in which I took an elegant-sounding recipe and an expensive cut of beef and
managed to transform it into a bitter dish with the texture of shoe leather and an
aroma that made you think I’d cooked it with old gym shorts.
To this day I am humbled by the heroic attempts of my in-laws to not only try
to choke down this tragedy, but they even tried to voice complements for it as
well.
After I had tasted it, I told them that we should throw it away and make tuna
fish sandwiches to celebrate Easter. Too which everyone vigorously voiced
opposition while we hurriedly pulled out the sandwich bread and gave the awful
entree to the dogs.
The dogs circled the dish warily, and finally urinated on it.
Their opinion was unmistakable.
But most of the time, I cook food that is healthy and which tastes better than
what a person can find at most restaurants for ten times the price.
And that makes my youngest son’s criticism of last night's dinner all the more
annoying.
How could I go wrong with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and corn? It’s an
American standard. Everybody loves fried bird and mashed potatoes.
But no, my youngest nibbled at his chicken, pushed his potatoes around the
plate for twenty minutes and tried to hide the corn behind a strategically placed
glass of milk.
Mrs. Chef thought that the extra cookie he ate after school might have ruined
his appetite, and I told him that we would have to start taking away his
afternoon snack so he would be hungry at dinnertime.
He said, “Well Papa, I actually was hungry.” He stopped for a thoughtful
moment, staring at the ceiling. Then he said, “I was pretty hungry, but there
was something wrong with the mashed potatoes.”
Wrong with the potatoes? How do you go wrong with mashed potatoes? My
mind raced. You peel the potatoes, cut them, place them in the water…
"What was wrong with the potatoes?"
"They were too fluffy and creamy," he replied with the matter of fact tones of a
nine-year-old. “They didn't taste good at all.”
I was speechless. Eating mashed potatoes that are too creamy and fluffy is like
having a spouse that is too understanding and affectionate.
And then he said something that will remain with me for the rest of my life. He
asked, “Papa, why do you try to make us eat mashed potatoes that are too
fluffy and creamy?”
For a moment I fantasized about selling him to the gypsies or signing him up as
a test subject for medical experimentation. Then I sat back and relaxed for a
moment.
"Son," I responded quietly. "As you grow older, you will learn how to cook
many kinds of food. It's a part of living, an aspect of the human condition - we
all spend time preparing our own food.”
I clasped my hands together.
“Now you’re a darn smart kid. I have a vision of you one day learning how to
make your own mashed potatoes.
I see you maturing and growing wise over the years, and I see your recipe for
mashed potatoes evolving and improving until it becomes a pinnacle of spudly
delight.
“And I know that someday you will serve those mashed potatoes, confident
that they are beyond reproach and the finest vegetable you could ever serve to
friends and loved ones. They will be a true example of the affection and
respect you hold for each of the people sitting at your table.
"And I see someone coming up to you after that dinner and saying, 'There’s
something wrong with those mashed potatoes. They were too fluffy and
creamy.’”
I put a hand gently on his shoulder and stood up from the dinner table.
“And son, when that happens, do you know what it will all mean?”
"No Papa, what will it mean?"
“It will mean that I finally won this argument.”
managed to transform it into a bitter dish with the texture of shoe leather and an
aroma that made you think I’d cooked it with old gym shorts.
To this day I am humbled by the heroic attempts of my in-laws to not only try
to choke down this tragedy, but they even tried to voice complements for it as
well.
After I had tasted it, I told them that we should throw it away and make tuna
fish sandwiches to celebrate Easter. Too which everyone vigorously voiced
opposition while we hurriedly pulled out the sandwich bread and gave the awful
entree to the dogs.
The dogs circled the dish warily, and finally urinated on it.
Their opinion was unmistakable.
But most of the time, I cook food that is healthy and which tastes better than
what a person can find at most restaurants for ten times the price.
And that makes my youngest son’s criticism of last night's dinner all the more
annoying.
How could I go wrong with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and corn? It’s an
American standard. Everybody loves fried bird and mashed potatoes.
But no, my youngest nibbled at his chicken, pushed his potatoes around the
plate for twenty minutes and tried to hide the corn behind a strategically placed
glass of milk.
Mrs. Chef thought that the extra cookie he ate after school might have ruined
his appetite, and I told him that we would have to start taking away his
afternoon snack so he would be hungry at dinnertime.
He said, “Well Papa, I actually was hungry.” He stopped for a thoughtful
moment, staring at the ceiling. Then he said, “I was pretty hungry, but there
was something wrong with the mashed potatoes.”
Wrong with the potatoes? How do you go wrong with mashed potatoes? My
mind raced. You peel the potatoes, cut them, place them in the water…
"What was wrong with the potatoes?"
"They were too fluffy and creamy," he replied with the matter of fact tones of a
nine-year-old. “They didn't taste good at all.”
I was speechless. Eating mashed potatoes that are too creamy and fluffy is like
having a spouse that is too understanding and affectionate.
And then he said something that will remain with me for the rest of my life. He
asked, “Papa, why do you try to make us eat mashed potatoes that are too
fluffy and creamy?”
For a moment I fantasized about selling him to the gypsies or signing him up as
a test subject for medical experimentation. Then I sat back and relaxed for a
moment.
"Son," I responded quietly. "As you grow older, you will learn how to cook
many kinds of food. It's a part of living, an aspect of the human condition - we
all spend time preparing our own food.”
I clasped my hands together.
“Now you’re a darn smart kid. I have a vision of you one day learning how to
make your own mashed potatoes.
I see you maturing and growing wise over the years, and I see your recipe for
mashed potatoes evolving and improving until it becomes a pinnacle of spudly
delight.
“And I know that someday you will serve those mashed potatoes, confident
that they are beyond reproach and the finest vegetable you could ever serve to
friends and loved ones. They will be a true example of the affection and
respect you hold for each of the people sitting at your table.
"And I see someone coming up to you after that dinner and saying, 'There’s
something wrong with those mashed potatoes. They were too fluffy and
creamy.’”
I put a hand gently on his shoulder and stood up from the dinner table.
“And son, when that happens, do you know what it will all mean?”
"No Papa, what will it mean?"
“It will mean that I finally won this argument.”
After refining my skills in the kitchen and upon the
grill for 3/4 of my life, you would think I would have
the patience and understanding to withstand the
occasional critic who has to find fault in my kitchen
fare.
The truth is that I normally do bear the brunt of
critical remarks with a certain rough-edged grace.
Why?
Because usually when somebody has a complaint
about my food, it's probably because I screwed it
up or it was a bad idea to begin with.
I’m thinking, especially, of a particular Easter dinner
grill for 3/4 of my life, you would think I would have
the patience and understanding to withstand the
occasional critic who has to find fault in my kitchen
fare.
The truth is that I normally do bear the brunt of
critical remarks with a certain rough-edged grace.
Why?
Because usually when somebody has a complaint
about my food, it's probably because I screwed it
up or it was a bad idea to begin with.
I’m thinking, especially, of a particular Easter dinner
| Jambalaya for Adults |
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| For the man who cooks and the women that love him |
1 tablespoon of olive oil 1 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-size pieces 8 ounces of kielbasa, diced 8 ounces of peeled, deveined shrimp 1 onion, diced 1 green bell pepper, diced 1/3 cup diced celery 2 tablespoons chopped garlic 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper 1/2 teaspoon onion powder Salt and ground black pepper to taste 2 cups uncooked white rice 4 cubes of chicken bouillon 4 cups of water 1 15 1/2 ounce can of chopped tomatoes in green chilies 3 bay leaves 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce 1 teaspoon hot pepper sauce WHAT YOU DO 1. Heat the oil in a large pot over medium high heat. 2. Sauté the chicken, kielbasa onion, bell pepper, celery, garlic, cayenne, onion powder, salt and pepper until lightly browned, about five minutes. 3. Add the rice, and shrimp, then stir in bouillon, water, and bay leaves. 4. Bring it all to a boil, then reduce heat, cover the pot, and simmer 20 minutes Stir in the Worcestershire sauce and hot pepper sauce. |