JUST NOW, I was insulted by a close and personal friend who happens to live in Scotland. He was laughing of course when he said it, but he was trying desperately to compliment my cooking skills without giving me an actual compliment. He said it was a Scottish thing to do. You can't apparently give an actual compliment; it's not done. He knows I was trained by soon-to-be gourmet students at the Platt Culinary Cooking Institute (or whatever they are calling it now, that was in 2003 I think); and he was trying so hard to be sweet as basil, and sting like cayenne pepper at the same time. He failed. I was not insulted by what he called me. He failed so badly, that I had the pleasure of speaking to his wife for the next 13 minutes explaining to her exactly how to prepare a batch of sweet potatoes with both basil and cayenne pepper. I personally used cinnamon on mine, but he and his sweetie prefer a little southwest kick for their palettes. Cayenne it is!
As a General Ed teacher at the culinary school, it was my job and privilege to teach the chefs-to-be how to spell "culinary" and use proper grammar when writing about their experiences in the kitchen. Upon thinking about such experiences one may or may not have in the kitchen, one of my students ventured into the world of erotic taste-testing for his essay, hoping for an extra credit assignment. He never asked me if the essay I had assigned actually had literary boundaries. Until he turned in his paper, I had no idea someone may actually need to ask that question - - I decided to not be a prude about it, and because he was trying very hard to come up with new and adventurous adjectives to describe said kitchen-rompery.
I accepted his all but overtly sexual prose involving pineapples, warm butter, honey, and yes, root vegetables. I had NO IDEA at the beginning or middle of the essay that the man was talking about how to prepare a Polynesian recipe for sweet potatoes -- believe me when I say I got lost somewhere between the sheer joy of heating up the pans slowly and purposefully, and rolling the firm, freshly hand-washed tubers in firm butter until the butter melted. Experimenting in the kitchen was obviously something I was in dire need of trying myself, even if I was going to be going it alone for a while. It's not always wise to have too many cooks in the kitchen, things could get really messy really fast.
My students assured me that their experiences in the kitchen were mostly bland, mostly mundane, mostly methodical, mostly even boring from time to time, mechanical even, but when it was time to be exciting they knew how to pour on the gravy - - so to speak. I absolutely loved reading this particular essay explaining to me how it was that the sweet basil kept the cayenne pepper at bay long enough for the pineapple to soak into the taste buds and usher in such a fantastic union and fusion of flavor, that no two bites would be exactly the same. I was instructed through the prose to not only try it myself, but to try it with friends, try it with family, try it with strangers if they wanted to be completely shocked, and I wanted to see their faces when they simply take that first bite of impassioned, satisfying, edible delight -- nothing says "Take me into your mouth like pineapple" is the one line I will never forget from Brendon's essay -- I use that line from time to time in my dreams! He also told me once that "Imagination equals creation, and creation equals sensation". OK, I gave the guy an "A" for the paper; not gonna lie about it.
Today, oh so many years later, I am still being a bit foo-foo in my own kitchen, and even if the kitchen is the only place in my house (currently) getting any really raw and appetizing action, I can at least report that my sweet potatoes bring the folks around when I leave the windows open and let the summer breeze cast its allure through the humid air between our apartments. Today, I had a kind and thoughtful elderly woman (neighbor) ask me to bring her a bit of whatever it was she was smelling coming from my house - - of course I did. How do you say no to such a request? Her smile was enough to warm my gut for weeks to come. I love my people. I'll miss them when I move, and I've missed many of them as they've slipped away to see Jesus over the many many years I've lived and learned where I live. The kitchen here, may only be the size of a round of cheesecake, but if it's cheesecake you desire, I am the one to call on for assistance. I have a lemon-raspberry glaze that will make you - - smile.
I may be a foo foo, and I may enjoy my spice rack a bit more than others enjoy theirs, but I do know a thing or two about raising expectations while patiently waiting for things to heat up and simmer slowly yet long enough to make a full bodied and pleasurable experience for the mouth. I also know that a good meal is good for the soul as well as for the body. I can't call myself a gourmet, as I was not fully and professionally trained, but what I learned on the fly, and through private lessons from some of these now exquisite chef-for-real when they were learning the ropes, can take me pretty far in terms of my good friends raising an eyebrow, puckering up a little, and making that face you hope to see them making after just one bite. I'll take "foo foo" as a title any day - - and most nights in my dreams. That's right, I cook in my dreams too - - and yeah, I may bring a little pineapple to the forefront of my mind when I do. (Imagination = creation = sensation)
Photo credit: Jude Stringfellow
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