Baking Fresh, Japanese Style

I've written several times about the necessity of baking fresh. Sometimes we find exactly the right words for a given situation in a given moment, and the effect is profound. But it can never be reused with the same effect. They're particular to a specific time and place. You need to bake fresh every time. If you don't, you'll lose the power.

By "power", I mean the ability to entice a change of perspective.

Barrack Obama hollered "Yes we can!" and millions of people felt a profound sense of meaning and connection and elected him president. If I stood up on a box in Times Square tomorrow and yelled those words, I wouldn't get a nickel. We saw a dandy example of this right here in the Slog a few years ago. I can't find the link, but I'd written about how an old friend I hadn't seen in years had told me his tale of tragedy and woe. I patiently listened, and, when he concluded, brightly pointed out "and yet, here you are! Still right here!"

It was transformative for him. His eyes bugged out, his demeanor changed. He was unstuck. But, quite sensibly, a Slog reader commented on what horseshit this was, and how such banal words - such a smiley-faced empty-headed bit of conversational fluff - couldn't possibly inspire anything but contemptuous exasperation.

He wasn't wrong! It wasn't for him. It was for the other guy, in that other moment. You have to bake fresh!

Anyway, as the latest evidence that I'm not so original after all, it turns out the Japanese figured this all out eons ago. Check out the phrase Ichi-go ichi-e.


I read a eulogy at my mom's funeral. After the service it felt like a dinner party. Everyone was fine. Back to normal, though no one noticed the shift. It just felt natural. But it won't work for your mom's funeral. You can't reuse it, and I can't either. In fact, it probably wouldn't have much effect on you. It was a custom job. I baked fresh. Ichi-go ichi-e!