LesGensFaims

The Holy Trinity

My Catholic upbringing has slowly worked its way into my subconscious this week beginning with gastronomy's seven deadly sins. Gluttony is definitely one of them and I am certain that Addiction and Craving are culprits, too. Greed is Gluttony's longstanding  partner in crime reminding us that too much of a good thing may invoke the wrath of……. 

This week's New Yorker seemed to be on the same wavelength. Its weekly cartoon montage inevitably brought some humor but this time to the table with its 'The Holy Trinity' - cartoon of butter, sugar, and salt - perhaps the real reason why we say grace. Either way, it's a laugh as well as subtle reminder of the bare necessities when it comes to food: the basics. This rarely crosses the mind or enters the food publishing world. The focus tends to lay with trends: artisnal craft, wines, and where to dine. It's all good but it has to begin somewhere and if it is indeed "artisnal" then it must come from scratch and therefore pay tribute to the "Holy Trinity". Whether it's in your cellar, million dollar kitchen in the Hamptons, or your dusty pantry along with your mouse traps, we need that sugar for the creme brulee, the butter for the bernaise sauce, and the salt for that juicy hanger steak. 

This cartoon reminds us that the "Holy Trinity" is the  reason and basis for why we make food taste good. "Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor" is both an adage as well as  reminder of the Three Little Pigs and their demise by the scheming Big Bad Wolf . He knew those "pigs" had plenty of sugar to lend….fatal attraction, no doubt. But, sugar is a key ingredient for many recipes as is salt and butter. These staples can take you far and aid you in those culinary endeavors that may seem too lofty. Plus, they add warmth and ambiance and even endearing clutter to your home. I am only sorry that olive oil and garlic were not included. Perhaps, they are lingering in purgatory. I am confident they will get there soon. Both are healing as well as taste enhancing.  Plus, they are both good for the skin, nausea, and the occasional hangover. Yes, roasted garlic and olive oil can give you that jolt that the watery coffee across from your office cannot. 

 Either way, cross yourselves, and think about the gastronomical basics and their ability to uplift your palette. Amen.

 

 

Spatial Ingredients

 

 

Lately, I have grown distant from the kitchen. This is due to my recent suitcase charade of moving from one sublet to another, crashing with friends both in Berlin and Italy. I have no real space of my own, which can compromise a great deal, especially if you like to cook.

With all of this moving, I have not had a kitchen to call my own and to stock with amenities such as herbs de Provence, various olive oils, bouillon cubes, and jars of anchovies.

This past month's charade has revealed to me how important a kitchen is to our well-being. It is more than just a source of nourishment. Rather, it is a great companion and often a source of solace. It can ground us as well as reconnect us to the world.

When we are without it, we feel the pinch. Eating out can be fun but it can also get old and soon we long for the methodological chop and slice of onion and garlic, the smell of something cooking, and the strange joy we gather from sustaining ourselves.

In this absence, I have looked back fondly on my former companions of the past four years and have decided to pay tribute to them beginning with my time out west.

Kitchens are crucial to our well-being – especially as food writers. And space is a critical ingredient when it comes to cooking  - it can bring out the best or worse but in most cases forces us to be creative, which is the true joy of cooking.

Spatial Ingredients: Take 1 

Space is a critical ingredient when it comes to cooking. Over the past four years, I have become acquainted with a number of different spatial ingredients – from short and  tall ceilings to slick marble counters, efficient ovens as well as dirty ones with dodgy burners, jutting walls and odd shelves rendering me with the occasional ice pack on the eye.

You see, I have moved every year since college - four years and four moves. This has left me with a keen sense of adventure, a number of sheepish good byes, debt, as well as a variety of spatial ingredients.

My first kitchen spoiled me. It was a part of my sunny studio in the San Francisco’s Hayes Valley. It had plenty of shelves, a working oven, marble counters, gas burner, and even a dishwasher and disposable. Plus, there was plenty of space. This is the advantage of a studio – there are no boundaries and space seems to reign supreme. I continually marveled at the proximity of the stove to my bed. It was very convenient as well as oddly comforting.

I went all out for that kitchen buying pots and pans at the Macy’s President’s Day Sale. My car – actually a friend’s car was towed during this endeavor. She was furious and did not speak to me for a month so I kept to my pots.

Then there was a knife set that I found for a ripe price of $35 at World Market. It was a solid investment and soon I learned the merits of a good blade.

I especially noticed this while visiting friends in Oregon, whose knives were less than sub-par.  Struggling to chop some garlic, I whispered to my friend, Ashby, “You know World Market sells knife sets for like $30. It’s a good investment.” She turned to me and said, “I’m not at that point in my life.” I thought to myself, "I certainly am. Bring on the Cuisine art.”

San Fran was great – mainly the food and the kitchen. I got a lot done that year as far as culinary enlightenment. Yes, there were the occasional hiccups such as a clogged sink, which forced me to drain my pasta in my bathroom sink.  My friend, Abby, only laughed at my red colander sitting in my bathroom sink with pieces of ravioli lingering on the faucet. We later mused about this sipping wine on the giant pillows on my floor.

San Fran spoiled me and the spaces that followed never matched its size. However, they possessed their own virtues forcing me to be creative and adventurous. Yes, I got burnt, or should I say, burnt things, splattered batter on the wall, cut my finger, etc. However, it all turned out rather well and my guests always cleaned their plate.

Spatial ingredients can be the friend or foe depending on your approach. I have learned to be diplomatic and am now looking forward to my new space here in Berlin. 

 

A Good Appetite

 

“The primary requisite for writing well about food is a good appetite. Without this, it is impossible to accumulate, within the allotted span, enough experience of eating to have anything worth setting down. Each day brings only two opportunities for fieldwork, and they are not to be wasted minimizing the intake of cholesterol. They are indispensable, like a prizefighter’s hours on the road.”

- AJ Liebling

 

Indispensable but surely not disposable…for writers such as AJ Liebling a good appetite was a food writer’s best ally or on some occasions, a wonderful dining companion.

One finds this good appetite in Liebling’s writing which was prolific when it came to the plate. Although he followed a different meter and style than contemporary food writers, such as, Elizabeth David and M.F.K Fisher, he, too, like Fisher and David was unapologetic ( perhaps a little less gracefully), when it came to his favorite subject of food.

Which brings us back to this notion of good appetite. When I first began to read Lieblings’ memoir, Between Meals, I was struck firstly by his style and approach to food and secondly by his declaration of what makes a good food writer: a good appetite. This does not seem like rocket science but it made me think how many food writers today truly have a good appetites. I do not mean who has vices and who has virtues when it comes to food. Rather, what is your gut reaction when you see say, five different types of pate, a free whisky tasting, or stinky cheeses, for sale? Do you gag or giggle with delight? Let’s hope the later for both your writing and reader’s sake.

As a food writer, or let me be honest, an aspiring food writer, I try to keep my appetite in check. When I landed in Milan last week, I promptly went to the airport café ordered a cappuccino and a cornetto. Later, I confessed this to my friend, Paolo, who replied, that is the first sign of becoming Italian. Perhaps, so? I go cross-eyed when I think about nationality these days. Nevertheless, that cappuccino and cornetto marriage seemed like the appropriate thing to do. There was no question or doubt but rather a simple gut feeling: I am back in Italy, therefore…

This happened later that evening with old school cronies where we celebrated our reunion with a variety of Piemontese and Langhe wines. Was my head a little fuzzy the next day, perhaps so. But I think it was worth the bite, sip, gulp, or whatever.

That day was a prime example of a good appetite. There was no question I would eat and drink Italian – Piemontese to be exact and I would enjoy it. My two month hiatus had left me missing Nebbiolo, acciughe en salsa Verde, panna cotta, vitello de tonnato, agnoletti con burro e salvia (what is it about butter and sage), and Italian espresso. I had reinvigorated my appetite – jogged my Italian sensibilities when it came to food and drink, which proved indispensable in those brief bittersweet six days.