Can someone have too much of a good thing?
As a new year dawns with the promise of joy, peace, love and higher taxes, I am in a reflective mood. I'm thinking of all the wonderful dishes that have passed through my lips to an appreciative tummy. And I'm lucky in many respects, but none more so than I've managed to surround, and even live, with people who were/are great cooks.
My mom - raised in a small-ish city that was within short distance of farmland, she was raised on simple but wholesome yumminess. Back in those days, everything was "organic" and nobody could really afford anything beyond 100 miles. Food tasted like it was meant to - hell it tasted, period. No injections of steroids or flavourings, everything growing at the speed it should, eating the stuff God had deemed right and good. Free range? People had chickens in their kitchens! Can't get freer than that!
She brought her appreciation of food and her abundant culinary skills to her family once she married. TV chefs came along - The Galloping Gourmet. Julia (of course). Madame Jehane Benoit - her cookbook a fixture in many a household. These folks introduced my mom to the world and she, in turn, ate it up.
Along with the staples, we had cabbage rolls, chop suey, mannicotti, curries, Coquilles St. Jacques, Jambalaya, schnitzel...the National Geographic showed up on our plates and away we'd go! We weren't wealthy, so everything on our plate had to be eaten, no "I'm not gonna eat that" at that table. And I bless my mom's strictness because I now have a palate open to all, enemy of none. 'cept kidneys. There is a line...
Mom's kitchen however was her sanctum sanctorum. We were allowed to lick spoons and dunk fingers into simmering sauces, but get under her feet and help? Never in a million years. She had to cook for a family of six and along with all the other household chores there simply wasn't enough time for personalized tutorials. Do I resent her this? Maybe a bit, but any resentment went flying out the window when I moved out of my parents home and into my boyfriend's apartment.
My Thai/Japanese boyfriend. And glorianna, he could cook!! Thai stuff!! Japanese goodies!! Sticky rice, green curry, mangoes in a salad of all things! Jasmine scented rice...eroticism in every snowy white kernel. His mom, the Japanese half of the equation, was a stellar cook and until you have had homemade suki-yaki, you have had a pale semblance of a life (that is not judgement. Besides, it's never too late!) Ah, those were good times...
Then he ran off with some Hungarian broad. Ask me what I think of goulash...
Next came the myriad of roommates, wonderful cooks all and I, their willing vessel. My best friend seemed to put vodka in everything (sauces, chicken, she may have slipped some into muffins), and I love her to this day. She introduced me to a supper of fruit, bread, wonderful cheese and splendid wine. Her then boyfriend, now husband, would have us over for oysters and Scrabble. This, my friends, was living!
I had a couple of veggie roomies too, but did that bring a groan to my lips? Hell no!! Chickpeas 8 million ways, each spicier than the last. Tofu and all its crazed Franken-dishes were delish. I never met a lentil I didn't like. And just plain, old fashioned vegetables - roasted and glazed and souped up. Don't knock the vegetarians in your life - their culinary imaginations can exceed ours in many ways.
And they all let me in their kitchens. And there I learned how to cook...a bit.
I cook for myself now. A trying task at times (I used a ruler to make absolutely sure the dough had rolled out to EXACTLY 1-1/2 inches once. Is there a cure for this kind of madness...?) I even offer to share my dishes with friends. And they share with me. And we ask questions of each other and learn and make more food. DF introduced me to the Food Network and, much like my mom many moons ago, I watch and learn. He's bought me cookbooks, I've borrowed his, I've bought my own. I've watched him do insane-seeming things like bread starter and terrines and we've eaten at restaurants that serve sweetbreads (you will never hear Homer Simpson say, "Mmmm, thalmus gland..."). He's encouraged me to experiment and even attempt dishes without a recipe! Occassionally the results resemble surgery gone horribly, tragically wrong.
Sometimes, there is magic in the pot.
LiliLaLarge
PS - Oh, to answer the question asked at the beginning of this blog, yes, I have had too much of a good thing. I'm just gonna cut back is all...
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