More Songs About Buildings And Food
Jun. 19th, 2003 01:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pantryslutActually, there are no buildings in this message.
Debbie Ann says last night, after telling me about her household's adventures in making tofu, "you'd fit right in here. I live in a household of chefs."
And it's true, it's nice to know folks who don't look at me funny when I say, "I salted my own cod this week." (I think salting my own cod was the most ambitious thing I've yet done. It felt more ambitious than confit, which, some of you may have guessed, is what the eight pounds of duck fat in the freezer is for.)(P.S. Ambitious does not equal hard; salting your own cod is easy! It just takes a few days. And a free corner of your fridge.) I keep threatening to make pickles and preserves and such, but I'd need more space, so I haven't.
Still, I don't feel like a chef. Eh, not even close. It's not Debbie's poor choice of words, because the folks at her house are much closer than I am to wearing that word well. But I've been known to say "I'm a cook, not a chef."
Part of it is my approach. I've said before, I'm no technician. I've no formal training. I like my food on the rustic end. And I could give a shit about presentation most of the time. And normally I would say I approach food as a craft, not an art. But it was Eric Ripert, in his book A Return To Cooking, that got me thinking most recently.
He has a little essay, "When Cooking Achieves The Level Of Art," at the end of the book, that's too long to reproduce here, never mind the copyright issues. At one point he says, "As a cook and a chef, I'm attempting to convey a message that food is sacred. I'm paying homage to God, to our mother earth, to the life force of this world. To realize this in food, I believe, is when cooking becomes art."
Invoking God is touchy, I know. Bear with me.
He has another moment in the book, "What 'Rustic Cooking' Means," that really got me thinking. Essentially, he argues that rustic cooking uses abundant, inexpensive ingredients, with "very little fuss or manipulation." And then he goes on to say, "Rustic food and highly refined food both require technique and care. It's not casual versus fancy. Each is a philosophy." I read this and had an 'a-ha!' moment. I am a rustic cook!
And also, what I do have for food, in abundance, is care.
So, cook or chef, craft or art, it doesn't matter in the end. I care about food.
Better than that; I delight in it.
This week's delights: green almonds at the farmer's market, to go with apricots in a parfait tonight; the first cherries and green beans of the season; strawberries, roast garlic, and goat cheese for lunch; looking forward to more farmerly marketing with my sister and mother this weekend.
Debbie Ann says last night, after telling me about her household's adventures in making tofu, "you'd fit right in here. I live in a household of chefs."
And it's true, it's nice to know folks who don't look at me funny when I say, "I salted my own cod this week." (I think salting my own cod was the most ambitious thing I've yet done. It felt more ambitious than confit, which, some of you may have guessed, is what the eight pounds of duck fat in the freezer is for.)(P.S. Ambitious does not equal hard; salting your own cod is easy! It just takes a few days. And a free corner of your fridge.) I keep threatening to make pickles and preserves and such, but I'd need more space, so I haven't.
Still, I don't feel like a chef. Eh, not even close. It's not Debbie's poor choice of words, because the folks at her house are much closer than I am to wearing that word well. But I've been known to say "I'm a cook, not a chef."
Part of it is my approach. I've said before, I'm no technician. I've no formal training. I like my food on the rustic end. And I could give a shit about presentation most of the time. And normally I would say I approach food as a craft, not an art. But it was Eric Ripert, in his book A Return To Cooking, that got me thinking most recently.
He has a little essay, "When Cooking Achieves The Level Of Art," at the end of the book, that's too long to reproduce here, never mind the copyright issues. At one point he says, "As a cook and a chef, I'm attempting to convey a message that food is sacred. I'm paying homage to God, to our mother earth, to the life force of this world. To realize this in food, I believe, is when cooking becomes art."
Invoking God is touchy, I know. Bear with me.
He has another moment in the book, "What 'Rustic Cooking' Means," that really got me thinking. Essentially, he argues that rustic cooking uses abundant, inexpensive ingredients, with "very little fuss or manipulation." And then he goes on to say, "Rustic food and highly refined food both require technique and care. It's not casual versus fancy. Each is a philosophy." I read this and had an 'a-ha!' moment. I am a rustic cook!
And also, what I do have for food, in abundance, is care.
So, cook or chef, craft or art, it doesn't matter in the end. I care about food.
Better than that; I delight in it.
This week's delights: green almonds at the farmer's market, to go with apricots in a parfait tonight; the first cherries and green beans of the season; strawberries, roast garlic, and goat cheese for lunch; looking forward to more farmerly marketing with my sister and mother this weekend.
