I love cooking. Well, that's obvious by the fact that I write a cooking blog. But as much pleasure as I take out of getting in the kitchen, sometimes I am very tempted by the ease of fast food. At the end of a long day of work, or in between rushed errands, I feel like even sautéing vegetables or boiling rice is beyond me. The giant, neon beacon of the Subway sign, the crimson clarion call of Papa Gino's, they promise food that is serviceable and reasonably cheap. In economical terms, I'm comparing the opportunity cost vs. the financial cost. By paying $6 for a meal at these places, I save myself the time and effort to fix something up at home.
But there's also the quality cost, what's lost by taking that easy route. Subway's veggie d-lite sandwich is basic and healthy enough (it's hard to mess up bread and vegetables). Papa Gino's is less healthy, but their pizza is definitely the tastiest of fast food pizza offerings (though I'm not sure that's saying much). Still, it's lacking a certain something I would get by cooking at home.
Whenever I resist the urge to pull into one of these restaurants, I never regret it. As much as I don't feel like digging through the cupboards to figure something out, then actually having to cook it, I'm never sad that I do. Regardless of my dish's simplicity, whether it is common place, or very subdued in flavor, it's always worth it. There is a pleasure I get out of seeing home cooked food that I have never found duplicated by eating out.
The flavors are mine, the visual of food sauteing in a pan, baking in an oven, or bubbling in a sauce pan fills me with an anticipation and delight I can only describe as being nearly childlike. As I've expressed before, the act of making in the kitchen is one that comes from the same place in my creative bone, the same part of me that loves to write or quilt. I love hearing the sound of oil sizzling on a hot skillet or the same of onions as they saute in butter. The way vegetables change their hue as the heat cooks them through. It's magical to me, in the simplest way. Layman's alchemy. The magic of everyday, common things.
Oh, and when it's done! When I spoon those baked vegetables, drizzled with olive oil and lemon-pepper seasoning onto my plate, with a side of warmed crusty bread, I'm happy to eat it. I feel more nourished than Subway can ever make me. Those vegetables, the ones I peeled and flavored and baked, are superior in every way to the cold Subway toppings that linger in their plastic boxes under the flourescent lights. The heat and freshness of my veggies, the mild bite of the pepper, the satisfying crunch of the bread, all of these culminate in a meal that is, yes, simple in every way, but nourishing and pleasing. They stimulate the taste buds, appeal to my visual senses, and the olfactory ones as well.
This is why I cook at home, why I'm pleased when I resist the call of convenience. The gift of home-made food that delights the senses, that fills the belly, and satisfies the creative urge. What restaurant came compare to this?
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Failure is (sometimes) an Option
It happens.
Failure, that is. I know. It shocks me, too, being reminded that I am, in fact, not perfect. But that's one of the harsh realities of kitchen experimentation. Sometimes things blow up in your face (though usually not literally, unless one is being very careless with heating sources). Fortunately, with food, one merely needs to secret away one's failures into a garbage bag and no one ever need know.
Unless you write a cooking blog. In that case the three people who have any interest in your food will know. But surely they won't tell anyone, right?
I was in a mood for peanut butter, which is rather like saying I was in a mood for breathing. But having just had PB&J for lunch, I didn't feel it necessary to repeat that for dinner. Well, why not a peanut sauce then, and bake tofu with said peanut sauce. It's peanut butter, but with a veneer of healthiness, unlike my aforementioned lunch. Never having made a peanut sauce, I did what any self-respecting cook would do: I Googled it.
That led me, as most recipe searches do, to Allrecipes.com, a mostly useful site that has produced some excellent results in the past. Now, I know about as much about making a peanut sauce as I do about the price of peas in Prague (it has peanut butter in it!), so I browsed a few and picked one that a) I already had all the ingredients to and b) didn't use fish sauce in the making of it.
And there you have it. I was led astray! I followed a recipe and it turned out terribly. . .
Except for those changes I made to the recipe. That might have ruined it. I don't remember the changes exactly-no doubt repressing the memory of my own bad decisions- but they definitely did not lead to a kitchen win. But, while the food was a loss and ended up in the trash, I did learn a lesson that sometimes it might be useful to follow a recipe exactly. Especially if it's a recipe I'm unfamiliar with.
Who knew?
Failure, that is. I know. It shocks me, too, being reminded that I am, in fact, not perfect. But that's one of the harsh realities of kitchen experimentation. Sometimes things blow up in your face (though usually not literally, unless one is being very careless with heating sources). Fortunately, with food, one merely needs to secret away one's failures into a garbage bag and no one ever need know.
Unless you write a cooking blog. In that case the three people who have any interest in your food will know. But surely they won't tell anyone, right?
I was in a mood for peanut butter, which is rather like saying I was in a mood for breathing. But having just had PB&J for lunch, I didn't feel it necessary to repeat that for dinner. Well, why not a peanut sauce then, and bake tofu with said peanut sauce. It's peanut butter, but with a veneer of healthiness, unlike my aforementioned lunch. Never having made a peanut sauce, I did what any self-respecting cook would do: I Googled it.
That led me, as most recipe searches do, to Allrecipes.com, a mostly useful site that has produced some excellent results in the past. Now, I know about as much about making a peanut sauce as I do about the price of peas in Prague (it has peanut butter in it!), so I browsed a few and picked one that a) I already had all the ingredients to and b) didn't use fish sauce in the making of it.
And there you have it. I was led astray! I followed a recipe and it turned out terribly. . .
Except for those changes I made to the recipe. That might have ruined it. I don't remember the changes exactly-no doubt repressing the memory of my own bad decisions- but they definitely did not lead to a kitchen win. But, while the food was a loss and ended up in the trash, I did learn a lesson that sometimes it might be useful to follow a recipe exactly. Especially if it's a recipe I'm unfamiliar with.
Who knew?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Apples to Apples
Autumn is officially with us, even if the weather hasn't exactly gotten the memo. And autumn is the perfect season for apples. They fall in abundance, with a flavor for every taste preference. Sweet reds to the tart greens and plenty mixed in between. They can be applied to a wide range of cooking ventures, though baking is my favorite: baked in pies, baked in muffins, baked with. . .jasmine rice? Yes, that's right, jasmine rice. Not the usual complement to apples, but the idea struck me while reading another recipe that called for serving quinoa and wild rice with apples. Preferring generally sweet tastes, I decided to alter the recipe a bit (somebody I'll learn to follow a recipe, but, well, I don't think it's going to be an easy lesson for me to learn).
I took two apples and sliced off the top just below the stem. I cleared out the core, leaving a little apple-bowl, the inside of which I coated with a light dusting of brown sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. I filled the "bowl" with jasmine rice I'd already cooked (boiled for 2-3 minutes and then turned to low and left to sit for 20-30 min till all nice, light, and fluffy) and topped that with more cinnamon and a drizzle of honey. These I cooked for 40 minutes at 350.
I worried a bit that perhaps I might have gone a little overboard with the sweetness, but what came out of the oven after 40 minutes was a delicate, subtle pleasure. It was sweet, to be sure, but not in a blunt, candied sense. The slightly acidic nature of the apples, with their heat softened skin and flesh, balanced out the pure sugary sweetness of the honey, which matched the spicier sweet of the spices exactly as I'd hoped. It was exactly what I was aiming for when I'd put the recipe together, though I have a few thoughts on improving the recipe yet further. I might add in a citrus-y hint, with orange or lemon, or perhaps a ginger-y bite with some freshly grated ginger and onions. I felt that, as delicious as it was, it would have been better with a more blatant juxtaposition to the sweetness. And I might experiment with other apple varieties (I used macintosh this time), since autumn will certainly provide me with ample specimens.
A second apple-related cooking venture from this afternoon was apple-cinnamon muffins (really, I need to let the cinnamon rest once in a while. I think I might have a cinnamon problem. . .). Seeing that a few of my apples were in danger of going bad, I decided to put them in some form of baked good (and isn't it wonderful that the universe has provided us this option for using excess fruit?). I settled on muffins, having already made a quick bread this week. And cinnamon is the perfect apple complement (apple pie, anyone?). I used a basic muffin recipe (2 eggs, 1 1/4 cup sugar, 3 tbsp butter, 1/4 cup vegetable oil flour, 3 cups flour, 1 tsp salt, 1 tsp baking powder, 1/4 tsp baking soda, cinnamon [some. . .and then some more], nutmeg [a bit]), tossed into the oven for 20 minutes at 350. After they were properly baked, I coated the tops with a bit of melted butter and a light dusting of brown sugar. Result? Delicious. The perfect autumn snack, especially when paired with green tea or coffee.
All in all, it was a good day for cooking and I'm satisfied with my kitchen creations.
I took two apples and sliced off the top just below the stem. I cleared out the core, leaving a little apple-bowl, the inside of which I coated with a light dusting of brown sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. I filled the "bowl" with jasmine rice I'd already cooked (boiled for 2-3 minutes and then turned to low and left to sit for 20-30 min till all nice, light, and fluffy) and topped that with more cinnamon and a drizzle of honey. These I cooked for 40 minutes at 350.
I worried a bit that perhaps I might have gone a little overboard with the sweetness, but what came out of the oven after 40 minutes was a delicate, subtle pleasure. It was sweet, to be sure, but not in a blunt, candied sense. The slightly acidic nature of the apples, with their heat softened skin and flesh, balanced out the pure sugary sweetness of the honey, which matched the spicier sweet of the spices exactly as I'd hoped. It was exactly what I was aiming for when I'd put the recipe together, though I have a few thoughts on improving the recipe yet further. I might add in a citrus-y hint, with orange or lemon, or perhaps a ginger-y bite with some freshly grated ginger and onions. I felt that, as delicious as it was, it would have been better with a more blatant juxtaposition to the sweetness. And I might experiment with other apple varieties (I used macintosh this time), since autumn will certainly provide me with ample specimens.
A second apple-related cooking venture from this afternoon was apple-cinnamon muffins (really, I need to let the cinnamon rest once in a while. I think I might have a cinnamon problem. . .). Seeing that a few of my apples were in danger of going bad, I decided to put them in some form of baked good (and isn't it wonderful that the universe has provided us this option for using excess fruit?). I settled on muffins, having already made a quick bread this week. And cinnamon is the perfect apple complement (apple pie, anyone?). I used a basic muffin recipe (2 eggs, 1 1/4 cup sugar, 3 tbsp butter, 1/4 cup vegetable oil flour, 3 cups flour, 1 tsp salt, 1 tsp baking powder, 1/4 tsp baking soda, cinnamon [some. . .and then some more], nutmeg [a bit]), tossed into the oven for 20 minutes at 350. After they were properly baked, I coated the tops with a bit of melted butter and a light dusting of brown sugar. Result? Delicious. The perfect autumn snack, especially when paired with green tea or coffee.
All in all, it was a good day for cooking and I'm satisfied with my kitchen creations.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
A Little Experiment
Yesterday evening my wonderful boyfriend cooked me an amazing dinner. Pasta with artichokes, mushrooms, and onions sauteed in garlic and olive oil, with a parmesan-romano-white wine reduction sauce. And, of course, Ceasar salad for appetizer and mini cannoli for dessert. Simply put, it was delicious.
As we ate, I asked about where he had learned to cook (self-taught) and whether or not he ever used recipes. He replied that he occasionally used recipes, but never with Italian food. He had been cooking Italian for so long (being of Italian descent) and was familiar enough with that particular style of cooking that he didn't need a recipe to create a so-called "authentic" flavor.
Whether not his food was "authentic", I couldn't say, but I recognized its incredible flavor and how comfortable he was with the making of this recipe and it made me think. It occurred to me that, while I am a reasonably competent cook, there is no "genre" of food that I could make that claim about. I don't know the finer details or techniques of any ethnic palate to cook like a native. Though I've dabbled in a variety of regional tastes, from Europe to Asia and back again, I've never really delved into the minutae of any one kind. As a food-obsessed amateur cook, this is unacceptable.
I don't need to master all available food genres (and to do so would rather be against the spirit of specializing), but I would like to find one style that I find particularly pleasant to cook and equally pleasing to eat. But which one? Italian, maybe. I do love pasta and sauces, breads and cheeses. Atkins be damned, carbs are a beautiful thing! However, the world has so much to offer, in terms of cooking. I can't simply decide to be an Italian connesiuer without giving a few other food ethnicities a try.
To that end, I've come up with my next food experiment. For the final four months of 2010, I'm going to devote each month to a regional style of cooking. I'll begin with what I love: Italian. Oh, yes, September will be the month of those pastas and sauces and cheeses. But what of the last three?
October will be the month of Japanese cooking. Miso soup and udon, seaweed wraps and rice. Very vegetarian friendly (except for that pesky love of fish) and one of the healthiest diets on the world, Japanese cooking is one I've long enjoyed when eating out, but not one I've ever really tried to create myself, unless you count topping soba noodles with soy sauce.
November brings us back to Europe and Greek cooking. I love Mediterranean cooking, but that's far too broad, including everything from Greek to Moroccan to Spanish and Egyptian. Though I would love to visit the culinary traditions of each of these countries, I'm going to stick with Greek and see what I can come up with, despite its meat-heavy dishes.
December will be devoted to Mexican. It seems only fair that the Western Hemisphere should get at least a little representation in my kitchen. And I've enjoyed what little of genuine Mexican cuisine I've tasted. Plenty of legumes and vegetables here, though no beef or chicken recipes for me.
While I expect to enjoy the first month the best, since Italian has always been a favored cooking style of mine, there's no telling. I might be surprised by what I find in the cooking ouvre of the other countries. I might discover a love and a talent for Asian or Mexican cooking that I didn't know I possessed. But I'm going to find something I'm good at and specialize that I might have my own variation of Tom's Italian cooking: a style of cooking that I can create and call up without a recipe, simply out of familiarity and practice.
As we ate, I asked about where he had learned to cook (self-taught) and whether or not he ever used recipes. He replied that he occasionally used recipes, but never with Italian food. He had been cooking Italian for so long (being of Italian descent) and was familiar enough with that particular style of cooking that he didn't need a recipe to create a so-called "authentic" flavor.
Whether not his food was "authentic", I couldn't say, but I recognized its incredible flavor and how comfortable he was with the making of this recipe and it made me think. It occurred to me that, while I am a reasonably competent cook, there is no "genre" of food that I could make that claim about. I don't know the finer details or techniques of any ethnic palate to cook like a native. Though I've dabbled in a variety of regional tastes, from Europe to Asia and back again, I've never really delved into the minutae of any one kind. As a food-obsessed amateur cook, this is unacceptable.
I don't need to master all available food genres (and to do so would rather be against the spirit of specializing), but I would like to find one style that I find particularly pleasant to cook and equally pleasing to eat. But which one? Italian, maybe. I do love pasta and sauces, breads and cheeses. Atkins be damned, carbs are a beautiful thing! However, the world has so much to offer, in terms of cooking. I can't simply decide to be an Italian connesiuer without giving a few other food ethnicities a try.
To that end, I've come up with my next food experiment. For the final four months of 2010, I'm going to devote each month to a regional style of cooking. I'll begin with what I love: Italian. Oh, yes, September will be the month of those pastas and sauces and cheeses. But what of the last three?
October will be the month of Japanese cooking. Miso soup and udon, seaweed wraps and rice. Very vegetarian friendly (except for that pesky love of fish) and one of the healthiest diets on the world, Japanese cooking is one I've long enjoyed when eating out, but not one I've ever really tried to create myself, unless you count topping soba noodles with soy sauce.
November brings us back to Europe and Greek cooking. I love Mediterranean cooking, but that's far too broad, including everything from Greek to Moroccan to Spanish and Egyptian. Though I would love to visit the culinary traditions of each of these countries, I'm going to stick with Greek and see what I can come up with, despite its meat-heavy dishes.
December will be devoted to Mexican. It seems only fair that the Western Hemisphere should get at least a little representation in my kitchen. And I've enjoyed what little of genuine Mexican cuisine I've tasted. Plenty of legumes and vegetables here, though no beef or chicken recipes for me.
While I expect to enjoy the first month the best, since Italian has always been a favored cooking style of mine, there's no telling. I might be surprised by what I find in the cooking ouvre of the other countries. I might discover a love and a talent for Asian or Mexican cooking that I didn't know I possessed. But I'm going to find something I'm good at and specialize that I might have my own variation of Tom's Italian cooking: a style of cooking that I can create and call up without a recipe, simply out of familiarity and practice.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Fantastic Farmer's Markets!
One of my favorite things about summer is the reemergence of the farmer's market. While there are some places with a stable enough climate to allow a fairly abundant growing season year-round, here in Connecticut we have a limited amount of time for locally grown, fresh vegetables and fruits. Farmer's markets start popping up with first, small harvests in June and really pick up come July as the earth starts giving up her bounty.
Today I attended my first farmer's market of the season. Indeed, it was the first farmer's market I'd attended in over a year and I had forgotten entirely how much I love them. There's something wonderfully pleasant going from stall to stall, greeted by both the welcoming smiles of the stall tenders and the scents and colors of the produce.
And let us not forget the samples. No farmer's market is ever bereft of plenty of opportunities to taste the wares. Ranging from jams to vegetables to cheese and even breads and cookies, this is how they tempt you into purchasing their products. And, mostly, it's a good tactic. Freshly made sweets, produce that was picked that morning, jams that were mixed and made a mile away, honey from beehives that you can see, there's a reason farmer's markets are so popular. Sure, there might a slight price increase compared the local chain supermarket, but there's a good explanation for that: the food is better, the variety is better, and you can feel good knowing that you support local farmers, especially those who grow organic produce or raise grass-fed beef.
Farmer's markets are like mini-festivals, each with their own atmosphere. The variety, once the season really gets rolling, is fantastic, the quality spectacular. The vendors are cheerful and, since they grew or made the products, they can give you any information about it that you might be after.
Though summer weather can be remarkably unpredictable, this afternoon was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, capped with a blue sky and a light breeze ruffling through the grasses. Perfect for a slow browse around the stalls, trying what samples were available and lingering in front of the produce, thinking about what sorts of dishes they might make. I ended up with two new vegetables that I've never (to my knowledge) eaten previously: kohlrabi and pattypan. Kohlrabi is a member of the cabbage family, with a flavor I might describe as a cross between a radish and an onion. Just a bit of bite. Pattypan is a summer squash, a bright orange UFO of a vegetable. Not entirely certain what I'm going to make with them (perhaps grilled summer veggies, with a ginger-sesame glaze?), but I can't wait to see how they cook.
I was also fortunate enough to find some delicious local honey, and a stall with more varieties of jam and syrups and glazes than I had time to count. I left with four types of jam: strawberry-rhubarb, cardamom pear, pumpkin spice, and cherry almond. I can't wait to go back and try the others, among them black currant jam, pomegranate, rose jelly, and ginger-pear. My final purchase was two pints of fresh raspberries, which I couldn't resist, as berry season is my favorite part of the growing calender. Here and gone far too soon, I stock up on what I can find and freeze some for later, when they inevitably fade from the stalls' tables.
All in all, a successful trip to a great farmer's market and I can't wait to see what the season continues to bring to the stalls.
Today I attended my first farmer's market of the season. Indeed, it was the first farmer's market I'd attended in over a year and I had forgotten entirely how much I love them. There's something wonderfully pleasant going from stall to stall, greeted by both the welcoming smiles of the stall tenders and the scents and colors of the produce.
And let us not forget the samples. No farmer's market is ever bereft of plenty of opportunities to taste the wares. Ranging from jams to vegetables to cheese and even breads and cookies, this is how they tempt you into purchasing their products. And, mostly, it's a good tactic. Freshly made sweets, produce that was picked that morning, jams that were mixed and made a mile away, honey from beehives that you can see, there's a reason farmer's markets are so popular. Sure, there might a slight price increase compared the local chain supermarket, but there's a good explanation for that: the food is better, the variety is better, and you can feel good knowing that you support local farmers, especially those who grow organic produce or raise grass-fed beef.
Farmer's markets are like mini-festivals, each with their own atmosphere. The variety, once the season really gets rolling, is fantastic, the quality spectacular. The vendors are cheerful and, since they grew or made the products, they can give you any information about it that you might be after.
Though summer weather can be remarkably unpredictable, this afternoon was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, capped with a blue sky and a light breeze ruffling through the grasses. Perfect for a slow browse around the stalls, trying what samples were available and lingering in front of the produce, thinking about what sorts of dishes they might make. I ended up with two new vegetables that I've never (to my knowledge) eaten previously: kohlrabi and pattypan. Kohlrabi is a member of the cabbage family, with a flavor I might describe as a cross between a radish and an onion. Just a bit of bite. Pattypan is a summer squash, a bright orange UFO of a vegetable. Not entirely certain what I'm going to make with them (perhaps grilled summer veggies, with a ginger-sesame glaze?), but I can't wait to see how they cook.
I was also fortunate enough to find some delicious local honey, and a stall with more varieties of jam and syrups and glazes than I had time to count. I left with four types of jam: strawberry-rhubarb, cardamom pear, pumpkin spice, and cherry almond. I can't wait to go back and try the others, among them black currant jam, pomegranate, rose jelly, and ginger-pear. My final purchase was two pints of fresh raspberries, which I couldn't resist, as berry season is my favorite part of the growing calender. Here and gone far too soon, I stock up on what I can find and freeze some for later, when they inevitably fade from the stalls' tables.
All in all, a successful trip to a great farmer's market and I can't wait to see what the season continues to bring to the stalls.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Mac and Cheese Please!
Some dishes are classics for a reason. They are universally hailed as just plain delicious. Baked macaroni and cheese falls safely into that category. It's one of those quintessential comfort foods. Perfect for its simplicity (not to mention the fact that cheese has a minor opiate effect on the brain!) and amazing just as it is.
That being said, sometimes it is fun to redo a classic. Take it apart and rebuild it, occasionally making it better, occasionally ending up with a spectacular failure. Tonight's foray into the classic revisited comes from Vegetarian Times magazine. Dubbed "Grown-Up Mac and Cheese", it's a fancy way of saying mac and cheese with some green things added in. Of course, as an avid lover of green veggies, I was perfectly happy to combine spinach with my pasta and cheese, though I have several friends who would regard this as an unforgivable pollution of an already perfect dish.
Naturally, I made a few tweaks to the recipe, as I have already admitted to my inability to follow a recipe to the letter. First switch: whole wheat pasta for plain. Yep, that's right, I opted to make it less healthy! Scandalous, I know. However, I truly dislike whole wheat pasta and, considering the fact that I eat pretty damn healthy most of the time, I'm not going to feel guilty for clinging to my plain old enriched pasta. Switch number two: instead of 1/2 cup of parmesan cheese, I opted for a 1/4 cup of parmesan and a 1/4 mozzarella. Why stick with a single type of cheesy goodness when there are so many varieties available?
Otherwise, I made the recipe according to the directions. Cook pasta, make the sauce (1/4 cup flour, 2 cups fat-free milk, cooked over medium heat until thickened), add in spinach (cooked to wilting before making the sauce), 2 cloves minced garlic, the penne, and 1/4 tsp. of nutmeg. Add a little extra cheese on top. Pop in the oven at 350 for 45 minutes or until the top is browned. Enjoy (or not, depending on your view of green things mixed in with the cheese).
Verdict? Mostly good, but a little bland. The nutmeg was a delightful addition, and I like the idea of adding sweetness that opposes the creamy cheesiness. I think, perhaps, I shall add a few things in next time. Thing the first: a little brown sugar. Maybe that will be too much sweetness, but, well, what's good cooking if not a constant experiment? Thing the second: stronger flavors of cheese, perhaps asiago or sharp cheddar. Maybe go for a nice four cheese blend. You can never have too much cheese (unless, of course, you're lactose intolerant, but that's a tragedy that doesn't bear thinking about!).
Overall, it's a recipe I'll keep, though I'll have to work to find my own variation that suits my tastes.
That being said, sometimes it is fun to redo a classic. Take it apart and rebuild it, occasionally making it better, occasionally ending up with a spectacular failure. Tonight's foray into the classic revisited comes from Vegetarian Times magazine. Dubbed "Grown-Up Mac and Cheese", it's a fancy way of saying mac and cheese with some green things added in. Of course, as an avid lover of green veggies, I was perfectly happy to combine spinach with my pasta and cheese, though I have several friends who would regard this as an unforgivable pollution of an already perfect dish.
Naturally, I made a few tweaks to the recipe, as I have already admitted to my inability to follow a recipe to the letter. First switch: whole wheat pasta for plain. Yep, that's right, I opted to make it less healthy! Scandalous, I know. However, I truly dislike whole wheat pasta and, considering the fact that I eat pretty damn healthy most of the time, I'm not going to feel guilty for clinging to my plain old enriched pasta. Switch number two: instead of 1/2 cup of parmesan cheese, I opted for a 1/4 cup of parmesan and a 1/4 mozzarella. Why stick with a single type of cheesy goodness when there are so many varieties available?
Otherwise, I made the recipe according to the directions. Cook pasta, make the sauce (1/4 cup flour, 2 cups fat-free milk, cooked over medium heat until thickened), add in spinach (cooked to wilting before making the sauce), 2 cloves minced garlic, the penne, and 1/4 tsp. of nutmeg. Add a little extra cheese on top. Pop in the oven at 350 for 45 minutes or until the top is browned. Enjoy (or not, depending on your view of green things mixed in with the cheese).
Verdict? Mostly good, but a little bland. The nutmeg was a delightful addition, and I like the idea of adding sweetness that opposes the creamy cheesiness. I think, perhaps, I shall add a few things in next time. Thing the first: a little brown sugar. Maybe that will be too much sweetness, but, well, what's good cooking if not a constant experiment? Thing the second: stronger flavors of cheese, perhaps asiago or sharp cheddar. Maybe go for a nice four cheese blend. You can never have too much cheese (unless, of course, you're lactose intolerant, but that's a tragedy that doesn't bear thinking about!).
Overall, it's a recipe I'll keep, though I'll have to work to find my own variation that suits my tastes.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Experiments that Work!
Tonight's meal was an example of one of my favorite things about cooking: simple is usually as delicious and satisfying as complicated. Not to mention that these fabulous recipes can be made out of whatever happens to be lying around in the kitchen and cupboards.
After a weekend of lazily opting for meals out, I cooked not once, but twice today! Making up for lost time, if you will. I started in the afternoon with a loaf of whole wheat bread. I've discovered that store brought doesn't hold a candle to bread fresh out of the oven. Eventually I'll branch out and try to make more varieties of bread, but plain whole wheat is good enough for now.
When it was time for dinner, I used the bread in a recipe I've been thinking about for a few days now. I started with the bread cut into chunks and lightly brushed with olive oil. I heated them in a pan over med-high heat, toasting them on the stovetop. After adding broccoli, diced tomatoes, and feta cheese, I opted for garlic salt, black pepper, thyme, and oregano for the spices, trying to give it a nice Italian feel, and a pinch of brown sugar to cut the acidity of the tomatoes. I let the ingredients simmer for a bit, till the cheese was melted, the broccoli cooked through, and the bread a little browned. I added lettuce and some extra garlic salt after taking it off the heat.
Since this is a recipe I came up with on my own, I wasn't sure it would come out as I'd hoped, but victory! The bread was not quite as crispy as I'd have liked, but it was wonderfully flavorful. I think I might add an extra pinch of brown sugar next time, for the hint of sweetness it left was unexpectedly pleasant. And perhaps fresh garlic and basil leaves. Or, I'll leave it exactly the way it is, because it certainly was delicious. I'm not usually so pleased with my own creations, but this one turned out just right. I am looking forward to tweaking it in the future, trying different spices or switching up the variety of cheese I use.
It doesn't look the prettiest (my food rarely does), but I think it tasted good enough that its lack of visual appeal was more than made up for.
After a weekend of lazily opting for meals out, I cooked not once, but twice today! Making up for lost time, if you will. I started in the afternoon with a loaf of whole wheat bread. I've discovered that store brought doesn't hold a candle to bread fresh out of the oven. Eventually I'll branch out and try to make more varieties of bread, but plain whole wheat is good enough for now.
When it was time for dinner, I used the bread in a recipe I've been thinking about for a few days now. I started with the bread cut into chunks and lightly brushed with olive oil. I heated them in a pan over med-high heat, toasting them on the stovetop. After adding broccoli, diced tomatoes, and feta cheese, I opted for garlic salt, black pepper, thyme, and oregano for the spices, trying to give it a nice Italian feel, and a pinch of brown sugar to cut the acidity of the tomatoes. I let the ingredients simmer for a bit, till the cheese was melted, the broccoli cooked through, and the bread a little browned. I added lettuce and some extra garlic salt after taking it off the heat.
Since this is a recipe I came up with on my own, I wasn't sure it would come out as I'd hoped, but victory! The bread was not quite as crispy as I'd have liked, but it was wonderfully flavorful. I think I might add an extra pinch of brown sugar next time, for the hint of sweetness it left was unexpectedly pleasant. And perhaps fresh garlic and basil leaves. Or, I'll leave it exactly the way it is, because it certainly was delicious. I'm not usually so pleased with my own creations, but this one turned out just right. I am looking forward to tweaking it in the future, trying different spices or switching up the variety of cheese I use.
It doesn't look the prettiest (my food rarely does), but I think it tasted good enough that its lack of visual appeal was more than made up for.
Monday, June 14, 2010
(Almost) Vegan Casserole
The great thing about living alone and cooking for only myself is that one recipe will feed me for four days or so. There are always plenty of leftovers. Conversely, the awful thing about living alone and cooking for myself is that one recipe will last for four or five days and there are always too many leftovers. I hate wasting food, but sometimes it's more than I can bear to eat the exact same thing night after night.
To that end, I want to try and add more freeze-friendly recipes to my repertoire: casseroles, soups, etc. That way I can enjoy the food at a later date, but not have to worry about eating it before it goes bad. The ice-box is a wonderful invention and I plan to fill it with all sorts of tasty, tasty treats.
My first attempt at a casserole is from the marvelous Vegan with a Vengeance cookbook by Isa Chandra Moskowitz, creator of the Post Punk Kitchen and goddess of all things vegan and delicious. Chickpea broccoli casserole, to be exact. Mmm. . .two things I absolutely love. And one of the best things about this kind of casserole? Ease of making. Chop, toss in pan, season, and ignore for the next hour or so.
Now, I always go into a recipe-making session intending to follow the recipe. I will add what Ms. Moskowitz has put on the ingredient list, season with the spices she has recommended, and keep it to what's on the page. But I've never been particularly good at obedience and so I ended up doing the casserole with my own additions. Someday I'll learn to follow a recipe, but not tonight. I'm sure Isa won't mind, so long as she doesn't find out that I've added. . .feta. I couldn't help it! I love cheese.
The original recipe in all it's simplistic glory is this: 1 lb chickpeas mashed, one onion, three large carrots (grated), chives, 4 cups broccoli, 1/2 cup of whole wheat breadcrumbs, 1 cup of vegetable broth, 3 tbsp olive oil, and 1 tsp salt. I added thyme, oregano, and crumbled feta. And some extra broccoli 'cause you can't have too much of those iron-filled dark greens.
While you're prepping the ingredients, preheat the oven to 350. After you've put everything in the pan (9x13), cover in foil and pop into the oven for 45 minutes. After 45 minutes, remove the foil and cook for another 15. Then eat it. And enjoy it.
Technically, this is listed as a side dish, but it's plenty filling for a main dish, in my opinion. It makes 6-8 servings. I ate what I wanted and the rest started my collection of foods to freeze. I am looking forward to having it there, waiting to be pulled out and enjoyed later, when I need a quick dinner or simply don't feel like cooking. Pictures below. Sure, it isn't the prettiest, but I assure you it's plenty delicious!
To that end, I want to try and add more freeze-friendly recipes to my repertoire: casseroles, soups, etc. That way I can enjoy the food at a later date, but not have to worry about eating it before it goes bad. The ice-box is a wonderful invention and I plan to fill it with all sorts of tasty, tasty treats.
My first attempt at a casserole is from the marvelous Vegan with a Vengeance cookbook by Isa Chandra Moskowitz, creator of the Post Punk Kitchen and goddess of all things vegan and delicious. Chickpea broccoli casserole, to be exact. Mmm. . .two things I absolutely love. And one of the best things about this kind of casserole? Ease of making. Chop, toss in pan, season, and ignore for the next hour or so.
Now, I always go into a recipe-making session intending to follow the recipe. I will add what Ms. Moskowitz has put on the ingredient list, season with the spices she has recommended, and keep it to what's on the page. But I've never been particularly good at obedience and so I ended up doing the casserole with my own additions. Someday I'll learn to follow a recipe, but not tonight. I'm sure Isa won't mind, so long as she doesn't find out that I've added. . .feta. I couldn't help it! I love cheese.
The original recipe in all it's simplistic glory is this: 1 lb chickpeas mashed, one onion, three large carrots (grated), chives, 4 cups broccoli, 1/2 cup of whole wheat breadcrumbs, 1 cup of vegetable broth, 3 tbsp olive oil, and 1 tsp salt. I added thyme, oregano, and crumbled feta. And some extra broccoli 'cause you can't have too much of those iron-filled dark greens.
While you're prepping the ingredients, preheat the oven to 350. After you've put everything in the pan (9x13), cover in foil and pop into the oven for 45 minutes. After 45 minutes, remove the foil and cook for another 15. Then eat it. And enjoy it.
Technically, this is listed as a side dish, but it's plenty filling for a main dish, in my opinion. It makes 6-8 servings. I ate what I wanted and the rest started my collection of foods to freeze. I am looking forward to having it there, waiting to be pulled out and enjoyed later, when I need a quick dinner or simply don't feel like cooking. Pictures below. Sure, it isn't the prettiest, but I assure you it's plenty delicious!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
An Ode to the Grocery Store
I have to confess that I love grocery shopping.
It's a strange thing to enjoy, I suppose. Usually when someone loves to shop it's for clothes, shoes, books, media, or whatever their toy of choice is. But food? At a grocery store? Isn't that terribly. . .mundane. After all, it's a chore. It gets done to keep from starving, not for pleasure.
But I think it's fun; I always have.
My favorite time to grocery shop is early Saturday morning, before the rest of the world has crawled out of bed. I can go and have all 22,000 square feet almost all to myself. It's quiet and I can meander, taking my sweet time without feeling rushed or crowded. Granted, I'll ignore about 80% of what's in a supermarket. With an average of 50,000 products, the modern American supermarket is a testament to excess and 'what were they thinking when they invented that', but there are the corners that I love.
Walk in the front doors and I'm greeted by the produce section. The best part of the supermarket, in my opinion, I spend the majority of my time here. A rainbow of fruits and veggies, just waiting for me to take a sensory tour of them. I pick up a peach and the sweet, fresh scent makes my mouth water. Rolling the apples and oranges in my hands, I know that they're going to be the perfect snack on a warm afternoon, refreshing and perfect to satisfy my sweet tooth. Almost invariably, I end up with more than I can eat, more than I need.
The veggies are just as tempting: the juicy tomatoes, perfectly round and bright red, the crisp cucumbers that are the perfect addition to a salad. And the greens. Oh, I love my dark green vegetables: the asparagus that is simple and delicious steamed and drizzled with olive oil and coriander, the broccoli that goes wonderfully with my honey-mustard tofu, the spinach that I'll eat with pretty much anything.
It's browsing the produce section, loading my basket with the bananas and potatoes, eggplants and mushrooms, that I don't get why people, when they find out I'm vegetarian, ask in confusion, "But what do you eat?" What do I eat? Almost everything. All of these fresh, delicious foods are mine for cooking, however I'd like, and that's half the fun of grocery shopping. It's the potential. Even just in this little corner of the store, there are a plethora of dinner possibilities, just waiting to be made. Alone, mixed with other foods, eaten hot or cold, covered in spices or tasted plain, what can't I do with this produce?
It's this possibility that gets me excited. It's picking up a bag of peppers and some mushrooms and thinking how perfectly they'd taste stir-fried and mixed with jasmine rice, coated in olive oil, and seasoned with freshly grated garlic, lemon-pepper seasoning and maybe even some thyme. Sometimes I buy things with a specific purpose in mind, but more often then not, it's not knowing what I want to make that adds something special to my grocery shopping. It's picking up what looks good, the freshest and the brightest products, and thinking about all the ways I could use it.
That's why I love grocery shopping. It's playtime. An exercise in creative thought and planning. The next time you're at the grocery store, don't think about how it's something you have to do. Think about how it's something you get to do. You get to go and buy delicious food that's going to feed yourself, your family, your friends. You get to take one thing and make it into something new, something different. A little bit of layman's alchemy.
Sometimes it is a hassle, just another 'to-do' squished in between the laundry and the lawn mowing. But even in the middle of that rush, stop for a second. Remember the people you're cooking for and the pleasure they'll get out of that meal. I think you'll find it's always worth it to stop and smell the peaches (or the cherries or the apples).
It's a strange thing to enjoy, I suppose. Usually when someone loves to shop it's for clothes, shoes, books, media, or whatever their toy of choice is. But food? At a grocery store? Isn't that terribly. . .mundane. After all, it's a chore. It gets done to keep from starving, not for pleasure.
But I think it's fun; I always have.
My favorite time to grocery shop is early Saturday morning, before the rest of the world has crawled out of bed. I can go and have all 22,000 square feet almost all to myself. It's quiet and I can meander, taking my sweet time without feeling rushed or crowded. Granted, I'll ignore about 80% of what's in a supermarket. With an average of 50,000 products, the modern American supermarket is a testament to excess and 'what were they thinking when they invented that', but there are the corners that I love.
Walk in the front doors and I'm greeted by the produce section. The best part of the supermarket, in my opinion, I spend the majority of my time here. A rainbow of fruits and veggies, just waiting for me to take a sensory tour of them. I pick up a peach and the sweet, fresh scent makes my mouth water. Rolling the apples and oranges in my hands, I know that they're going to be the perfect snack on a warm afternoon, refreshing and perfect to satisfy my sweet tooth. Almost invariably, I end up with more than I can eat, more than I need.
The veggies are just as tempting: the juicy tomatoes, perfectly round and bright red, the crisp cucumbers that are the perfect addition to a salad. And the greens. Oh, I love my dark green vegetables: the asparagus that is simple and delicious steamed and drizzled with olive oil and coriander, the broccoli that goes wonderfully with my honey-mustard tofu, the spinach that I'll eat with pretty much anything.
It's browsing the produce section, loading my basket with the bananas and potatoes, eggplants and mushrooms, that I don't get why people, when they find out I'm vegetarian, ask in confusion, "But what do you eat?" What do I eat? Almost everything. All of these fresh, delicious foods are mine for cooking, however I'd like, and that's half the fun of grocery shopping. It's the potential. Even just in this little corner of the store, there are a plethora of dinner possibilities, just waiting to be made. Alone, mixed with other foods, eaten hot or cold, covered in spices or tasted plain, what can't I do with this produce?
It's this possibility that gets me excited. It's picking up a bag of peppers and some mushrooms and thinking how perfectly they'd taste stir-fried and mixed with jasmine rice, coated in olive oil, and seasoned with freshly grated garlic, lemon-pepper seasoning and maybe even some thyme. Sometimes I buy things with a specific purpose in mind, but more often then not, it's not knowing what I want to make that adds something special to my grocery shopping. It's picking up what looks good, the freshest and the brightest products, and thinking about all the ways I could use it.
That's why I love grocery shopping. It's playtime. An exercise in creative thought and planning. The next time you're at the grocery store, don't think about how it's something you have to do. Think about how it's something you get to do. You get to go and buy delicious food that's going to feed yourself, your family, your friends. You get to take one thing and make it into something new, something different. A little bit of layman's alchemy.
Sometimes it is a hassle, just another 'to-do' squished in between the laundry and the lawn mowing. But even in the middle of that rush, stop for a second. Remember the people you're cooking for and the pleasure they'll get out of that meal. I think you'll find it's always worth it to stop and smell the peaches (or the cherries or the apples).
Monday, June 7, 2010
Tart and Tangy Happiness
It is a truth universally acknowledged that I will put cinnamon in everything. Well, maybe not everything (I suspect diet Coke or string cheese wouldn't improve with the addition of cinnamon), but, generally, any entree is fair game when it comes to this sexy beast of a spice. And, as in the case of my dinner tonight, it's a last minute addition.
Tonight I decided to test out a recipe of my own making: honey-ginger baked tofu. OK. I can hear the groans and see the disgusted looks on your faces. Tofu? Blech. But stay with me. Tofu, when cooked correctly, is not quite the soggy, tasteless mess that so many people see it as. Prepared well, and cooked well, tofu is an excellent addition to any dinner, even for you omnivores out there. (Hint: wrap your tofu in a kitchen towel and place a heavy item on top of it for an hour to press out the water. This makes it both less soggy and more able to absorb the taste of the flavoring)
While my tofu was being pressed, I made my spice mix. I started with some honey, about 4 tablespoons worth. (Disclaimer: I rarely measure my spices. Food should be made to taste, not to scientifically calculated specifications). Add in some freshly grated ginger. Over this, I sliced onions (onions are like cinnamon: I'll put them in almost anything).
Take this mix and pour it over the tofu, making sure to coat both sides. Then I added some orange juice and orange slices because, well, the oranges looked tasty when I was picking up the ginger root from the grocery store. I used half the orange for the juice and sliced the other half up into chunks that I put on top of the tofu (in a star shape because I'm a dork like that) and I think food should look as good as it tastes. Then, because I saw the bottle and couldn't resist, I coated it with a decent amount of cinnamon.
Ideally, I would have left this mix to marinate into the tofu for about an hour, but I was hungry so I only let it sit for about twenty-five minutes or so. Into oven (400 degrees) and cooked for 20 minutes. Flip the tofu slices and cook for another 10 or so.
By the time it's done, my house was smelling absolutely fantastic. Half of my seasoning decisions are based on how it'll make my house smell when it's done. If Yankee Candle sells it as a scent, chances are I'll put it in my food and this honey-ginger tofu is no exception. It was sweet, with just a hint of the ginger-y kick. A very subtle scent, but more than enough to get my stomach demanding a taste. Who am I to deny such a demand?
The verdict? Win! The tofu was not as flavorful as it would have been, had I let it marinate for the full hour, but it was quite pleasant nonetheless. The larger pieces of ginger added surprisingly delightful moments of bite and the oranges were a sweet citrus-y juxtaposition to that kick. I will try it again at some point, giving the tofu sufficient time to marinate and I think I will add jasmine rice as a side. That ought to increase the house-fragrancing power tenfold! (Hey, I love my multi-tasking. Why shouldn't my dinner double as my potpurri?)
And here is my masterpiece, garnished with some mint freshly picked from my garden (or the little pot on my apartment front steps. Same difference).
Tonight I decided to test out a recipe of my own making: honey-ginger baked tofu. OK. I can hear the groans and see the disgusted looks on your faces. Tofu? Blech. But stay with me. Tofu, when cooked correctly, is not quite the soggy, tasteless mess that so many people see it as. Prepared well, and cooked well, tofu is an excellent addition to any dinner, even for you omnivores out there. (Hint: wrap your tofu in a kitchen towel and place a heavy item on top of it for an hour to press out the water. This makes it both less soggy and more able to absorb the taste of the flavoring)
While my tofu was being pressed, I made my spice mix. I started with some honey, about 4 tablespoons worth. (Disclaimer: I rarely measure my spices. Food should be made to taste, not to scientifically calculated specifications). Add in some freshly grated ginger. Over this, I sliced onions (onions are like cinnamon: I'll put them in almost anything).
Take this mix and pour it over the tofu, making sure to coat both sides. Then I added some orange juice and orange slices because, well, the oranges looked tasty when I was picking up the ginger root from the grocery store. I used half the orange for the juice and sliced the other half up into chunks that I put on top of the tofu (in a star shape because I'm a dork like that) and I think food should look as good as it tastes. Then, because I saw the bottle and couldn't resist, I coated it with a decent amount of cinnamon.
Ideally, I would have left this mix to marinate into the tofu for about an hour, but I was hungry so I only let it sit for about twenty-five minutes or so. Into oven (400 degrees) and cooked for 20 minutes. Flip the tofu slices and cook for another 10 or so.
By the time it's done, my house was smelling absolutely fantastic. Half of my seasoning decisions are based on how it'll make my house smell when it's done. If Yankee Candle sells it as a scent, chances are I'll put it in my food and this honey-ginger tofu is no exception. It was sweet, with just a hint of the ginger-y kick. A very subtle scent, but more than enough to get my stomach demanding a taste. Who am I to deny such a demand?
The verdict? Win! The tofu was not as flavorful as it would have been, had I let it marinate for the full hour, but it was quite pleasant nonetheless. The larger pieces of ginger added surprisingly delightful moments of bite and the oranges were a sweet citrus-y juxtaposition to that kick. I will try it again at some point, giving the tofu sufficient time to marinate and I think I will add jasmine rice as a side. That ought to increase the house-fragrancing power tenfold! (Hey, I love my multi-tasking. Why shouldn't my dinner double as my potpurri?)
And here is my masterpiece, garnished with some mint freshly picked from my garden (or the little pot on my apartment front steps. Same difference).
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Bread, You Beautiful Carb-acious Beast you!
I made bread for the first time today.
I've always wanted to make my own bread. I love the way bread smells when it's cooking and the way it tastes. Not to mention the fact that I get an inordinate amount of pleasure anytime I eat something I made myself (beyond things like sandwiches and such. They don't count). It's a giddy feeling almost, like a five year old showing off a finger painting. The painting might be, objectively, nothing more than a few squiggles of color and maybe a dash of paint that suggests the family dog or possibly an airplane, but to the kid and to the mum for whom it was made, that painting ought to be hung in the Louvre. Move over Van Gogh!
Even something as simple is bread evokes a similar feeling in me. I know bread is simple. Well, I suppose I could make it complicated, but the recipe I just tried was for a basic loaf of bread. There is nothing special about this bread, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unique about it, except for the small fact that I made it. And I am fairly certain that it will taste better for that fact. To quote a favorite writer, Neil Gaiman, "The world is always a little brighter when you've just made something that wasn't there before." True statement, Mr. Gaiman, and I think the same applies whether we're talking about a novel, a loaf of bread, or a fingerpaint masterpiece. We are, essentially, creative beings and creativity is satisfying on a level that is hard to explain.
Right now my bread is in the oven, little more than a few mounds of squishy squishy dough. But in a bit it will be delicious, warm, edible bread. Assuming this turns out all right (here's hoping), the next step is experimentation, tossing in ingredients that I hope (and wish and pray) will taste good.
I've always wanted to make my own bread. I love the way bread smells when it's cooking and the way it tastes. Not to mention the fact that I get an inordinate amount of pleasure anytime I eat something I made myself (beyond things like sandwiches and such. They don't count). It's a giddy feeling almost, like a five year old showing off a finger painting. The painting might be, objectively, nothing more than a few squiggles of color and maybe a dash of paint that suggests the family dog or possibly an airplane, but to the kid and to the mum for whom it was made, that painting ought to be hung in the Louvre. Move over Van Gogh!
Even something as simple is bread evokes a similar feeling in me. I know bread is simple. Well, I suppose I could make it complicated, but the recipe I just tried was for a basic loaf of bread. There is nothing special about this bread, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unique about it, except for the small fact that I made it. And I am fairly certain that it will taste better for that fact. To quote a favorite writer, Neil Gaiman, "The world is always a little brighter when you've just made something that wasn't there before." True statement, Mr. Gaiman, and I think the same applies whether we're talking about a novel, a loaf of bread, or a fingerpaint masterpiece. We are, essentially, creative beings and creativity is satisfying on a level that is hard to explain.
Right now my bread is in the oven, little more than a few mounds of squishy squishy dough. But in a bit it will be delicious, warm, edible bread. Assuming this turns out all right (here's hoping), the next step is experimentation, tossing in ingredients that I hope (and wish and pray) will taste good.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Welcome to my Kitchen
The Kitchen Alchemist
I have always felt that there was something wonderfully creative and magical about cooking. It's the perfect cross-section between practicality and creativity. The most basic goal of cooking is to make nourishing food, to provide the body with the sustenance it needs to function properly. Of course, that can be accomplished with the most rudimentary of dishes: steamed rice, veggies, sandwiches, etc. There is no need for anything more. These foods will nourish the body as well as the most complex of dishes.
But it is the interjection of one's creativity into the kitchen that really brings the art alive. It takes cooking and raises it above being merely a task necessary for survival. It makes cooking fun, a challenge, and an excitement. The earth has supplied us with countless building blocks that can be cooked and combined in ways beyond the knowing. There are always new ingredients to try and even the old, familiar standbys can be made new if cooked differently.
I've always been a competent cook, feeding myself without any major mishaps. At the very least, I've never sent myself or anybody I've fed to the hospital. But it was always a chore. I cooked because I was hungry and I needed to eat. Dinners were basic. Reach into the freezer, pull out a piece of chicken breast, cook in fry pan with some spices, eat with a side of microwaved veggies. Or pasta with some cheese and store-bought tomato sauce. A veritable carnival in my kitchen. [insert sarcastic eye roll here].
I'm not sure when I decided to bring a little adventure into my kitchen. I think my decision to go vegetarian had something to do with it. It opened up my eyes to a world of culinary possibilities. No longer was my diet dominated by the basic meat courses of chicken or pork or beef. And, as much as I love pasta and bread, a woman can't survive on spaghetti and PB&J sandwiches alone.
Ever since then, I've tried to be a little more daring in my kitchen. Sometimes it turns out okay and I end up with a new recipe to add my book. Sometimes the failures are, well, epic. More often than not, I end up fed. And I still haven't sent myself to the hospital. But I've noticed a certain stagnancy to my cooking lately. I've relied more and more upon repetitive, easy odds and ends: fake chicken patties, eggs, microwavable steamed veggies, etc. Nothing wrong with these foods, but my kitchen is starting to get boring again and that, dear reader, is simply unacceptable.
My goal, then, is to make an effort to find that culinary gold, teased out the seemingly ordinary and ho-hum ingredients I've got available to me. To that end, I am going to try one new recipe a week from a cookbook and try to create one myself. Living alone, a recipe will feed me for three or four days. I want to try new ingredients, vegetables or fruits I've never tasted, spices I've always shunned, cooking styles that I've left untested.
Here's hoping I end up with gold!
I have always felt that there was something wonderfully creative and magical about cooking. It's the perfect cross-section between practicality and creativity. The most basic goal of cooking is to make nourishing food, to provide the body with the sustenance it needs to function properly. Of course, that can be accomplished with the most rudimentary of dishes: steamed rice, veggies, sandwiches, etc. There is no need for anything more. These foods will nourish the body as well as the most complex of dishes.
But it is the interjection of one's creativity into the kitchen that really brings the art alive. It takes cooking and raises it above being merely a task necessary for survival. It makes cooking fun, a challenge, and an excitement. The earth has supplied us with countless building blocks that can be cooked and combined in ways beyond the knowing. There are always new ingredients to try and even the old, familiar standbys can be made new if cooked differently.
I've always been a competent cook, feeding myself without any major mishaps. At the very least, I've never sent myself or anybody I've fed to the hospital. But it was always a chore. I cooked because I was hungry and I needed to eat. Dinners were basic. Reach into the freezer, pull out a piece of chicken breast, cook in fry pan with some spices, eat with a side of microwaved veggies. Or pasta with some cheese and store-bought tomato sauce. A veritable carnival in my kitchen. [insert sarcastic eye roll here].
I'm not sure when I decided to bring a little adventure into my kitchen. I think my decision to go vegetarian had something to do with it. It opened up my eyes to a world of culinary possibilities. No longer was my diet dominated by the basic meat courses of chicken or pork or beef. And, as much as I love pasta and bread, a woman can't survive on spaghetti and PB&J sandwiches alone.
Ever since then, I've tried to be a little more daring in my kitchen. Sometimes it turns out okay and I end up with a new recipe to add my book. Sometimes the failures are, well, epic. More often than not, I end up fed. And I still haven't sent myself to the hospital. But I've noticed a certain stagnancy to my cooking lately. I've relied more and more upon repetitive, easy odds and ends: fake chicken patties, eggs, microwavable steamed veggies, etc. Nothing wrong with these foods, but my kitchen is starting to get boring again and that, dear reader, is simply unacceptable.
My goal, then, is to make an effort to find that culinary gold, teased out the seemingly ordinary and ho-hum ingredients I've got available to me. To that end, I am going to try one new recipe a week from a cookbook and try to create one myself. Living alone, a recipe will feed me for three or four days. I want to try new ingredients, vegetables or fruits I've never tasted, spices I've always shunned, cooking styles that I've left untested.
Here's hoping I end up with gold!
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