I’ve never seen “The Big Lebowski.” Yeah, I’m the one. The cult classic that is highly regarded by movie lovers and falls under the genre of ”if you know, you know.”

When this shameful transgression of mine is revealed, It is met with a resounding and appalled, “I cannot believe you haven’t seen that movie!” I’m never sure of the proper response to such a disdainful charge. Shame would seem fitting; maybe banish me from modern society and access to all streaming services. Never allow me to see what I’m missing.

But no need, I tactfully act on spite and refuse to watch it to this day. Seems mature.

Why do we do that? I can only imagine that because we are so passionate about what we find to be interesting, we can’t believe that others don’t share our sentiment. I find this mistake is made quite often in the culinary landscape of our little worlds. When mine and my wife Shannon’s kids were very young they loved ketchup on their hotdogs. A faux pas, perhaps to some. Would the new pope hailing from Chicago scoff at such nonsense? Maybe. But would he use shame, to discern the socially unacceptable act of dipping a frankfurter into what most reserve for the french fry? Of course not. Food is subjective; that’s the beauty of it. There are no rules or boundaries as to what we enjoy. If we like it, we like it.

My father-in-law insists on peanut butter, spread between two saltines to accompany his slice of coconut cake. A peculiar combination, but referring to it simply as “good” is an understatement once you’ve tried it. My son, Landon, is a simple man. Just ketchup and cheese for his burger. Maybe the complexities of a fully dressed burger are stealing the limelight from the star of the show, the meat. I wouldn’t know unless I asked him, but I’m sure his reasoning is just.

Less is more, more or less, and I’ve found that to be on brand almost every time in food and planting. Lately, I’m learning it’s also true in writing.

As I write my musings for this column, I find myself obsessively deliberating the content and word count of what it contains. After all, the point is to grab your hand in hopes that you don’t let go as we walk through what’s on my mind. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up with too many words that aren’t saying much at all. By then you will have let go of my hand and you’ll turn the page to read about what the new pope enjoys eating for lunch. I’m guessing it’s a Chicago-style dog, sport peppers and all, NO KETCHUP, or a hunk of deep dish from Giordanos. But already, I digress.

To quote a line from one of my favorite songs, “I need your grace to remind me to find my own.”

We love what we love, and we like what we like, and that’s the captivating thing about life and our tailor-made ways of enjoying it.
Shannon loves ferns! She buys them every summer. I can’t stand them! Deep down I think it’s because I hate their neediness for water.
But rather than impose my feelings about what is hers to love, I drag the hose out and water them when it’s my turn. I don’t even have to understand why she likes them. That’s not my job. It is my responsibility though to let her like them, and hope that her love of ferns, plants, and all things alike, can always grow as healthy and full as those needy ferns will.

I think I’ll have a hot dog for dinner tonight. I’m pretty sure I have some ketchup in the fridge. I may even have some coconut cake with peanut butter and saltines for dessert. But I WILL NOT be watching “The Big Lebowski.”

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist and is currently the general manager of a local landscaping company. Bowen writes in his free time and is working on a book about his experiences and travel.