sprinklefingers

Back in November of ‘09 The New Yorker ran a piece by Adam Gopnik about a/our/his/my love of cookbooks. It’s a fantastic piece of writing and does an excellent job of breaking down the equation of our love of cookbooks divided by the recipes multiplied by our actual ability to cook and then equalling the fact that recipes in books aren’t the food itself. There’s a major gap between the recipe and the end result - and the way Gopnik describes it is certainly worth reading…In fact, I insist you read it!

Here’s the paragraph that really made an impact on me:

Handed-down wisdom and worked-up information remain the double piers of a cook’s life. The recipe book always contains two things: news of how something is made, and assurance that there’s a way to make it, with the implicit belief that if I know how it is done I can show you how to do it. The premise of the recipe book is that these two things are naturally balanced; the secret of the recipe book is that they’re not. The space between learning the facts about how something is done and learning how to do it always turns out to be large, at times immense. What kids make depends on what moms know: skills, implicit knowledge, inherited craft, buried assumptions, finger know-how that no recipe can sum up. The recipe is a blueprint but also a red herring, a way to do something and a false summing up of a living process that can be handed on only by experience, a knack posing as a knowledge. We say “What’s the recipe?” when we mean “How do you do it?” And though we want the answer to be “Like this!” the honest answer is “Be me!” “What’s the recipe?” you ask the weary pro chef, and he gives you a weary-pro-chef look, since the recipe is the totality of the activity, the real work. The recipe is to spend your life cooking.

I really think this is fascinating stuff - especially when he pulls in the added layer of kids - he says, “what kids make depends on what moms know.” It’s true, isn’t it? I can pretend all I want that my own kid is developing his own sense of taste and his own love of creating food - but at the end of the day I know I’m the one making cooking fun for him. I’m the person who is developing his sense of self in the kitchen. And while we look at cookbooks (and sometimes read them as bedtime stories) often, no recipe can do what our time in the kitchen together can. The recipe is to spend your life cooking.

Fascinating indeed.

I had completely forgotten about popcorn. 

Two weeks ago I was sorting through some of the (limitless) stuff in my office (the majority of it cooking/catering related) I found a never-before-opened-new-in-the-box popcorn maker! I had apparently purchased it, tucked it away and promptly forgotten about it. The receipt craftily tapped to the top of the box told me that I had done so approximately three (!!) years ago. What the?

Anyways, I busted the machine out of the box and noted that it wasn’t an air popper (honestly, it was like I had never seen the thing before. I literally have zero recollection of buying it,) but instead it’s the type that you pour a spot of oil into a pan and then add the popping corn and then a tiny arm stirs it all up and then it starts popping. (Yes, I realize I’m describing this device as if popcorn making is a second language. But to tell you the truth to me it kind of is.)

I went out immediately and bought popping corn. Then I came home and the kid and I made popcorn. I have to admit, making popcorn (not in the microwave!) with a kid is pretty satisfying. He told me himself that no matter how many times he sees popcorn pop open from a kernel to a fluffy cloud of yummy (his words, for real), he’ll never get tired of it. “It’s just like watching magic happen. Right in your face,” he said.

Since our first batch we’ve made a lot of popcorn. This past weekend we hosted a birthday dinner party for a dear friend of ours and the kid was on hors d’oeuvres duty. I told him he could think up any pre-dinner snacks he’d like and we’d make them together. His choices? Toasted brioche, peanut butter smeared on crackers topped with salt and (of course) popcorn. “But we’ve got to fancy-it-up a little bit mom. Let’s make it special.”

To me, nothing says fancy like truffle oil and good salt. So, armed with our popcorn popper, a bottle of oil and a bowl of salt, we produced the most delicious batch of fancy pants popcorn you could ever imagine. Rich and earthy because of the special oil and salty because we broke out our stash of fancy red clay salt from the land of Hawaii. See, fancy! I told you!

Truffle Oil Popcorn with Sea Salt
makes 6 quarts popped

You need:

• a device for popping corn - machine, stovetop, whatever.
• 2 large bowls
• 2/3 cup popping corn
• truffle oil (a small bottle will last you forever and you will be beside yourself with joy when you start adding truffle oil to your favorite foods.)
• fine sea salt

To make the popcorn:

1. Following the instructions for your particular machine (or on the stovetop in the smallest amount of oil,) pop the 2/3 cup of popcorn.
2. Once the popcorn is popped, divide it between the two large bowls and sprinkle each bowl of ‘corn with a small amount of truffle oil. Then sprinkle it with sea salt to taste. 
3. Dig in to the first bowl with your hands and lightly toss the popcorn over and over and over until the truffle oil is evenly dispersed. Repeat with second bowl. Taste. If either bowl needs more oil or salt, add it now.
4. Invert one bowl of popcorn over the other so that the popcorn slides in to one bowl. Next, place the empty bowl on top of the first bowl to make a lid. Gently shake the popcorn within the two bowls to ensure that the oil is distributed - that way each and every bite will be truffley and salty. Divine! 

Of course there are one million and one ways to fancy-up popcorn. From nutritional yeast to cinnamon ‘n sugar, the possibilities are seriously endless. But for now we’re sticking with fancy pants truffle oil popcorn because it goes so well with our two favorite beverages: apple juice (the kid) and champagne (me). Delicious.

this week i posted a great essay by mark bittman in which he describes his journey to the helm of the stove. he has some great insights and i fell even deeper under his spell after reading it.

my internet friend ronnie fein was also touched by bittman’s essay and had this to say about it:

This is a beautiful article. There were two points that seemed especially relevant to me.

First, that Mom doesn’t have to teach you how to cook. Just lead by example, and the kids will catch on if they’re interested. 

 Second, that cooking, along with child rearing, can give you “a sense of competence that I’d never had before.”

Bravo Bittman.  Your authenticity is a standout.

i couldn’t have said it better myself, ronnie.

and then this morning, while enjoying my first cup of coffee while the house is still quiet, i came across this piece about the man i want to be friends with - hugh fearnley-whittingstall. it’s a description of his version of a ‘take your kids to work’ day - and it’s just so perfect. he actually gives up the reins of his column to his children. who are 14, 12 and 8.

my favorite bit:

So when I invite the children to take over my column, saying they can each suggest a recipe and that I’ll stick with whatever they choose, a glint appears in their eyes. “Rabbit brains on toast,” says Oscar, 12. “Squirrels’ testicles dipped in chocolate,” says Freddie, eight. “Try to be original,” says my wife. “That’s the kind of thing he usually does.”

and then they all stop laughing and the kids come up with some pretty good ideas for their dishes. and hugh puts them in the column.

i just love it.

and speaking of involving kids in work, my kid is four yet he’s been involved in the opening of our new bakery every step of the way. he has contributed names for two menu items, wrote the slogan we’re having printed on the back of our staff t-shirts AND has tasted every single item on the new menu. when he says he doesn’t ‘care for’ something (yes, he really does use that phrase,) i seriously consider it and usually head back into the test kitchen for more adjustments.

even at four he takes all of this to heart. you can see how proud he is when i tell him that we’ve been working on the t-shirt design or that i made a batch of ‘bonbonbunbuns’ that afternoon. he’s fully invested in the project.

and we did it by actually involving him. almost like magic.