Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
I’ve been thinking a lot about Charlie Broz lately. The most recent occurrence involved a kitchen incident and a chunk of salmon that may or may not have caught fire.
As I was trying to extinguish the salmon, I giggled thinking I couldn’t wait to tell Charlie about the flaming fish.
And then I remembered.
The world lost the light that was Charlie Broz a few months ago. Apart from being one of the best humans I ever had the pleasure to meet, he was a fabulous teacher.
Any time I had a cooking question — especially when it involved cooking meat — I asked Charlie. Sure, I could Google it, but it was a lot more fun to ask Charlie.
He was my go-to guy for all things cooking. When I first started asking cooking questions, I was so intimidated. The guy was a chef. A chef. I know my way around a kitchen; I am a mad-scientist baker. But, I sacrificed more proteins than I care to remember.
I followed a recipe once for balsamic-marinated chicken; probably one of the top 15 worst things I’ve tried. Giant plastic baggie filled with chicken parts, herbs, balsamic. What I ended up with didn’t resemble the photo at all. The photo showcased a platter filled with beautifully glazed chicken pieces; I had a pile of purple chicken, sans glaze.
I showed a photo to Charlie. He laughed, stopped himself, and with a serious look on his face, asked what I had done. So, I told him. And then he told me what to do the next time (like there would be a next time for that mess).
Charlie was a gentle soul, albeit a “bad ass.” In passing once, after my first fiasco, he told me about a cooking class he was teaching and that I should audit it. I agreed. But, the timing never seemed to work out for that. Every semester I thought — and told Charlie — that I needed to sign up for such-and-such a class. But the timing never seemed to work out.
The first semester that the baking and pastry class was offered, he sent a message and said sign up! I didn’t; I was intimidated by his status as a chef and mine as a home-baker.
I regret that. And I regret every semester that I should have — could have — taken a class from him.
Our time here is so very short, and so very precious. I believe that people are put in our lives for a reason. What’s that saying — people can be a blessing or a lesson. Charlie was both.
He (and his sweet Melissa) brought a special light to my life. My first real one-on-one time with Charlie was at a house blessing I’d been asked to conduct for some mutual friends. Part of the blessing was a Native American sage and sweet grass ceremony that my husband Wayne performed. When I couldn’t keep the sweet grass lit for the smudging, Charlie helped. He couldn’t keep it lit, either. But, we dutifully tried (and continually laughed) and followed behind Wayne who had the sage.
Charlie was such a spiritual person; he was connected to the world and to people. He loved; he just loved. He loved his people and he loved life. He didn’t preach; he lived by example. He lived and worked and walked in love. He didn’t spout Scripture, he lived it: Love your neighbor as yourself.
While I walked down memory lane looking at my scattered shoulda/woulda/couldas … something flitted across my screen that I’m sure came from Charlie. It was written by Rachel Marie Martin (findingjoy.net).
“Live in love, not hate. Live in hope, not anger. Live in truth, not rumor. Live in kindness, not rudeness. Live in generosity, not selfishness. Live in peace, not frustration. Live in joy, not doubt. Live in movement, not fear. Live in love.”
Thanks for the reminder, Charlie.
Patti Dobson writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact her at: