There are only a few things that i feel really good at. Cooking is one of them (and moving-i've done that alot), and sometimes it feels like the only thing i know how to do. I'm most comfortable working with food- and though i love driving, talking, and writing, it has been noted that these are not my most respected talents. I get to know people by what they love to eat- i mark moments with memories of meals- like raina the first time i ever made papooses in her little kitchen in burlington (she was so excited and so full of praise and enjoyment and she ate with concentrated pleasure), and my sister that time out on the hill that i forced her to eat a mock "chicken patty" and watched her take little bites while hiding her displeasure. (we argued the day by the camp fire, and i can remember everything about that moment, -even the mock patty, unfortunately). Today, while preparing huevos rancheros to share with the dishwasher, I realized that there are few meals that i've cooked purely for my own pleasure. Sure, I have my favorites- rare steak sliced really thin with salad and raw blue cheese; dumpling soup with miso, ginger and hot sesame oil; avocado salad with rare seared tuna; and french onion soup. I've thought before about it; when i am cooking for someone else, it's like reaching out to them- like saying "here, this is for you" and at the same time saying "thank you for this opportunity to connect with you"- what i get out of it is often abstract- i love working with food, i love being inspires, i love the chemistry of it all. Then there are times i have to cook for myself. I get hungry too- and when I cook for myself, I do so with a different kind of intimacy. It's like everything else gets kind of quiet, rather than tuning into what I know about food, or about the person I am cooking for, I turn inwards, and watch myself cook with a softness and ease that I have witnessed before. I know how to make soup, how to chop onions, how to smash garlic, i know how much garlic i like, i know how to tell how strong it is by how much oil is on the knife when i smash it, i know how much i like to eat, how much i can put on my plate and not ruin my taste for food completely. And I know what I like. I remember begging my mother to make eggplant parmigiana- it was my favorite, and I've always loved a juicy steak with salt and pepper (i did miss it during those vegan years though), and warm chocolate chip cookies (I LOVE THOSE!). During all of my different diet changes, I would always go through my favorite dishes first and try to re-create it with whatever limitations i was dealing with. Gluten free, vegan, whatever.. And I would do this FOR ME... French onion soup.. I have about 10 favorite versions of this one. When I was pregnant with fela I yearned for it and made my "quick version" often. Consisting of shitake mushroom broth, dark miso, and lots of balsamic caramelized onions, I would eat bowl fulls with home-made gluten free croutons topped with chevre. When I had more time I would prepare beef broth, caramelized red and white and gold onions, and bake individual bowls of the soup in the oven with toasted french spelt bread and an assortment of spicy red pepper sheep cheese, and goat's brie. I would bring these bowls to the oven and feel so excited and nurtured by just the aromas- then look at my partner and older child and see their ambivalent faces.. I dared not ask why, and let myself enjoy bowl after bowl...Finally, after years of this, damian admitted he didn't actually like french onion soup, and I subconsciously stopped making it all together...
Then we split up. I've done all this "work" to "move on" and try to put my life back together in some sort of way that feels something like a reflection of myself.. I began letting myself enjoy my own space, taking responsibility for the lack of contents in my fridge (for a cook, it is shockingly bare), and make my own schedule. Often, i dont even eat dinner- and it's liberating to not HAVE to cook for someone who depends on me to cook so much.. I allow myself simple meals, and often cook dishes that I want.
The first time I made french onion soup in my new apartment, I was thinking of my friend raina, who was in her 4th week of radiation. I used an organic beef bone and made a three day slow stock with coffee, red wine, beer, garlic, and salt from the Sahara desert. I wanted to make the stock really deep and dark, and full of marrow. I added several tablespoons of butter, and a sprig of thyme, and 4 whole onions as well as sever big cupfuls of caramelized onions. I went to burlington to see her, and left a jarful in her fridge, but could tell by the look on her face that she was a little overwhelmed (i brought mellow and comforting chicken broth the next week instead).. When I returned home I was upset and emotional about my having to leave her. i hadn't showered in 2 days, was still wearing my work clothes., and was exhausted. I let myself into my apartment and was greeted by the aromatic smells wafting out of the crockpot in my kitchen. I had left the soup on by accident in the crockpot, and my 3 day broth had turned into 4 day broth- Turned the broiler on, ladled some soup into a bowl, and when the dishwasher arrived, we sat to 2 bowls full of the best french onion soup ever topped with toasted french bread, blue cheese, and sharp vermont cheddar. I was enjoying the soup so much I just nodded when the dishwasher gave praises. Then she got another bowl.
-it was so unexpected. I mean, I know that we're all always looking for things like this, little signs that we are exactly where we are supposed to be, as if faith alone isnt enough, but when we get the signs it's so tempting to rejoice over them- forgetting all the other times we've been let down or have gone astray.... No one has ever loved french onion soup the way i do except my mother.. i dont even try to make it for friends anymore...except the dishwasher. I love that she loves it, it's so good- i love making the stock and watching the marrow dissolve out of the bone, i love tasting the stock every now and again and noting how the flavor changes, i love experimenting with different cheeses on top..tonight i make it again, hoping it will heal words spoken earlier, or my wordless exit- or the 12 hours she will work today singing another woman's vision. I want it to nurture us both, and know it will, and in the morning i will go my way and she will go hers.. i'm putting alot of faith into this soup right now- i want it for me, and i need it for me- and hopefully she'll sip it and taste that to- and maybe keep abit for herself. We all just want to be loved-dont we?
my horoscope says that i have to do work in the romantic loving department.. i didnt read relationships for dummies, but would the author approve of my french onion soup approach, because there are really only a few things i am really good at.
Then we split up. I've done all this "work" to "move on" and try to put my life back together in some sort of way that feels something like a reflection of myself.. I began letting myself enjoy my own space, taking responsibility for the lack of contents in my fridge (for a cook, it is shockingly bare), and make my own schedule. Often, i dont even eat dinner- and it's liberating to not HAVE to cook for someone who depends on me to cook so much.. I allow myself simple meals, and often cook dishes that I want.
The first time I made french onion soup in my new apartment, I was thinking of my friend raina, who was in her 4th week of radiation. I used an organic beef bone and made a three day slow stock with coffee, red wine, beer, garlic, and salt from the Sahara desert. I wanted to make the stock really deep and dark, and full of marrow. I added several tablespoons of butter, and a sprig of thyme, and 4 whole onions as well as sever big cupfuls of caramelized onions. I went to burlington to see her, and left a jarful in her fridge, but could tell by the look on her face that she was a little overwhelmed (i brought mellow and comforting chicken broth the next week instead).. When I returned home I was upset and emotional about my having to leave her. i hadn't showered in 2 days, was still wearing my work clothes., and was exhausted. I let myself into my apartment and was greeted by the aromatic smells wafting out of the crockpot in my kitchen. I had left the soup on by accident in the crockpot, and my 3 day broth had turned into 4 day broth- Turned the broiler on, ladled some soup into a bowl, and when the dishwasher arrived, we sat to 2 bowls full of the best french onion soup ever topped with toasted french bread, blue cheese, and sharp vermont cheddar. I was enjoying the soup so much I just nodded when the dishwasher gave praises. Then she got another bowl.
-it was so unexpected. I mean, I know that we're all always looking for things like this, little signs that we are exactly where we are supposed to be, as if faith alone isnt enough, but when we get the signs it's so tempting to rejoice over them- forgetting all the other times we've been let down or have gone astray.... No one has ever loved french onion soup the way i do except my mother.. i dont even try to make it for friends anymore...except the dishwasher. I love that she loves it, it's so good- i love making the stock and watching the marrow dissolve out of the bone, i love tasting the stock every now and again and noting how the flavor changes, i love experimenting with different cheeses on top..tonight i make it again, hoping it will heal words spoken earlier, or my wordless exit- or the 12 hours she will work today singing another woman's vision. I want it to nurture us both, and know it will, and in the morning i will go my way and she will go hers.. i'm putting alot of faith into this soup right now- i want it for me, and i need it for me- and hopefully she'll sip it and taste that to- and maybe keep abit for herself. We all just want to be loved-dont we?
my horoscope says that i have to do work in the romantic loving department.. i didnt read relationships for dummies, but would the author approve of my french onion soup approach, because there are really only a few things i am really good at.
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