About two years ago I read a book called Julie and Julia. The book is now being made into a movie, which made me want to re-read the book. Julie was making liver and, in her way, talking about embracing failure.
It was pretty timely that I read that part of the book, because last night I made Jambalaya and burned the heck out of the bottom. Sarah, Weez and Jill said it was good, but I most definitely could taste the burnt flavor. It still tastes like someone smoked a pack of cigarettes through the sausage and held the tomatoes over an ashtray. But, you know, in a good way. Or something.
In a very UN Carrie Bradshaw way, I couldn't help but wonder... or, rather, I couldn't help but think about how much I screw up.
The reason I love cooking so much is that even when I do screw up, usually I know the way to salvage at least a little bit. Or make something else. With Jambalaya I just used the stuff on the top and figured it was spicy enough to cover the smokey flavor. With the tiramisu I made the other day i left it open in the fridge for a while and the extra espresso evaporated. I am allowed to fail sometimes because most of the time it doesn't matters how pretty it looks, it matter how it tastes.
I bake because I know how. I bake because it is natural. I cook because I love the sound of grilling meat. I love the smell of grilling onion and bell peppers. I love copper bottomed pans. I love cheap thrills like when my roommate remembers how much I love Baker's Joy spray. I love cooking and baking because even after a crappy day selling clothing I could never afford to people with six credit cards I can feel like I've accomplished something good. On the days when I don't work on my thesis because I just can't take it, I can bake something that makes me smile. So I do what I can. I bake. I grill. I boil.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
I quote myself again
Apparently I think I am brilliant. This is also from last summer when I was frustrated with everything in the world. This still applies. I still fantasize. but these ideas now have the possibility of coming true as I now have my own kitchen...
"I create my kitchen in my head. As I mentioned, I have a fair amount of my own kitchen things, but I think about what I would want in my kitchen. mixing bowls. glasses. spatulas. teapots. forks. These are my fantasies. I am a gourmet food whore. I have food fantasies. I am a slut for things like kitchen tongs. the little clay disks that keep brown sugar fresh. I saw a silicon spatula that was orange with glitter in it. If anyone who loves me reads this and understands just how perfect an orange sparkly spatula is for me.... It was at surlatable.com. I'm just saying."
God, I'm hilarious.
"I create my kitchen in my head. As I mentioned, I have a fair amount of my own kitchen things, but I think about what I would want in my kitchen. mixing bowls. glasses. spatulas. teapots. forks. These are my fantasies. I am a gourmet food whore. I have food fantasies. I am a slut for things like kitchen tongs. the little clay disks that keep brown sugar fresh. I saw a silicon spatula that was orange with glitter in it. If anyone who loves me reads this and understands just how perfect an orange sparkly spatula is for me.... It was at surlatable.com. I'm just saying."
God, I'm hilarious.
From a While ago
I am so thankful I am not in the mental space I was almost a year ago. I was thinking about my xanga sight the other day, realizing that I have not written in it for almost a year. Some of the last posts, when I reread them, were oddly familiar. So in this, my first food blog (flog? oh dear me) post I am going to post them. I don't have a digital camera yet, so it wont look at pretty as it might. Reading is good for the eyes, though, go for it!
"The Kitchen as Life Space" Wednesday, July 28th 2008
I have been resisting writing here. for many reasons. Mainly, I am ashamed that I have not found a job. You would think I would have...but no dice.
What I have been doing instead...is cooking. Mostly baking. cupcakes, brownies, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, toffee bars (with no toffee?) Mexican chocolate cupcakes with fresh strawberry icing, spice cake cupcakes with butterscotch icing, even a cupcake flag. I have nothing else to do. I have been baking and applying to jobs. More and more I want to do food writing. and work in a book store. I worked with a woman I know who writes cookbooks for a living last week. Award winning cookbooks. She would want me to say that. The things I am best at in the world are making food, talking, and loving the people I am talking to while providing them with food. ha! I need to find gainful employment so that I can move into one of the many apts I have been looking at on craigslist, then set up my kitchen. That is seriously my thought process. "I can't wait to have all of my cake pans in order." I was also thinking about muffin pans today. My mom has cast iron ones...and I usually think of cast iron as a savory thing. (I was thinking of Masey Lodge, also, because I saw that her family's company made an AWESOME apple shaped cast iron pot. I just about cried, wanting it.) Anyway, I don't really understand the need for cast iron muffin pans. Can you season them? with sugar? hrm. Also, I really really really want silicone muffin pans (i just wrote muffin "pants" and spent five minutes laughing) because then you just pop them out of the pan. how effing cool is that!? And spatulas. I love spatulas. I want all of these things because since I have no job and am just baking my way to a beer belly I have been using all of my mom's cooking utensils. Which makes me miss my kitchen in lil red. And it makes me miss the impressed mmmmmms I got from Kelly and Jane and Hunter (and I should mention LB, she was a very good yummy noise maker, and always supportive to my cooking tendencies.) I miss my kitchen. it was mine. and Kelly's and Janes, but it was a space I didn't feel was primarily owned by another cook. When I use my mothers things it just highlights to me that I am in her house. Nothing here is mine, just mine. I have a dog who loves her more, a kitchen filled with her pots and pans, drawers filled with her paistry brushes and whisks and jars filled with her wooden spoons. A lot of these things I also own. I have my own spice rack, my own whisks, my own pot holders, my own pots, my own jar of gumbo file. But since this is her house, her kitchen, I use her things. I am not lying when I say that at night I go into the closet where all my dishes and kitchen things are and I unpack them. I smell my spices. I unroll my knives from my dishtowels and I take out my bamboo cutting board. I am getting really upset writing this because it is so indicative of the other frustrations I have. And it is also funny, that I base everything in the kitchen. I dream of my own kitchen, my own deep freezer. But then feel dwarfed because I can never compare to my mother. My mother has every useful gadget known to man. My mother has a jar opener with adjustable size, my mother has her own Japanese carbon blade knife brought for her from Osaka by a grad school friend, my mother has ever spice ever tasted (indian, mexican, italian, cajun, chinese), my mother has cutting boards made especially for her, my mother has a kitchen made to her liking. And what do I have? a messy room with messy closets full of clothing I don't wear and boxes with my pots in them. And I, lame - o that I am, miss the days that my room connected to the kitchen. I want to make my own roux (now I am thinking of the roux house, which then leads to Happy's, which then leads me to think of my fabulous last days in LA with Hunter at Happy's looking at the cute waitresses) and I want to bake my own cakes in my own pans. I want to sharpen my knives. I want to make tea and sit and smell my kitchen. Damnit.
**this should be qualified by the following: it is 3:42 am and I can't sleep. Therefore: no spelling, grammar or paragraph breaks.**
"The Kitchen as Life Space" Wednesday, July 28th 2008
I have been resisting writing here. for many reasons. Mainly, I am ashamed that I have not found a job. You would think I would have...but no dice.
What I have been doing instead...is cooking. Mostly baking. cupcakes, brownies, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, toffee bars (with no toffee?) Mexican chocolate cupcakes with fresh strawberry icing, spice cake cupcakes with butterscotch icing, even a cupcake flag. I have nothing else to do. I have been baking and applying to jobs. More and more I want to do food writing. and work in a book store. I worked with a woman I know who writes cookbooks for a living last week. Award winning cookbooks. She would want me to say that. The things I am best at in the world are making food, talking, and loving the people I am talking to while providing them with food. ha! I need to find gainful employment so that I can move into one of the many apts I have been looking at on craigslist, then set up my kitchen. That is seriously my thought process. "I can't wait to have all of my cake pans in order." I was also thinking about muffin pans today. My mom has cast iron ones...and I usually think of cast iron as a savory thing. (I was thinking of Masey Lodge, also, because I saw that her family's company made an AWESOME apple shaped cast iron pot. I just about cried, wanting it.) Anyway, I don't really understand the need for cast iron muffin pans. Can you season them? with sugar? hrm. Also, I really really really want silicone muffin pans (i just wrote muffin "pants" and spent five minutes laughing) because then you just pop them out of the pan. how effing cool is that!? And spatulas. I love spatulas. I want all of these things because since I have no job and am just baking my way to a beer belly I have been using all of my mom's cooking utensils. Which makes me miss my kitchen in lil red. And it makes me miss the impressed mmmmmms I got from Kelly and Jane and Hunter (and I should mention LB, she was a very good yummy noise maker, and always supportive to my cooking tendencies.) I miss my kitchen. it was mine. and Kelly's and Janes, but it was a space I didn't feel was primarily owned by another cook. When I use my mothers things it just highlights to me that I am in her house. Nothing here is mine, just mine. I have a dog who loves her more, a kitchen filled with her pots and pans, drawers filled with her paistry brushes and whisks and jars filled with her wooden spoons. A lot of these things I also own. I have my own spice rack, my own whisks, my own pot holders, my own pots, my own jar of gumbo file. But since this is her house, her kitchen, I use her things. I am not lying when I say that at night I go into the closet where all my dishes and kitchen things are and I unpack them. I smell my spices. I unroll my knives from my dishtowels and I take out my bamboo cutting board. I am getting really upset writing this because it is so indicative of the other frustrations I have. And it is also funny, that I base everything in the kitchen. I dream of my own kitchen, my own deep freezer. But then feel dwarfed because I can never compare to my mother. My mother has every useful gadget known to man. My mother has a jar opener with adjustable size, my mother has her own Japanese carbon blade knife brought for her from Osaka by a grad school friend, my mother has ever spice ever tasted (indian, mexican, italian, cajun, chinese), my mother has cutting boards made especially for her, my mother has a kitchen made to her liking. And what do I have? a messy room with messy closets full of clothing I don't wear and boxes with my pots in them. And I, lame - o that I am, miss the days that my room connected to the kitchen. I want to make my own roux (now I am thinking of the roux house, which then leads to Happy's, which then leads me to think of my fabulous last days in LA with Hunter at Happy's looking at the cute waitresses) and I want to bake my own cakes in my own pans. I want to sharpen my knives. I want to make tea and sit and smell my kitchen. Damnit.
**this should be qualified by the following: it is 3:42 am and I can't sleep. Therefore: no spelling, grammar or paragraph breaks.**
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