When I was in my mid-forties, I finally discovered the difference between yard-work and gardening. It was like coming to a sharp turn in the road, and heading off down a completely different path from what I had planned. Well, it seems that I am now undergoing a similar epiphany concerning food and cooking.
Far as long as I can remember, the women in my family have managed to "get dinner on the table." It was just another chore in a busy day, and none of them particularly enjoyed it. My father was the only person who actually seemed to think cooking was fun. He and his two older brothers were raised by a single, working mom, who also just managed to get dinner on the table. He learned early on that if he ever wanted to eat anything sweet, or really special, he'd best learn to make it himself. So he did.
My parents married during WWII, and legend has it that in order to secure a place for my mother to live, so that she could be near him until he was shipped out, he had to hire her out as a cook to the landlady. Since Mom, unfortunately, didn't know a thing about cooking, Dad would stay up half the night with her (probably AWOL), trying to coach and prep her enough to get her through each day. It wasn't long before the ruse was uncovered, I'm afraid, but I hear the landlady was kind enough to teach Mom a bit about cooking, before firing her.
While we were growing up, my father worked such long hours that he rarely had a chance to cook, other than breakfast on the weekends, or for holiday get-togethers. Whenever he did, though, it always amazed me that not only did he manage to do it without using any recipes or seeming to measure anything, he also seemed to be having a great time! I guess for the most part, I thought of cooking as a chore, but once in a blue moon, when I wasn't rushed, and I was fixing something that I just knew was going to turn out fabulous, I caught a glimpse of what he was experiencing.
My brother, on the other hand, is definitely following in Dad's footsteps, for lately he has been attending lots of cooking lectures at Central Market, and he creates fabulous, exotic dishes to bring to our family celebrations. I once said something to his wife Dani, about how lucky she was to have a husband who likes to cook. She just rolled her eyes and said "Yeah, I guess. If only he didn't have to destroy the whole kitchen, and use every single pot and pan in the process!" That's when I had one of those lightning bolt moments. I finally realized why getting dinner on the table was completely different from actually cooking. One is that which you do at the end of a long day, when you are already exhausted. You are trying to make as little mess as possible, because you just want to get out of the kitchen and kick your feet up for a second, before having to go help the kids with homework, or baths, or bedtime stories. The other is done with complete abandon. You are not worrying about the mess, or the nutrition, or the calories, or any of those left-brained things. You have let yourself slide over into right-brained mode, just as I do whenever I am immersed in one of my design projects, and you are completely oblivious to the passage of time, or anything else that is going on around you, for you are a creator. Now, we're cooking!
Speaking of the passage of time, I can't believe it has already been six days since we left Houston, and that Lexie comes in from San Diego tomorrow night! It just amazes me how quickly time always passes here in Wimberley, and how I never seem to accomplish any of the chores I have set out for myself. As yet, no Christmas cards have been sent, the house isn't particularly clean, and the shopping and wrapping still aren't complete. So what have I been doing since we arrived? Well, happily, John did find the missing Christmas stuff in that space above the garage, so we now have a beautifully decorated tree. I've spent a lot of time just sitting here, admiring it. I've also spent a good bit of time on my new addiction - watching a show called Everyday Italian on Food Network. The host is a gal named Giada de Laurentiis. I bought one of her cookbooks to give Alexis for Christmas, then sat here poring over it, page by page, before I finally got around to wrapping it. The upside of that is that we had a couple of really great dinners this week (petite tenderloin filets with a porcini mushroom-gorgonzola sauce - ya should've heard the moans!), and my freezer is now stocked with plenty of homemade marinara sauce.
I've had a lot of fun just hanging with my boys - going to a movie, to Central Market over in Austin, to the bookstore, etc. While at the bookstore, I discovered that Russell Crowe's latest movie, A Good Year, was actually based on a book by one of my favorite living-the-good-life authors, Peter Mayle. He's the one who wrote A Year in Provence. Of course, I had to have it, so I spent most of yesterday snuggled up on the sofa, listening to the rain, and reading my new book. Yes, you heard me right. I said rain! Mostly, it just misted, but there were a couple of times when it came down pretty hard. We've got our fingers crossed that it was enough to get the burn ban lifted, and that we can finally roast those marshmallows.
Far as long as I can remember, the women in my family have managed to "get dinner on the table." It was just another chore in a busy day, and none of them particularly enjoyed it. My father was the only person who actually seemed to think cooking was fun. He and his two older brothers were raised by a single, working mom, who also just managed to get dinner on the table. He learned early on that if he ever wanted to eat anything sweet, or really special, he'd best learn to make it himself. So he did.
My parents married during WWII, and legend has it that in order to secure a place for my mother to live, so that she could be near him until he was shipped out, he had to hire her out as a cook to the landlady. Since Mom, unfortunately, didn't know a thing about cooking, Dad would stay up half the night with her (probably AWOL), trying to coach and prep her enough to get her through each day. It wasn't long before the ruse was uncovered, I'm afraid, but I hear the landlady was kind enough to teach Mom a bit about cooking, before firing her.
While we were growing up, my father worked such long hours that he rarely had a chance to cook, other than breakfast on the weekends, or for holiday get-togethers. Whenever he did, though, it always amazed me that not only did he manage to do it without using any recipes or seeming to measure anything, he also seemed to be having a great time! I guess for the most part, I thought of cooking as a chore, but once in a blue moon, when I wasn't rushed, and I was fixing something that I just knew was going to turn out fabulous, I caught a glimpse of what he was experiencing.
My brother, on the other hand, is definitely following in Dad's footsteps, for lately he has been attending lots of cooking lectures at Central Market, and he creates fabulous, exotic dishes to bring to our family celebrations. I once said something to his wife Dani, about how lucky she was to have a husband who likes to cook. She just rolled her eyes and said "Yeah, I guess. If only he didn't have to destroy the whole kitchen, and use every single pot and pan in the process!" That's when I had one of those lightning bolt moments. I finally realized why getting dinner on the table was completely different from actually cooking. One is that which you do at the end of a long day, when you are already exhausted. You are trying to make as little mess as possible, because you just want to get out of the kitchen and kick your feet up for a second, before having to go help the kids with homework, or baths, or bedtime stories. The other is done with complete abandon. You are not worrying about the mess, or the nutrition, or the calories, or any of those left-brained things. You have let yourself slide over into right-brained mode, just as I do whenever I am immersed in one of my design projects, and you are completely oblivious to the passage of time, or anything else that is going on around you, for you are a creator. Now, we're cooking!
* * * * *
Speaking of the passage of time, I can't believe it has already been six days since we left Houston, and that Lexie comes in from San Diego tomorrow night! It just amazes me how quickly time always passes here in Wimberley, and how I never seem to accomplish any of the chores I have set out for myself. As yet, no Christmas cards have been sent, the house isn't particularly clean, and the shopping and wrapping still aren't complete. So what have I been doing since we arrived? Well, happily, John did find the missing Christmas stuff in that space above the garage, so we now have a beautifully decorated tree. I've spent a lot of time just sitting here, admiring it. I've also spent a good bit of time on my new addiction - watching a show called Everyday Italian on Food Network. The host is a gal named Giada de Laurentiis. I bought one of her cookbooks to give Alexis for Christmas, then sat here poring over it, page by page, before I finally got around to wrapping it. The upside of that is that we had a couple of really great dinners this week (petite tenderloin filets with a porcini mushroom-gorgonzola sauce - ya should've heard the moans!), and my freezer is now stocked with plenty of homemade marinara sauce.
I've had a lot of fun just hanging with my boys - going to a movie, to Central Market over in Austin, to the bookstore, etc. While at the bookstore, I discovered that Russell Crowe's latest movie, A Good Year, was actually based on a book by one of my favorite living-the-good-life authors, Peter Mayle. He's the one who wrote A Year in Provence. Of course, I had to have it, so I spent most of yesterday snuggled up on the sofa, listening to the rain, and reading my new book. Yes, you heard me right. I said rain! Mostly, it just misted, but there were a couple of times when it came down pretty hard. We've got our fingers crossed that it was enough to get the burn ban lifted, and that we can finally roast those marshmallows.
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