As with any good story the beginning of this one started with a need. In this case I was hungry, I was young, and I was tired of Pasta Roni. I used to buy boxes of the stuff along with the quintessential Top Ramen, macaroni and cheese, and cans of chili. That was my rotation, and it was okay. It was fine. When I was 21 my body handled all sorts of crazy concoctions, and I was able to wash them down with cheap booze, Pepsi, and 4 hours of sleep. When you combine all those things and still wake up without a hangover you don't question your choices as much.
I lived in Reno for a bit with a couple roommates, and one roommate decided to cook us some fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy. I was pretty excited. He said that his grandma taught him how to make the pan gravy, and honestly, it would have been amazing drizzled on cardboard. That fried chicken was a revelation, and I could not believe that gravy was made with flour and all that crap on the bottom of the pan. What in the world! We felt pretty proud of ourselves that night. I didn't do any cooking, but I lived in an apartment that I helped pay for, and we probably had a bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz. Super adult. (We probably had a bottle of Jack Daniels to be honest, but I really cannot remember, and Yellow Tail sounds so fancy for a 21 year old.)
My roommate made those mashed potatoes with some of the skins on, and I remember thinking, "You can do that?" Until that point I'd always loved food, but didn't really think much about what went into it. After I left Reno I didn't do much cooking until several years later. I was about 24, and I lived in a tiny studio apartment. At that point I was making some creative boxed concoctions for myself and my boyfriend, Michael. Our go-to was "Chili Mac," and it was exactly that - Kraft Mac and Cheese and Stagg Chili. We were on a budget, but we splurged on Stagg. By that time we definitely had some Yellow Tail in our massive wine collection. We liked to buy lots of 2 buck chuck from Trader Joe's so our wine shelf looked full, and occasionally we'd treat ourselves to a bottle of Reserve Yellow Tail - on sale at Bev Mo for $6!
The chili mac routine got old pretty quickly. I didn't really know how to make anything else. I worked at a pizza parlor when I was a teenager, so I felt confident cutting up mass quantities of garlic and throwing a 50 pound bag of flour in an industrial mixer along with some other stuff that was listed on a poster on the wall. I could follow directions! For some reason that I still cannot remember I decided that Coq au Vin would be an excellent meal to make in our postage stamp kitchen. We had a gas stove that sat on its own, a sink with a tiny 18 inch wide counter, and a fridge. My prep work was done on a tiny square table, and all the ingredients were piled next to the sink.
When I look at a new recipe now I read it through, and I plot out what work I can do ahead of time. I understand words like "browning" and "translucent", and I don't feel frantic if the pan gets too hot. But when you are new to recipes there are a lot of freak out moments. There is a lot of stress, and usually I felt that I was in too deep. I wasn't just treading water - my head was mostly underneath. And then there are those thoughts that all that money is going to waste, all that food will be thrown out, and all that time is just gone. So, that day I worked on the Coq au Vin recipe I was in the weeds. I did try my best, and I can always feel good about that. When I finished I had a purple-ish gray mess of chicken and pearl onions, and instead of a sauce it was more like a sludge. Michael said it tasted better than it looked, and I did agree. It was pretty good. Sometimes things taste better when it is your own effort that creates it. It was a mess to look at, and I doubt it would have passed for Coq au Vin anywhere. But I tried it. And I was hooked.
After that we branched out. Michael has never really desired to cook, but he is a great prep-cook, and usually he does all the clean up. Can't really think of a better system. The clean up is the worst if you ask me. I tried everything that I grew up loving - meatloaf, chicken soup, enchiladas, pork chops, spaghetti. But I think that the reason Michael and I got married was because of "Better than Sex" cake. Not my recipe at all, but he loved it, and still asks for it.
Now I still have moments where I am in the weeds, and moments where I worry that the food will just not taste right, but they are fewer. And usually I have the confidence to save the meal. Turn a hopeful masterpiece into a brilliant mess that tastes great on top of polenta. And now that little voice in the back of my head that says, "We can always order pizza" is not a voice of failure. It is a voice of truth, because pizza is always good, and hell, at least I tried.
No comments:
Post a Comment