One
of my favorite personal stories about cooking took place more
than twenty years ago while I was in Syracuse, New York.
I
was living with two great friends… Mike and Mark. And, in all
honesty, I believe I learned more about cooking during the year
we shared an apartment than I had before moving in with them or
in all of the years since.
One
afternoon I had decided to bake chocolate chip cookies. From scratch.
As I placed the first tray into the oven, it dawned on me that
I didn’t know where the timer was.
I
knocked on the door to Mark’s room.
“Hey,
do we have a timer?” I asked.
“Do
you have a watch?” Mark responded, not even glancing up from the
textbook that he was marking on with a highlighter.
“Yeah.”
I looked down at my watch. “It’s four-thirty. I’m making cookies.
Do we have a timer?”
Mark
looked up and paused for a moment to consider my response. He
asked again, though a bit more slowly. “Do you have a watch?”
I
returned his gaze for a moment or two, actually started looking
toward my wrist because my initial thought was that maybe it wasn’t
four-thirty, and then the realization of his intended message
crept over me. “Got it. No timer. ‘…until golden brown’ and don’t
take my eyes off them.”
Mark
nodded, went back to his studies, and I left his room with a request…
if it wouldn’t be a bother… for a glass of really cold milk in
roughly eight to ten minutes.
Certainly
Mark and Mike didn’t truly teach me more about cooking in two
semesters of school than anyone else did throughout my life… or
that decades of cooking on my own have provided… or that great
friends with a wealth of cooking knowledge have shown me. Instead,
the truth is that they delivered the valuable and basic lessons
that are at the heart of any culinary effort. Most importantly…
What
do you think of the result?
Let’s
admit to the facts. Scrambled eggs, hot dogs on grilled rolls,
and pasta with sauce and perhaps a salad are not some of the most
technically challenging dishes to produce. But it isn’t a bad
day. And if you can cook those dishes and ones that compare, and
you’re satisfied enough with the results that you eat what you’ve
made, then I have news for you… you may not be ready to open a
restaurant… you can cook.
After
those glorious days… to protect the guilty, I won’t say how long
after, but this story does not involve Mark or Mike… I was sitting
in the living room of another place I shared with someone. I was
watching television. Roommate had decided to make some pasta.
Pan of water was placed on the stove… a visit was made to the
living room… show I was watching looked interesting and suddenly
I had company.
About
fifteen minutes or so later I turned and asked that roommate if
I was imagining a burning smell.
Yeah.
Turned
out all the water had boiled off and the pan was there on the
hot burner. My roommate had effectively demonstrated how to burn
water. That roommate did not cook often… before that rarely, and
after that even less.
Grilled
hot dog buns. May not seem that difficult. But if you can burn
water…
Ok…
I admit it… this column isn’t designed to focus on perfect meals
and a 100% healthy diet. And while burning water is more a joking
illustration of what can happen, the reality is simple. I just
want to express why I chuckle when I hear people say they can’t
cook.
Most
people would tell you that my Dad can’t cook. And yet… summer
after summer of my childhood… my Dad had the neighborhood kids
flocking to our house because, with Mom at work and the evening
meal squarely his responsibility, he was putting together a mighty
impressive hot dog and beans dinner topped off by a side of macaroni
and cheese.
Who
is really qualified to judge your tastes and preferences… or those
of the neighborhood kids?
If
you’re satisfied enough with the results that you eat what you’ve
made, then you can cook.
While
it’s not a thought that crosses my mind every time I wander into
the kitchen, I was reminded about this idea a few months ago on
Super Bowl Sunday.
Simply
put, Terry is very well known for the parties she hosts. I am,
time and again, left amazed by her efforts. So once we began having
friends over for the Super Bowl each year, I am told by many of
our friends that the annual event was marked on their calendar
well in advance.
This
year we decided to keep things quiet on Super Bowl Sunday. Right
around the date was a trip to Florida… set up to help some dear
friends move. And a schedule for the months before had been so
busy that we figured an afternoon off with nothing to do would
work out nicely. Keep it simple… watch the game… an easy day.
Not wanting a ton of dishes or work to do, I went to an old reliable
as my contribution.
And
I admit… it’s a devilishly easy, not at all fancy, and extremely
tasty effort.
I
cook some chicken breasts and then dice them. (I like a fine dice
to them, but really… considering where this essay has been and
is going… does it matter?) Mix with some cream cheese and scallions,
along with just a smidgen of mustard. I take the mixture and some
uncooked crescent roll dough. Use a bit less than a spoonful,
wrap with the dough, and bake in the oven… sure, until golden
brown… and enjoy.
In
the end, all I’m saying is that you don’t need to know the difference
between a sweat and a sauté… don’t need to know what deglazing
a pan is all about… or what the fuss is when it comes to different
types of potatoes and what types of dishes they are best suited
for. All of these things… and so much more… are fabulous to know,
learn and experience. They can bring you from two eggs over easy
through an omelet into a soufflé and beyond. But you don’t
need them in order to cook, in order to eat, or in order to do
either of those at a decent level.
I
know.
I’ve
watched macaroni and cheese… from a box… be celebrated as the
best meal in the neighborhood on a summer evening.