisfying;  especially the single scoop of wild blueberry and yuzu sorbet I finished with.  After paying the check and leaving, it wasn’t until I got to my car that I realized I hadn’t thanked my server or the chef, who prepared my food right in front of me.   At least I left 20%.

Sophisticated diner to inept customer in 6 weeks flat.  I think I emptied my cup too much.

Now upon reflection, I am transported back to my transition from server to restaurant manager, 7 years ago.  One day during training, I was walking through the familiar dining room, carrying hot plates to a table.  But en route, my mind went blank.  Table thirty-five?  Which one was that?  I CAN’T REMEMBER!  With food cooling fast, I had no choice but to actually ask someone.  How embarrassing, just like last night’s graceless evening.  It wasn’t until later on that I had my realization ~ in order to take in all this information for my new role, my mind was like a Zen master, helping me by temporarily clearing out some space.

Let’s hope I regain my dining-out chops before I crave sashimi again.

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  1. Cara

     /  22 October 2010

    Reads even better than it sounded on the phone with a two-year old jabbering on in the background, asking what’s Aunt Kellie doin’? Something tells me you’ll be back in there several times and will more than make-up for your greenhorn dining experience.

  2. seetheworldnow

     /  22 October 2010

    Hopefully, they won’t remember me! Maybe next time you and the two-year-old join me…(wink)

  3. Jill

     /  23 October 2010

    Big smile on my face as I write this. I had never heard the Zen Master story, which truly resonated with me at this moment. I agree that when we clear out and make space (lots of it), the day to day seems baffling hard! I don’t think it’s that we clear out too much, rather I think it’s a gift of being rebirthed or reawakened that is allowing us to look at the experiences in our lives in a new way. This is your new perspective on life, enjoy finding your way!

  4. seetheworldnow

     /  23 October 2010

    @Jill ~ I’ve got all sorts of ancient Chinese secrets, er, I mean old Zen koans if you’re in the market…I’ll share a couple with you over a home-cooked meal sometime, because clearly I’m not fit to eat out anymore 🙂

  5. ldk

     /  24 October 2010

    Okay, this is the second post that has made me laugh out loud. And you know how much I need and appreciate that!

    Keep on writin’, my friend!

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  7. What a material of un-ambiguity and preserveness of precious experience concerning unexpected emotions.

  8. Now I am ready to do my breakfast, once having my breakfast coming over again to read more news.

  1. The Royal Flush | off-peak

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