The Rise of Mediocrity

Bread / Words

Rise of
MEDIOCRITY

This article first appeared in Issue 2 RENEWAL of Counter Magazine. Published at the end of 2020, the piece encapsulated so many feelings felt during the pandemic whilst I was stranded in Australia. I'm grateful that my words resonated. Deep love goes to all those who joined me on my journey and brought me into theirs. An Australia-wide community of bakers seeking solace through sourdough, the individual results of which can be seen compiled below.

This piece of writing first appeared in Issue 2 RENEWAL of Counter Magazine. Published at the end of 2020, the piece encapsulated so many feelings felt during the pandemic whilst stranded in Australia. I'm grateful to be seen and that my words resonated. Deep love goes to all those who joined me on my journey and brought me into theirs. An Australia-wide community of bakers seeking solace through sourdough, the individual results of which can be seen below.

It began as an initiative to share sourdough through the mail. I had been cultivating and baking bread with my own sourdough starter for months when I started to receive interest from others seeking to reclaim for themselves the age-old practice of baking bread. By spreading the starter thin and allowing it to dry into crackly shards, the wild yeasts could be preserved, and packaged up in small but potent amounts to be sent away. Just five grams of dried sourdough starter could be reactivated by another, miles away, to become a new source of endless possibilities for fibre and fuel.

Don’t worry, I’m not here to talk about sourdough. At least not in terms of what it is, how to make it, why make it or how everyone is making it.

It began as an initiative to share sourdough through the mail. I had been cultivating and baking bread with my own sourdough starter for months when I started to receive interest from others seeking to reclaim for themselves the age old practice of baking bread. By spreading the starter thin and allowing it to dry into crackly shards, the wild yeasts could be preserved, and packaged up in small, but potent amounts to be sent away. Just five grams of dried sourdough starter could be reactivated by another, miles away, to become a new source of endless possibilities for fibre and fuel.

The demand was insistent. On an island nation that has already seen the fatal spread of wildfire and disease this year, I let loose this living culture, sending starter to over 700 individuals through Australia’s postal service. In this pandemic, the urgency to reacquaint ourselves with self-sufficient means of sustenance has been palpable, arising out of a broken trust in our commodity markets and the corporate hands that we had come to rely on to feed us. Bread and butter as a metaphor for survival has tumbled head first into the reality of our idle waiting hands.

In return for a sachet of sourdough, I asked for a photo of people’s first loaves. The request was made without any intention or foresight, except that I wanted to document and somehow harness this communal productivity, and in so doing sooth my own feelings of creative inertia.

Given the influx of images from home bakers as proud as new parents, it would seem I am not alone in the satisfaction felt in lifting the lid off a steaming loaf of one’s own creation. Unsurprisingly, the images I’ve received depict very average, but undeniably heartwarming results: crusts anemic in colour, boules ruefully deformed. Rarely does one’s first loaf of bread turn out as it ‘should’, yet equally is it never, in process and substance, not entirely worthwhile and nourishing. In pondering these misshapen loaves, which I’ve compiled into a gallery named ‘First Loaves’, I’ve come to grasp that what we need now is not judgment, but mercy. This peculiar time demands a break from our relentless pursuit of excellence, a questionable construct that has come to steer our capitalist mindset. What is necessary is a more forgiving and humane approach; the acceptance of a moderate competence to welcome a new age of mediocrity.

Given the influx of images from home bakers as proud as parents of first-borns, it would seem I am not alone in the satisfaction felt in lifting the lid off a steaming loaf of one’s own creation. Unsurprisingly, the images I’ve received depict very average, but undeniably heartwarming results: crusts anemic in colour, boules ruefully deformed. Rarely does one’s first loaf of bread turn out as it ‘should’, yet equally is it never, in process and substance, not entirely worthwhile and nourishing. In pondering these misshapen loaves, which I’ve compiled into a gallery named ‘First Loaves’, I’ve come to grasp that what we need now is not judgment, but mercy. This peculiar time demands a break from the relentless pursuit of excellence that has come to dominate our capitalist mindset. What is necessary is a more forgiving and humane approach; the acceptance of a moderate competence to welcome a new age of mediocrity.

This isn’t the first time that I have sought to champion mediocrity through the medium of bread. I recall a dinner I cooked at the end of 2019 as part of a salon series, the subject of which was inspired by a New York Times article on the threat posed to personal hobbies in the public and performative era we live in. Here in discussion was a group of creative professionals, many of whom had successfully monetized their passions, and all who were, by nature of the city and community we found ourselves in, players positioned firmly in the hustle. This included our entrepreneurial mediator, who confessed to a habit of translating leisure into enterprise (like a pop tart business out of her family’s love of jam-making), and myself, a lawyer that loved cooking, and moved to New York to pursue a career in food.

I prepared a meal in praise of mediocrity, pointedly composed of ordinary ingredients - bread and butter, cabbage and beans, potatoes and mayo - to inspire a discussion around time spent, our stultifying quest for success and a forgotten ability to do things simply because we enjoy them, not because we’re good at them. Now, bereft of our commercial pursuits and sheltered in solitude, we turn again to pastimes that, crucially, allow us to pass this time with peace. Alleviated from external pressures to perform to a certain standard, we can be reminded of how perfectly sufficient mediocre is.

This isn’t the first time that I have sought to champion mediocrity through the medium of bread.

I recall a dinner I cooked at the end of 2019 as part of a salon series, the subject of which was inspired by a New York Times article on the threat posed to hobbies in the public and performative era we live in. Here in discussion was a group of creative professionals, many of whom had successfully monetized their passions, and all who were, by nature of the city and community we found ourselves in, players positioned firmly in the hustle. This included our entrepreneurial mediator, who confessed to a habit of translating leisure into enterprise (like a pop tart business out of her family’s love of jam-making), and myself, a lawyer that loved cooking, and moved to New York to pursue a career in food.

I prepared a meal in praise of mediocrity, pointedly comprised of ordinary ingredients - bread and butter, cabbage and beans, potatoes and mayo - to inspire a discussion around time spent, our stultifying quest for success and a forgotten ability to do things simply because we enjoy them - not because we’re good at them. Now, bereft of our commercial pursuits and sheltered in solitude, we turn again to pastimes that, crucially, allow us to pass this time with peace. Alleviated from external pressures to perform to a certain standard, we can be reminded of how perfectly sufficient mediocre is.

This peculiar time demands breaking from the relentless pursuit of excellence that has come to dominate our capitalist mindset.

This peculiar time demands breaking from the relentless pursuit of excellence that has come to our dominate our capitalist mindset.

This peculiar time demands breaking from the relentless pursuit of excellence that has come to dominate our capitalist mindset.

Capitalist definitions of productivity and efficiency have become somewhat irrelevant in the midst of a rat race suspended. Optimizing every minute of our time with the goal of economic gain and professional progression becomes almost a laughable pursuit for those now in frozen industries. Our measures of accomplishment, once quantified by profit and commemorated by the achievement of external goals, have shifted inward. What makes us, as individuals in isolation, feel productive? Many are just surviving, and for those who are able to do more, there is no audience for our housebound activities and triumphs - except through the all too fickle frame of social media. So we do them for doing’s sake, and on account of our mental and emotional health. No longer should we fear being bad at what we do because, like baking bread, like writing this piece, our efforts to occupy ourselves can sate and sustain us, regardless of how ordinary the outcome.

First Loaves is about celebrating mediocrity. For to celebrate mediocrity is to acknowledge the overwhelming task now at hand - of simply being. It is about having the audacity to be average, and giving ourselves, and each other, due reverence for our quotidian achievements. In this moment (or, dare I say, ever), we need not strive to be better than, or best - mediocre is simply good enough.

First Loaves is about celebrating mediocrity. For to celebrate mediocrity is to acknowledge the overwhelming task now at hand, of simply being. It is about having the audacity to be average, and giving ourselves, and each other, due reverence for our quotidian achievements. In this moment (or, dare I say, ever), we need not strive to be better than, or best - mediocre is simply good enough.