Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Eat...NOW!!
I enjoy cooking, the act of cooking, the chemical & physical changes that you control in taking something in one form and transforming it into another.
My ever-loving spouse and I split up the cooking, roughly 60-40. My 40 is probably the reason I still enjoy it. Folks who eat what's been prepared seem to enjoy it or else I just hang around with very polite people who stop at a diner once they've left the house. I'm open to new recipes and ingredients and especially any concoction that requires a specialty tool. There are enough whisks in the house to open up a confectionary shop.
As long as I stay within 5-6 feet of the stove and working surfaces, all is fine. It's when I trespass int the dining area that my cooking problems begin. It all comes down to, as most thing do, timing. I have lots of it. Timing, that is. Bad timing. While I'm more than happy to have folks over for meals, there's a Soup Nazi attitude lurking beneath the benevolence. As soon as any part of a meal that involves heat was finished, I'd strongly insist that those interested in eating sit down quickly to partake of the now cooling meal. At least, that's my eye's perspective.
What my ever-loving wife usually saw was a lunatic running through the house corralling any and every one with a chef's knife/ladle/large wooden spoon in one hand and a skillet/pot/tureen containing some indistiguishable brown white hot magma, threatening bodily harm and familial disgrace if everyone DIDN'T SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW AND EAT! She would gently hint at these tendencies, pointing out, quite correctly, that it wasn't considered Emily Post-ish to tie one's guests to a chair until they've finished their salads. While I agreed that she had a point, especially since I'd used twine rather than ribbon, deep down I felt that this wasn't really that wrong and, more importantly, that I couldn't be the only one feeling this way about eating.
It was with great pleasure that I read an article in today's NYT Food Section, "The Well-Tempered Wok" .
The passage that caught my eye was, "When Grace Young's family went to restaurants, her father always insisted that they sit right next to the swinging door to the kitchen. A liquor salesman who felt at home in every restaurant in San Francisco's Chinatown, her father said food had to be eaten just moments out of the wok, while it is still fresh, hot and exuding wok hay, a Cantonese term, unknown in other parts of China, that translates loosely as "wok energy" or "wok breath."
There it was, another hot food nut out there who insisted that food be eaten immediately. Wok Hay! A worthy cry that will be emanating from my kitchen from now on. And, o.k., I promise to use satin strips to keep the eaters in their place.
I enjoy cooking, the act of cooking, the chemical & physical changes that you control in taking something in one form and transforming it into another.
My ever-loving spouse and I split up the cooking, roughly 60-40. My 40 is probably the reason I still enjoy it. Folks who eat what's been prepared seem to enjoy it or else I just hang around with very polite people who stop at a diner once they've left the house. I'm open to new recipes and ingredients and especially any concoction that requires a specialty tool. There are enough whisks in the house to open up a confectionary shop.
As long as I stay within 5-6 feet of the stove and working surfaces, all is fine. It's when I trespass int the dining area that my cooking problems begin. It all comes down to, as most thing do, timing. I have lots of it. Timing, that is. Bad timing. While I'm more than happy to have folks over for meals, there's a Soup Nazi attitude lurking beneath the benevolence. As soon as any part of a meal that involves heat was finished, I'd strongly insist that those interested in eating sit down quickly to partake of the now cooling meal. At least, that's my eye's perspective.
What my ever-loving wife usually saw was a lunatic running through the house corralling any and every one with a chef's knife/ladle/large wooden spoon in one hand and a skillet/pot/tureen containing some indistiguishable brown white hot magma, threatening bodily harm and familial disgrace if everyone DIDN'T SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW AND EAT! She would gently hint at these tendencies, pointing out, quite correctly, that it wasn't considered Emily Post-ish to tie one's guests to a chair until they've finished their salads. While I agreed that she had a point, especially since I'd used twine rather than ribbon, deep down I felt that this wasn't really that wrong and, more importantly, that I couldn't be the only one feeling this way about eating.
It was with great pleasure that I read an article in today's NYT Food Section, "The Well-Tempered Wok" .
The passage that caught my eye was, "When Grace Young's family went to restaurants, her father always insisted that they sit right next to the swinging door to the kitchen. A liquor salesman who felt at home in every restaurant in San Francisco's Chinatown, her father said food had to be eaten just moments out of the wok, while it is still fresh, hot and exuding wok hay, a Cantonese term, unknown in other parts of China, that translates loosely as "wok energy" or "wok breath."
There it was, another hot food nut out there who insisted that food be eaten immediately. Wok Hay! A worthy cry that will be emanating from my kitchen from now on. And, o.k., I promise to use satin strips to keep the eaters in their place.
Comments:
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Thank you for this - "Wok Hay" has now entered my kitchen vocabulary as well! (Although in my case, it's likely to send my kids running - away. They aren't that fond of my stir-fries.)
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