I’m starting to think more like a cook.
In the supermarket, I look at things and I think, “boy, I had something good with that pancetta, I should buy some and figure out something to make with it.” Or, “didn’t I read about some jicama salad somewhere, maybe I should buy one of those tumor-looking things and do something with it.”
It’s a big shift in my attitude, and relatively quick (just since New Year’s).
I think the only way I’m going to get better at this is to evaluate the results and figure out how to improve. I’ve got a multi-step approach here:
Both Debbie and Val liked the pasta. I thought it came out pretty well. So there wasn’t really much bad at the end. But a few observations:
I guess that’s it for this week.
I didn’t cook Friday this week because Debbie had some colleagues over for a work thing and I’m not ready. Not so much not ready for cooking for others, but not ready for cooking for a big bunch.
(Tami, an old video partner of mine, had a gig for a while as head cook at a hospital. She said you shouldn’t put a gallon of chili powder into a big batch of chili; it doesn’t scale up like the other ingredients.)
So I’m cooking tonight for Debbie and my cousin Val, who is visiting from out of town.
I couldn’t sleep this morning, picked up the new Bon Appetit that came in the mail and found this recipe for pasta with veggies. It looked do-able, it looked not too heavy for nicer weather, it looked fail-safe. I went for it.
Debbie sneered at it. “Well, it looks kind of non-standard.” She meant the croutons, which I explained to her – quoting from the article copy – was part of the rustic Puglian charm reflected in the dish. She said, “well, I suppose you can make whatever you want.”
My writing buddy and dedicated foodie Josh came over later that morning. I showed him the ingredients on the counter, and he said, “Oh, pretty good,” but then he picked up the one non-ingredient from this dish – a sack of red Bhutanese rice – and said, “this stuff is great.” When I said it wasn’t part of what I was making, he sneered, too, although for different reasons than Debbie. “It’s just throwing together some pasta,” he said. “Why don’t you cook something that takes most of the day, that teaches you something?”
Why not, indeed. I’ll work my way up to it. The first element of success is showing up regularly; the rest follows in time.
First of all, thank God for Epicurious. Mary – one of my scarily un-crummy cook friends – told me about them while teaching me how to make a souffle. They are a searchable database for Gourmet and Bon Appetit recipes, where you can type in your ingredients-on-hand and see what they’ve got. In this case, I had too much Gruyere cheese (from the souffle) and a tub of pitted olives I’d bought on a whim the previous week at Whole Foods. I typed in “gruyere” and “olives” and, voila: the Tomato and Onion Tart.
Easy recipe, once I made the crucial simplifying assumption that I would buy rather than build the crust. (Using pre-made stuff is no shame in the tech business: it’s called “buy vs. build” and it’s even a bit more chic to buy than to do it yourself”.) Whole Food’s whole-wheat frozen pie crust was probably easier on my constitution than the Butter Pastry Dough they were going to have me prepare. I can always make a dough in Year 2.
It went well. Debbie – who had just come home off the road – liked it (and even ate a smidgen of seconds, a surer proof of approval than mere words). For the first time since New Years, no criticism and self-criticism afterwards. Life is sweet.
So, at age 59 I’ve decided to learn how to cook.
Not from scratch. I’ve never been like my poor dad, who couldn’t even make a hamburger or boil an egg. I know the basics. I know a few dishes.
I decided as a New Year’s resolution to do it regularly, once a week at least.
And, since we live in the age where everyone wants to write and no one wants to read, I’ve got to blog about it, too.
Hopefully my accounts of flailing around with recipes, cutting boards, and flame will amuse some readership. If so, please let me know.
