Fear of Cooking

Food has become intimidating.

When did that happen?

Don't get me wrong; I love my classics. A simple homemade marinara over angel hair is as culinarily exciting to me as crackling hot ortolan. What can I say? Food should be something that speaks to every inch of your experience. Sight, touch, sound, taste, memory, laughter, encouragement.

And now, achieving the new has become something altogether difficult. So much has been done, it's no longer easy to say, "Why don't we try this?" and have the dish be alien to everyone.

I suppose much can be said for a digital age where sharing any old recipe is easy. I've placed several up here. But why would I do that? The recipes are not new, the ideas nothing wildly inventive. I didn't take a peasant stew, deconstruct it and create an entirely different interpretation of the flavors.

Cooking isn't just about being the coolest kid in the kitchen. It's about lifestyle. (Oooooo!!! Blog Name Tye-In and it's not even NOON! I am *SO* getting Fantasy Food Fight points for this!)

Your food reflects your lifestyle. It truly does. If you choose to make time in your life for specific tasks and not others, you have made a choice that reflects some part of who you are and what you value. I love being busy. I am generally a very busy person. One of the things I will always make time for is a somewhat complicated and time consuming preparation for beef stroganoff. Why? Because this dish is my husband's favorite, and he likes it this way. I chose to make this difficult task a part of my life because I love my husband, and I love the way it turns out.

My food usually reflects my love of the intricate and complex. "What's Jess bringing to the party?" "She said brownies." And I unevitably turn up 20 minutes late with extremely fresh Bailey's brownies with Bailey's icing. Couldn't just make plain old brownies. That would, quite literally, be too easy.

Why am I telling you all this? What on Earth does this have to do with you, now that my rant has ended up here? It's all quite simple, really.

Stop. Being. Afraid. Of. Food.

Yes. I said to stop fearing your food. I mean that it's okay to love simple dishes. It's wonderful to strive for delicious, no matter how humble the ingredients or your skills. Start small. Remember: Sometimes, the most important food you'll ever have was the easiest in the world to make, and the hardest to forget.

Marinara

4      6-oz cans of tomato sauce
1      4-oz can of tomato paste
4      bay leaves
1/4   tsp oregano
1/4   tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4   tsp sugar (I know it's weird, I will explain)
1/4   tsp rosemary

1. Open your tomato sauces. I prefer to use a skillet to get all this going, mostly because if I put meat in my marinara, I like to get the drippings in the pan into the sauce for that infusion of flavor. This technique cuts down on the actually amount of meat you need to use, and also increases the feeling thta there's meat in every bite. I learned to fake my father out at a very young age. Pots also work well. Since that's the more common preparation method, we'll go with the pot today.

2. Into a sauce pot (with lid) on the low side of medium heat, add your cans of tomato sauce. Stir as you add your tomato paste. The paste thickens the sauce, and adds enough texture to avoid the dreaded "This tastes like tomato water" critique. NOTE: You can make your own "paste" by blending fresh tomatoes and reducing the resulting yumminess until the tomato puree has become thick. This takes quite a while, some determination, and frankly, is not the kind of work in which I invest myself. I prefer to focus on other, less tomato-y projects. Like eating pasta.

3. Let the sauce begin to simmer. The lid comes in handy here, to avoid turning your cooking surface a bright red. Just to get the contents jiving together, about 2 minutes.

4. Add your bay leaves and other spices. Yes, including the sugar. No, I'm not kidding.

Now, you're looking at me with the sugar in your hand asking why on Earth I would suggest such a thing. Why add sugar to a tomato dish? Because tomatoes are acidic. In order to cut the natural acidity of a fresh, ripe, ready-to-be-rubbed-in-sea-salt-and-eaten-like-an-apple tomato, some kind of sweet is needed to balance it out. I've seen cinnamon used, even lavendar. I prefer just plain old sugar. Yes, I do this all the time, and yes, if you see my husband and I out at a mexican restaurant, there's a 75% chance you'll see me adding packaged sugar to the salsa. I like balance, and if you don't pay attention to what you're making, you'll create tasty salsa that leaves acid burns inside my mouth (aka canker sores). No way am I walking around in discomfort because someone in the kitchen couldn't be bothered to check their salsa verde balance.

5. Lower the temperature to "low", or if you prefer the clock method of setting as my mother did, it would be 5 minutes 'til. Let the sauce reduce.

Kind of a useless statement, isn't it? When I say reduce here, I mean that there is an over-abundance of water still in the ingredients we've combined. The flavors we've chosen to encorporate in this dish (particularly if you used the dried variety) need a chance to get frisky in the entire pot. Dropping dried oregano into tomato sauce with tomato paste does not a marinara make; the spices are suddenly experiencing the hydration for which they've been waiting in your cabinet. They're returning to their hydrated state. This takes time. Some cooks/ chefs call this "developing the flavors." I call it "time I usually make mistakes." You can't rush good food. I don't care who you are. Food takes time. This suace is simple, and scrumptious, but you have to be willing to stop touching it. You, hovering over it with a wooden spoon and a look of bizarre/ intense determination will only frighten your guests. You cannot intimidate food into deliciousness. Believe me, I've tried.

Okay, so how do you know when it's reduced enough? The smartass answer here is "When it's thick enough." A more reliable and reproducable way of telling when enough water is gone is to taste the sauce occasionally. I usually let my sauce simmer on low for about 2-4 hours. Yes, that's a long time. You could probably keep the heat on low-medium and get similar results in about 35 minutes. I like to do other things, though... and I know it'll be okay for 2 hours in a covered pot if I stir it at least 2 times in that 2-4 hour period.

6. Elaborate if so desired. Meaning: if you want to add bell peppers, mushrooms, any other kind of vegetable you enjoy in pasta sauce, now would be the time. Trust me: now is when you add the veggies you want to stay tasty and vibrant. A floppy mushroom you could swallow without chewing because it's so mushy? I have no idea why you'd want to do that to a mushroom, but it's your thing. I prefer my produce flavored, not killed. Stir occasionally, letting simmer for another 10 minutes.

7. Remove bay leaves. It is gross to bite into a whole bay leaf (thanks, Mom, but the aftertaste is still getting to me). To avoid watching a guest crunch through the woody unpleasantness of an otherwise delightful spice, fish them out of the sauce. Shouldn't be difficult if you left them whole. Please believe me when I say, it's better for everyone if you don't leave them in.

8. Add to pasta. Your choice. I like a good angel hair, but penne can be exquisite with a simple sauce and some parmesan cheese.




Why was today's recipe so incredibly simple? Because that's the point. Start with something very basic. Once you get comfortable, get more elaborate. Add some parmesan to the sauce before you reduce it. Add red pepper flakes and hot italian sausage if that's what makes your palate sing. You can customize this sauce in so many ways! It's about starting small, and walking your way into a delicious dish. That way, when you get a call at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning from a friend stuck in meetings until 10 pm who says, "Jess, I have no food. I have no options. Can you please bring me something tasty for dinner?" you have a recipe in your back pocket you know will be delicious, easy to make, and travels to hungry tummies very well.

Food is about your lifestyle. ;)

Thomas Keller

I'm an intellectual, in everything that I do. I can be complex and annoying. I know this.

I also know that when I got Ad Hoc At Home by Thomas Keller, I fell in love. Thomas Keller, the amazing chef behind The French Laundry, Per Se, and the man who invented the deconstruction of Ratatouille seen in the movie of the same name, is an inspiration. In a profession defined by selfishness, by self-serving hubris, Keller stands as a man who believes cooking is a collaboration.

Isn't that exactly the essence of so much in the world of food? A collaboration of flavors, textures, moisture and dryness, cold and heat. The depth of human experience may never find expression in food. There may never be before you a meal that both speaks to your soul, and helps redefine a part of it.

To this I can only say that the experiences with which we end this life are the experiences we allow ourselves to have. If you are not brave enough to allow one person an avenue to your heart through the tastes, the palate he or she has worked so hard to put before you, can you imagine the depth you will miss your entire life?

What is your cooking perspective? How will you express yourself in your food? The next time you make a sandwich, take a moment to think about exactly you want to put in your mouth. And imagine how much love, how much thought must go into a chef like Thomas Keller preparing 15-32 courses that are all designed for you personally.

I'm going to go make chicken casserole for my husband, with his tastes and experiences in mind. Have a wonderful weekend!