Chefs feed people right. but what? just food,dreams,stories,lies?
Women’s cooking is better than men’s....that is to say the cooking that was conceived and produced in the home is unsurpassed. I can say hand on heart that this is my experience...all those stars and badges and awards belong to the inferior egocentric world of men’s cooking.
My abiding memory of eating in a Michelin starred restaurant was the service and the surroundings. Cooking in restaurants is not about the food its not about you its about the money...remember that....it’s a business.
Men at work,
serious profession,mean,moody,magnificent,consuming,passionate,
exclusive,intense,brutal,hilarious,regimented.filled with fear.
mmmm...smell the fear like shit on a shoe!
2009 is the year when I avoid eating out. It feels good cooking again for myself.. taking the time .No more feeling sick of the sight and smell of food, endless bowls of cornflakes and snacks.
The garden was frozen over today. felt like feeding the birds. Do the birds need feeding I’m not sure...but I need to feed them.
A flock of pigeons eating and cooing......so soothing
I feed them oats and they come...Wood Pigeons,Starlings,a Jay, a Magpie, a solitary Jackdaw and a pair of Black Birds. The liquid warbling song of the Black Bird at dusk is my favourite. Waiting in the branches Blue Tits and Robins cautious and unsure about how to deal with the suspended feast awaiting them. Nothing civilised here they know exactly why they are eating. I start to plan the next meal for them.Which reminds me the diet season is upon us
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Monday, 29 December 2008
Smell of decay
I feel uneasy about the whole edifice that has built up around cooking....I smell something bad...you know the odour that starts to build up in the fridge as food starts to slowly rot....that's your call it's your prep...it's your bonus. When do you decide it's shit..when the taste is compromised or when it's a health hazard...or maybe you don't give it a dam or worse your scared?
Food is just food right?...wrong It's big business...which correct me if I'm wrong means the producers interests are paramount and every thing boils down to a formula.I'm not against development,change or evolution...but I am against extinction and lack of diversity....I'm against having my options taken away....if one day I decide I want to learn Aramaic....I don't want to find it's extinct.
Cooking must be rooted in a particular landscape...and the people that live on that land...only then does it really provide true nourishment.To loose the connection between the food we eat...the land,the seasons,cooking is to upset an important rhythm...to put things out of balance..to loose our freedom.
Food is just food right?...wrong It's big business...which correct me if I'm wrong means the producers interests are paramount and every thing boils down to a formula.I'm not against development,change or evolution...but I am against extinction and lack of diversity....I'm against having my options taken away....if one day I decide I want to learn Aramaic....I don't want to find it's extinct.
Cooking must be rooted in a particular landscape...and the people that live on that land...only then does it really provide true nourishment.To loose the connection between the food we eat...the land,the seasons,cooking is to upset an important rhythm...to put things out of balance..to loose our freedom.
Saturday, 27 December 2008
The Loaf
I clearly remember my grand mother scolding me for throwing bread on the fire,
"wasting food is bad, throwing bread away is a sin"....the staff of life...the body of Christ!
Food is sacred
Last night after at least ten years of trying I baked the loaf that had only ever existed in my imagination....it's sitting on the kitchen bench and it's beautiful....I gave birth to it by a kind of magic....because that's what the process is.Why is food such a fundamental source of metaphor?
"wasting food is bad, throwing bread away is a sin"....the staff of life...the body of Christ!
Food is sacred
Last night after at least ten years of trying I baked the loaf that had only ever existed in my imagination....it's sitting on the kitchen bench and it's beautiful....I gave birth to it by a kind of magic....because that's what the process is.Why is food such a fundamental source of metaphor?
Friday, 26 December 2008
Christmas Dinner
What would she make of it all?....what do I make of it?
Christmas day alone?. four children, grand daughter,father,two sisters,cousins,nephews,nieces,ex wife, girlfriend...of course it must have something to do with me.....it could never happen to her because she gave more than she received....talk is cheap!
Food is for sharing, let me say that again food is for sharing just so I don’t forget...cooking for money is corrupting.
Christmas dinner for one...roast chicken, roasted carrots and red onion...broccoli...Dijon mustard. Apple crumble and fresh cream.
This was possibly the best Christmas dinner I have eaten. And since I only ate the legs and wings three more meals will be had from it
Turkey is not the best choice for a celebration dinner...the breast is best eaten cold and the legs are better used to make a soup
Chicken on the other hand is divine...succulent, incredible flavour,irresistable smell...beautiful!
My early memories of chicken are seeing them slaughtered...big sharp knife, the chase, the cut...the blood... headless, running....smell of singing flesh and pale yellow fat....curry and rice...chicken soup
The idea of refinement,aspiration,challenge ,came via a book La Technique by Jacques Pepin.It never occurred to me why she bought it.. dreams of being the perfect housewife?...strange thing was he would not thank you for French Cooking. It’s a well worn track...for those of you who have never cooked for approval spare a thought for the afflicted.
Pepin...taught me how to roast a chicken for which I’m eternally grateful...but he also caused me to doubt
Christmas day alone?. four children, grand daughter,father,two sisters,cousins,nephews,nieces,ex wife, girlfriend...of course it must have something to do with me.....it could never happen to her because she gave more than she received....talk is cheap!
Food is for sharing, let me say that again food is for sharing just so I don’t forget...cooking for money is corrupting.
Christmas dinner for one...roast chicken, roasted carrots and red onion...broccoli...Dijon mustard. Apple crumble and fresh cream.
This was possibly the best Christmas dinner I have eaten. And since I only ate the legs and wings three more meals will be had from it
Turkey is not the best choice for a celebration dinner...the breast is best eaten cold and the legs are better used to make a soup
Chicken on the other hand is divine...succulent, incredible flavour,irresistable smell...beautiful!
My early memories of chicken are seeing them slaughtered...big sharp knife, the chase, the cut...the blood... headless, running....smell of singing flesh and pale yellow fat....curry and rice...chicken soup
The idea of refinement,aspiration,challenge ,came via a book La Technique by Jacques Pepin.It never occurred to me why she bought it.. dreams of being the perfect housewife?...strange thing was he would not thank you for French Cooking. It’s a well worn track...for those of you who have never cooked for approval spare a thought for the afflicted.
Pepin...taught me how to roast a chicken for which I’m eternally grateful...but he also caused me to doubt
Thursday, 25 December 2008
Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve...woke early dressed in my finest and off to the shops...well that's what she used to do and her mother before her...jobs needed to be done, turkey to be collected,vegtables to be bought...mince pies to be made, house to be given another cleaning.
Humping shoppping,laden like pack horses, big ladies, strong arms,chattering,aches,pains,woes and what the next meal would be.
Kettle on...tea brewed...cold meat sandwich, pasty, peas pudding, stottie cake...then on to the next meal...food is love or so it seemed.
Went to Patisserie Valerie Kensington Church Street ..the best one....drunk coffee, ate cake,read,listened to chatter, flirted with the well dressed and heeled....talk of almond paste and how it was made before “The War”...row upon row of the patissier’s craft..sugar,flour,butter,eggs...magically transformed into edible dreams, pleasure.....or maybe food is sex?
I like the order she brings, I’m comforted by her presence..her authority. soothed by the giving of orders,advice,directions and reprimands. I’m in her parlour..but once again transported into Her presence.
Do I hate him?....I feared him...he never belonged in the house.
Dragged by the hair, punched kicked and beaten...drunken rage.
She endured that why?...always picking up the broken pieces...starting again...order out of chaos.
He would never understand why. could never understand why I choose the kitchen instead of his world. The kitchen to him is a place for woman and children.
I’m cooking for one...were did I go wrong?
Humping shoppping,laden like pack horses, big ladies, strong arms,chattering,aches,pains,woes and what the next meal would be.
Kettle on...tea brewed...cold meat sandwich, pasty, peas pudding, stottie cake...then on to the next meal...food is love or so it seemed.
Went to Patisserie Valerie Kensington Church Street ..the best one....drunk coffee, ate cake,read,listened to chatter, flirted with the well dressed and heeled....talk of almond paste and how it was made before “The War”...row upon row of the patissier’s craft..sugar,flour,butter,eggs...magically transformed into edible dreams, pleasure.....or maybe food is sex?
I like the order she brings, I’m comforted by her presence..her authority. soothed by the giving of orders,advice,directions and reprimands. I’m in her parlour..but once again transported into Her presence.
Do I hate him?....I feared him...he never belonged in the house.
Dragged by the hair, punched kicked and beaten...drunken rage.
She endured that why?...always picking up the broken pieces...starting again...order out of chaos.
He would never understand why. could never understand why I choose the kitchen instead of his world. The kitchen to him is a place for woman and children.
I’m cooking for one...were did I go wrong?
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Take the money
Yesterday I was missed the Kitchen...
Christmas and people are expectant....the tyranny of the overfed. My place is at the stove, safe, warm, absorbed, disengaged....hiding?
I'm walking in the crowded streets, I hear them, smell them in their subterranean world...I'm not going back fifteen weeks I'm doing good I have a life now don't I?
This morning....I got round to it...1 coffee mug of wholewheat flour, 2 of white,½ each of rye and oats,2 teaspoons of salt and a sachet of dried yeast...add water to make a dough.
I spotted the ingredients for a lemon almond and polenta cake in the back of the cupboard....the one that Elizabetta used to make.
She was the one I can admit it now.....while the bread bakes
Beauty beckoned me
I descended the stairs
Wine, onions, chicken bones
My initiation?
Or my return?
Drunken fool it's a job
Take the money and smile
Christmas and people are expectant....the tyranny of the overfed. My place is at the stove, safe, warm, absorbed, disengaged....hiding?
I'm walking in the crowded streets, I hear them, smell them in their subterranean world...I'm not going back fifteen weeks I'm doing good I have a life now don't I?
This morning....I got round to it...1 coffee mug of wholewheat flour, 2 of white,½ each of rye and oats,2 teaspoons of salt and a sachet of dried yeast...add water to make a dough.
I spotted the ingredients for a lemon almond and polenta cake in the back of the cupboard....the one that Elizabetta used to make.
She was the one I can admit it now.....while the bread bakes
Beauty beckoned me
I descended the stairs
Wine, onions, chicken bones
My initiation?
Or my return?
Drunken fool it's a job
Take the money and smile
Friday, 19 December 2008
Thursday, 18 December 2008
The cord that binds
Connected by food
A cord that binds and feeds
Given by her before all else
An act of love?
Or submission?
Freely given or plundered?
A cord that binds and feeds
Given by her before all else
An act of love?
Or submission?
Freely given or plundered?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
