Another Cooking Faraddidle

I have given more thought to what made me cook; like to cook, feel connected as I cooked, compelled to cook, feel comforted by cooking, understand the science of cooking and so many other emotions (plus how often can you employ a semi-colon in a food thought?). Cooking has always been a safe haven and a joy in giving to others. For me it has roots in nourishing, providing an 'experience' especially when poor and travel is confined to walking someplace not too far away. It is armchair travel with recipes read and experiments tried, drag out those clothes that mimic the cuisine.

In addition to the early work with my mother and gran, another vivid memory of cooking is rooted in my first real apartment with roomates in college. I shared a large apartment with two chaps both of whom loved to cook but knew less of ingredients, prep or presentation than I (though they both took professional jobs and went on to be successful chefs). They were both very game to host parties and try new dishes. It helped that we lived in a wild part of Minneapolis and had neighbors who were all older and more experienced in life than we, they brought every sort of good drink and story to help us out.

One (now) funny consequence of our joy in the kitchen was a lack of serious oversight. I plunged a filet knife into my finger resulting in buckets 'o' blood. I found myself telephoning my mother, 500 hundred inconvenient miles away, for consultation (go to the emergency room of course, she is rooted in practicality). The boys were likely more horrified and confused at the blood-fest than I. My collapse into shock and duh was rather less the issue, it was a disgusting mess, let's not make more. We just hadn't planned on a serious wound and had no supplies on hand. I am now the proud owner of a scar, no loss of finger motion and I keep my knives sharp and lots of bandage material on hand.

When I think of several phone calls at strange hours in those days, they always involved, "can you tell me how to make X" which included chocolate mousse for 200, what to do with 50 pounds of leftover Y, "I have buttermilk, kale and some sort of Indian spice that tastes vaguely like licorice, any thoughts?." Alas, today all I have is a mobile phone and I turn it off at night. Think of what I am missing.

Ode to my mother - Mother's Day 2010

When I was 8 after incessant begging, my mother made a weekday evening our 'cooking night'. This quest on my part to learn to cook and present a perfect meal most likely stemmed from a wish to take credit for this worthy pursuit. My father's mother was the consummate baker and presented cookies and cakse for very occasion. I apprenticed on her kitchen floor with my own eggwhites beaten to a pulp at the tender age of four or five to keep me from being underfoot. Julia Child was igniting America's interest in French cooking at the same time as macrobiotic and other sorts of health food were entering the mainstream. Our next door neighbor had the first 'health food store' nearby and she was raking in the bucks.

The weekly ritual would start with a proper shopping list of ingredients ensuring a successful evening's prep. We would walk or bicycle to Mr. G's, our local food emporium or perhaps the Co-Op if items exotic were required; exotic in those days including such basics as fresh garlic or ground lamb. Everything seemed to involve butter or cream or bacon to deliver that perfect thing known now as mouth feel.

In later years I paid my way with catering, working in cafes and for an exciting if terrifying 6 months a true position as line chef at a fancy French hotel (the chef threw his favorite knife when angered, though never at staff to be fair). I still find the act of prepping food, getting the proper mise en place, my most relaxing and indulge in that craft even when cooking just for myself (all those little containers to wash are nothing). I find I am most popular with friends for quietly stepping into that task, they think I do it for them.

This year was most fulfilling as my mom and I tried multiple versions of french toast. Who knew that croissants with all their lovely butter make dandy specimens. They crunch, they turn an adorable golden color, they go beautifully with maple syrup or with just picked strawberries tossed with powdered sugar. Don't forget to dip something in chocolate.

Uncle Vanya in Russian

It turns out that performances in the original language actually do have advantages to offer that range well beyond the meaning of the words without benefit of translation. Having just seen Theatre Maly's gorgeous production of Uncle Vanya, in Russian with an audience that seemed largely Russian speaking and Russian heart-feeling I am a convert, even though my Russian is non-existent.

I wish I could offer a richness of 'what I had in mind' but sadly not. Any thoughts?

Life in the new lane

After a grand creative burst, I have fallen and need to reappear. It seems appropriate to share a few learnings and remember why the 'artistic vacation' was in fact a good idea. And then on to the new terrain.

I am still powered by the experience of having a 'character' take over the page. If you can give them space for their voices, they will launch forth and typing is all that's required for the first round. But the editorial position gets dicey. How do we listen and yet apply light rules, help with good structure? I have tried to rewrite what appeared on the vacation pages, but realize that I didn't yield enough content. But sharing more raw content---no, no. So good to know that some privacy is good for all the parties.

On to the new experience...I believe play scenes will present good stuff. Nothing finished, rather like making a new soup that gets 5-10 renditions until the flavor is so good that the recipe is loaded into the archive. This will be a playground for dialog without the requirement for too much context.

Have patience with me. This is where commentary will provide the most value.

The Artistic Vacation

2/28/11: Since my original posts, I placed the 'five easy pieces' outside the blog for a tuneup.

***

I'm late in wrapping up. I waited to gather feedback, incubate my own thoughts and got swept up in the next big thing (which is very good, this added new perspective). My immediate thoughts were that some strengths and weaknesses of my vocal performance practice and discipline played out here in a 'character realization' mode.

I had an entrancing time channeling someone else, especially in another time in a city I cherish and about which I continue to learn. Having a regular routine around research and writing really helped, much like researching new music, practicing regular breathing and scale exercises and learning a new piece does. I know to continue this work whether or not it goes well, stop at an alloted time to save on strain or burnout. Yes, it turns out I can remember something on Tuesday that I failed to write about on Monday because time was up. Only it is better there is new creative input if I can hold my horses and write the next day. And I didn't get a sore throat. Limiting writing time, like practice limits, really adds to the experience, the sense of balance and the quality of the products sought.

My current (and lifelong) vocal downfall is that after lots of work to deliver a song arc (the line and lyricism), I sometimes drop out before the finish line. Literally it feels like I can see the finish line before it sees me and I peter out. So work on volume and intensity gets my voice to the last row, but not always for the duration. That was a definite truth about my last post on Inga's behalf. She was too glib, not really as good as the penultimate piece because the artist behind her gave up before the filly came into the final post. At least I am consistent. I suspect I will gain value in my song practice before I can complete this learning as a writer.

Please let me know what you think.