What I tell people is that my mother is a chef and when I sat in the kitchen with her, (even before she was a chef) she would give me instruction as to how she was preparing our meal. When I got older and too bored to sit and listen, I watched and handled simple tasks. Of course, you get your scars when it's your own kitchen, so knife skills and oven handling was perfected in adulthood, but a kid can learn a lot just by having them standing with you.
There are little tricks you remember, mostly because my mother in particular pounded them into my head. Things like putting a wet paper towel beneath your cutting board to hold it in place. It's not only a safety issue, it'll help insure you make uniform cuts. And a medium rare steak feels like the end of your nose. I like that one the most. Then as you learn to cook and time yourself, the other stuff comes back. Like the proper temperature for cooked meats. How many minutes per pound/inch, the checker board pattern for dicing an onion, cooking a roux for gravy, and I think we all know how to stick a toothpick in a baked good to check doneness. I am grateful that all of these tidbits are stuck in the recesses of my memory, but what I love more is the love I have for this part of life.
Again, I give my mother credit. She is a fantastic cook and she fed us with love. Waking up on the weekends was one of my favorite things in the world. On Saturday, upon arrival to the kitchen, she'd ask what kind of eggs I was having and even as I got older and woke up later and crankier, she still handed out poached or soft boiled with perfectly buttered toast. And even while the smell of salty tomato sauce wasn't ideal on Sunday, there was nothing as wonderful as stealing the butt off of the fresh loaf of semolina bread and dunking it right in. For those reasons, I am in love with food. We sat down as a family every night, and though I fought with them like hell and we annoyed the crap out of each other, the food was always great. I don't need to get started on holidays but trust me when I say, my house was the place to be for leftovers. I introduced every one of my friends, and even some people I barely know, to something delicious because I know how good it all can be.
When I'm at home, I strive to give myself something better than what I've already had. The extreme upside to having a big nose is an excellent sense of smell. Given smell is linked directly to taste, I personally believe that I have the natural advantage. Like some hog seeking out truffles, I dissect my food flavor at a time and when I get the opportunity I recreate it.
I've been really lucky in my short career as a cook. It began in college when my only option was the school cafeteria. As soon as I got my hands on a kitchen, I made something. I think it was pasta with tomato sauce. Being the first time I used electronic cooktops, it wasn't great, but it was still delicious, and it motivated me to do more. Soon I moved onto lamb chops and veal rollatini. I'd watch the cooking channels for ideas. By sophomore year, I organized a small kitchen with an electric grill, skillet, and toaster oven. I served dinner to at least 7 passersby a night. It was the first time the place felt like home.
When I moved home after graduation, my parents were vegetarians. My boyfriend and I were eating out all the time. It was unhealthy, expensive, and really fattening, so I took over my parents kitchen and began cooking for he and I. I'd go to farmer's markets or Whole Foods and pick out what I thought looked interesting, and then find a recipe online for it when I got home. The luck came when I realized how often I was successful with these new creations. To date, there was a frangipane tart a la Julia Child that was too runny one Christmas Eve - but I was running late, and once, a garlic soup that needed the called for chorizo I'd omitted for a vegetarian.
Tonight, I made something really simple, but it's what I think of as summer. Lobster rolls on toasted garlicky buns, creamed spinach, corn on the cob, and baked potato. I know that by keeping things simple but remembering the special touches, something like that can be amazing. Before wrapping the corn in foil, I added butter, cayenne, salt and pepper, then roasted it. I was generous with the nutmeg in the spinach and I came close to falling from hubris. Had I not tasted it, it would not have been the delicate balance of flavor it turned out to be The lobster was dope - it was nothing more than steamed meat, scallions, celery, pepper, and ONE tablespoon of mayo.
I was methodical during dinner. I ate my potato covered sparingly with butter and sour cream, while interchanging with the creamed spinach. When I moved onto the lobster, I ate slowly, and savored my bites. I chose how I wanted to leave my palate and was lucky enough to steal one last bite of his lobster roll after finishing my corn. The spicy cayenne still on my tongue, mixed with the freshness and crunch of the salad. I almost laughed when I realized I'd been making mmmmm sounds.
"You eat like you have sex," my companion says.
I couldn't even disagree. That's my basic philosophy on life.
There are many pleasures to be had here and the type of person you are is often shown in how you enjoy them and what motivates them. Some people consume and consume without reason while others savor the things in life that are worth it. Food is one of the most basic things we do. We eat to stay alive. We eat for comfort. We eat to replace something missing.
I eat for pleasure. Food does everything listed above, but it also leaves a memory behind which doesn't depart so easily. It's a part of my life the way a sport might be. While other people my age are partying at bars, I'm throwing dinner parties and testing out ice cream flavors. I have managed to perfect some really delicious stuff without trying very hard, and though most of my friends aren't very foodie, I turn them one step at a time. Besides, once you get good at making: marshmallows, whoppie pies, fudgcicles, bbq ribs, pulled pork, french onion soup, pot pie, stew, bread, muffins, crepes, and a whole slew of other awesome stuff, your friends won't need to know what they're eating to know what good is.
I've managed to get two graduate school friends from eating junk (literally, all packaged foods) to roasting chickens and making rice. My co-worker never tried sushi or Indian before me. My ex boyfriend never had fresh mozzarella. When I was a kid, I shared my cucumber and black olive sandwiches with my friends. Their moms had to start making them. We used to dunk fresh strawberries into sugar and sit around and talk. My best friends of twenty years still remember how delicious that was. We won't do it now in fear of diabetic coma, but there was nothing like it, in my kitchen after school at 11-years-old, gossiping and making fun of each other.
I can go on like this forever. This is seriously my favorite past time aside from being at the beach with a good book (and a bag of cold fruit) but I had a thought tonight and it prompted this blog. When I move abroad, I'll live in one of the most expensive cities in the world and I'll probably have a tiny, one-room studio. I got nervous that I might lose my cooking skills. I won't eat there much, I'm sure so I wonder what new habits I'll pick up or what I might miss. When I took the buns out of the oven tonight, before I spooned the lobster on top, I intuitively cut a piece of garlic and rubbed it on the buttery, toasted bread. That addition, gave a depth to the flavor that would have been missed. It is that thought process, that will never leave me. I will always love food. I will always enjoy feeding people. If I have a family, it is my mission to be the house the kids hang out in and just like my mother, I want to be able to whip up the coolest ice cream sundae or the best lemon chicken with mashed potatoes on the block. I know I will and I really look forward to it.
For the time being though, it's summer so my new mantra is nothing tastes as good as thin feels and I forsake my right to make treats. And while I know that is total bologna, some pleasures are meant to be deferred only to appreciate all the more later on.
One of my favorite nights with you was the first time we ever did Thanksgiving leftovers! Yumm..I can taste the cranberry sauce now.
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