Cooking, like any other act of love, begins first with desire. Most times, this desire is rooted in the necessity of sustenance, of self-preservation. People cook, to put food on the table. But sometimes, this desire springs from something other than just survival instinct. It springs from that longing to dine rather than just to eat, to savour rather than just to swallow. It springs from the desire to connect, to share, with someone like-minded, from the desire to satisfy the ones you are cooking for. And when the intentions of the cook begin with this higher desire, then the food is prepared with care, with inspiration and – dare I say it – love. Food cooked with a sincere, unconditional love for the ones eating it then becomes, even despite the limitations of the tools, the ingredients or the chef’s ability, a medium for passing that love on. And in all my years of messing around in the kitchen, I have not found a seasoning or a spice that can replicate that flavour.
I had wanted, for as long as I had been cooking, to invite some good friends over and prepare for them a feast of multiple courses, most if not all of them prepared à la minute. It was an idea that Jose first gave to me (in the history of my culinary education – Morgan taught me passion and purpose, Jose taught me technique and expression, and clearly nobody has yet taught me humility). I had never done anything like it, but I figured that all the times making multiple different dishes at the same time would prepare me well for the task of making one single dish at a time, six or seven times in a row. Imagine what I could do with my attention undivided!
And so it was that we gathered the “home team”, as she herself calls it, to commemorate Allison’s departure from the fair shores of Washington DC. There was little room in the apartment, but we went ahead anyway, and I dare say nobody minded the squeeze. I had thought up a menu of six courses earlier in the week, and when I returned from the store I found Allison and Clayton sprawled on the couch, exhausted from an entire day of doing nothing. It is one of the greatest paradoxes in the world how doing nothing can be so very, very tiring.
Despite the contagion of sloth that was in the air I got down to prepping and I felt that familiar excitement – I call it cooking’s version of the lover’s anxiety. It is the same feeling you get when you are about to leave the house to meet a loved one. The glances at the clock, the last-minute checks in the mirror – the kitchen equivalents of which would be the consistent thumbing of ingredients, and the repeated sips of wine (for what is the point of cooking when you cannot drink while you are doing it?). There are vivid moments in all the times I have been cooking that I remember feeling this way – stirring risotto milanese for Amanda that one night she came over with MBJ; chopping garlic as I made dinner, already half drunk, for Jimmy and Jose during our 2pm – 2am drinking marathon. Of course, that one time Alethea came over for dinner I was practically jumping out of my pants, and also I remember testing the pasta for that meal with Elisabeth and Jacob. I remember these particular moments – they seem to be frozen in time for me – and this past Saturday I experienced one, or a few, of them again.
Like with any other act of love, cooking depletes you. Physically and spiritually, little by little, it takes from you. It is very simple – destruction is as much a part of the act of creating as any other. It is as natural as can be.
At the end of it all we were a contented bunch; I had impressed even myself with some of the courses (the pan-seared scallops in avocado cream especially) but not others (the pear tart at the end left much to be desired). I am many things, but a baker I am not. In truth the entire meal had been what these meals usually were – an expression of appreciation for good friends, friends worthy enough to cook for. And like most sincere declarations of love they had been at times eloquent, at times clumsy, but always well-meaning.
Pan-seared Scallops with Avocado Cream (Photograph courtesy of K. Blossom): I liked how this turned out - especially the avocado cream, to which I added a generous dash of pepper for a blend of sweet and savoury. The secret to cooking scallops to the perfect consistency is to sear them, in very little butter, at very high heat for two minutes each side, then remove from heat immediately.
Cucumber Gazpacho (Photograph courtesy of K. Blossom): I made this a day in advance and remembered, this time, to over-season. Cucumbers are very refreshing, I wonder why I do not use them more often. The splash of white on top was a little lemon yoghurt, a last minute addition that I thought turned out pretty well.
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