Sunday, May 14, 2006
The joy of being cooked for: Care. Love. Refrigeration.
Today I received a gift of sweet-real-adorable happiness. After striking out on my own in this big, bad world, I didn’t expect to find myself home. Depending on your definition of home, that is. Among good, strong, positive friends: you’re at home. And today, out of nowhere, I found myself both at home and in receipt of an amazing gift. The gift of flavor.
Flavor is never the same, whether you prepared the meal or had those same ingredients fall into your lap at a restaurant table. Flavor is an adventure. To me, the most surprising meal is the one prepared for me by someone I know and love. No, I’m not talking about fried tofu like Mom used to make. I’m talking about the day I rejoiced in a tasty treat, prepared for me by a trusted friend. I could see in her eyes that this was something special, a test. A test to see if I, the cooker, could become the cook-ee. And how, you might ask, does the dutiful friend transform me into a cook-ee? By catching me off-guard. With simple flavor on a crazy day, she surprised me and brought me back to what I know and love. Flavor. Clear, honest, al dente flavor.
The bottom line is that flavor is subjective. Basil added when you know it should be, but wouldn’t have thought to, has more power because you weren’t around for the decision-making process. As I adjust the salt, its impact is more gradual. When a guest first experiences the salinity of my labor, however, I know the result is perfect: they haven’t reached for the saltshaker or for their water glass. I see their reactions, which satiates me. But what about the actual flavors? What about really tasting?
As I become stuffed with preparation, I lose the ability to taste for the food alone. I’m appreciating the flavors in the order I introduced them. I’m wishing I had added just a little more oregano. Why didn’t I buy those chives again? I’m thinking about the options for next time. The neuroses are endless. But for a tornado of a cook, rotating evaluation is everything. Every now and then, however, it’s nice to just sit back and enjoy someone else’s salinity. Sometimes, just experiencing is the only way.
That’s where we need a little help from our friends. The Beatles had it. The pure joy of food made by a friend is incomparable. For one who cooks, nothing is more amazing than being cooked for. Yet, for me, sometimes that truth is illusive:
The reality is that you can find yourself among friends and, without even knowing it, find people who take care of you in ways you didn’t expect. While a new recipe brings about surprising flavors, ideas, and learning experiences, nothing brings about a more wondrous flavor than something prepared for you by someone who loves you.
Flavor is never the same, whether you prepared the meal or had those same ingredients fall into your lap at a restaurant table. Flavor is an adventure. To me, the most surprising meal is the one prepared for me by someone I know and love. No, I’m not talking about fried tofu like Mom used to make. I’m talking about the day I rejoiced in a tasty treat, prepared for me by a trusted friend. I could see in her eyes that this was something special, a test. A test to see if I, the cooker, could become the cook-ee. And how, you might ask, does the dutiful friend transform me into a cook-ee? By catching me off-guard. With simple flavor on a crazy day, she surprised me and brought me back to what I know and love. Flavor. Clear, honest, al dente flavor.
The bottom line is that flavor is subjective. Basil added when you know it should be, but wouldn’t have thought to, has more power because you weren’t around for the decision-making process. As I adjust the salt, its impact is more gradual. When a guest first experiences the salinity of my labor, however, I know the result is perfect: they haven’t reached for the saltshaker or for their water glass. I see their reactions, which satiates me. But what about the actual flavors? What about really tasting?
As I become stuffed with preparation, I lose the ability to taste for the food alone. I’m appreciating the flavors in the order I introduced them. I’m wishing I had added just a little more oregano. Why didn’t I buy those chives again? I’m thinking about the options for next time. The neuroses are endless. But for a tornado of a cook, rotating evaluation is everything. Every now and then, however, it’s nice to just sit back and enjoy someone else’s salinity. Sometimes, just experiencing is the only way.
That’s where we need a little help from our friends. The Beatles had it. The pure joy of food made by a friend is incomparable. For one who cooks, nothing is more amazing than being cooked for. Yet, for me, sometimes that truth is illusive:
The reality is that you can find yourself among friends and, without even knowing it, find people who take care of you in ways you didn’t expect. While a new recipe brings about surprising flavors, ideas, and learning experiences, nothing brings about a more wondrous flavor than something prepared for you by someone who loves you.
