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Life is all to often a recipe for chaos with unpredictable steps emerging from an obscuring murk, forcing you to fly by the seat of your pants- to continually compensate off the cuff. Perhaps this is why, at the most hectic of these times I crave the kitchen like a starving man. It is there that I can undoubtedly carve out A bastion of meticulous order, A place where well laid plans very rarely go awry- unlike life. Laying out each ingredient is catharsis as I run the courses through my brain and with the aid of fine, German steel fabricate garlic, onion and herbs, peeled and minced into tidy piles at first then arrayed within pristine bowls like order incarnate upon my counter. Several skillets heat, the oven warms as my marinade’s acidity tenderizes the meat and in intricate, layered increments the meal begins to take shape. Sautee, proof, broil and bake, stock simmers for the sauce, roux browns to finish it off, custard sets in its water bath, a final whip emulsifies the vinaigrette, skirt steak hits the pan to sear. I dance through this routine without fear of calamity- a heart attack won’t kill my entrée, the birth of this meal won’t be met with a medical bill, I will not have to rush a fallen soufflé to the hospital for stitches, the crème brulee won’t be fired and evicted from its ramekin or subsequently cause its marriage of flavors to dissolve. In the kitchen I am in control, king, ruler-of-all, dictator if need be. I am intimately aware of the variables and can vastly influence the chance disaster. In life I am left no recourse but to chant this simple mantra and never could I say it enough: order, order, order, order… order up Post a comment in response: |
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