The Art of Simple Food
What I mean by “relearn how to cook,” is learn and understand enough cooking and baking basics so I am no longer at the mercy of other people’s recipes. I want to be able to look in my fridge and kitchen cupboards and have some inkling how I can combine certain items to create a dish or a meal without consulting a cookbook or Googling anything.
The list of dishes I can create in the absence of guidance is limited and includes French toast, scrambled eggs, tuna salad, various stir-fries, basic baked fish or chicken, smoothies, and sauteed vegetables. There’s also a short list of self-created concoctions I make more often than other dishes, such as The Marcia Mash (mash together one can black beans, one ripe avocado, and one cup jarred salsa; serve with tortilla chips or just eat it straight) and Cauliflower Surprise (combine or cook together all or most of the following ingredients: Thai-flavored tofu, one small head caulifloer, one can chick peas, a handful of raisins, peanut sauce to taste, curry powder to taste [optional]).
Ironically, if I want to be able to cook without constant guidance, I’ll need some guidance. To that end, I’ve selected Alice Waters’s The Art of Simple Food as my cooking primer. I’ve already read the first few pages; it looks like the first issue I’ll address will be replacing many items already residing in my fridge and cupboards.
January 3rd, 2010 in
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In Defense of Food
Last month I embraced the key directives of ditching the Western diet as explained by Michael Pollan in his book In Defense of Food and embellished in Food Rules. It’s a simple mantra: Eat Food. Not Too Much. Mostly Plants.
For starters I swore off Cool Whip, instant pudding, diet soda, and frozen dinners, threw away my desk-drawer stash of Slim-Fast bars, and vowed to cook more of my own foods and shun processed or manufactured foodstuffs (“edible foodlike substances” in Pollan’s terms) to the extent practical.
This month, this nonscientific experiment of mine will fully, if slowly, set in and hopefully take hold. This year I’ll learn if I will really have the time, energy, desire, or wherewithal to cook most of my meals, including bag breakfast and lunches, or if I’ll deem the endeavor impossible and give up within months. I’ll find out if I really will or can bake my own pita bread. I’ll discover how long I can last before succumbing to York Peppermint Patties or microwaveable popcorn. But most notably, hopefully, I’ll experience the joys and sorrows, rewards and frustrations, of making and eating real food.
I’ve still some to-be-banished items lurking in my kitchen cupboards and I haven’t decided if I’ll just toss any of it my husband isn’t interested in, or if I’ll slowly consume the items, deep-six them before long, or let the product’s expiration dates make the decision for me. Probably it’ll all be decided item by item. I face dilemmas such as: should I make hot cocoa from scratch (rather easy) and toss the rest of the Swiss Miss with Marshmallows even though I paid $2.79 for several packs of brown powder and crunchy white pellets?
The Swiss Miss with Marshmallows brings up another issue I hope to address this year: disturbingly excessive food packaging. One quick example of this: My box of Swiss Miss “Sensible Sweets” “Fat Free Marshmallow Lovers” eight-serving box actually came with 16 packets — eight packets of instant cocoa, eight packets of instant marshmallows. You’re supposed to add the marshmallows after you’ve mixed the instant cocoa with the water. I guess to keep the white pellets crunchy as long as possible? Anyway, now you’ve got two pouches for each six-ounce cup of cocoa.
I’m leaning towards tossing the remaining three (er, six) packets. The net cost: about $1.50. The benefits: a bit of modified whey, sugar, and corn starch I won’t be drinking, plus about 112 cubic inches of shelf space.