The Maturing Palette

There was a time in my development when onions were the scourge of my life. To punish me, my mom would actually put onions in the food she made me to teach the lesson that food is food and I need to eat it. As a child, I would actually prefer getting a spanking over eating the foul tasting, slimy, pungent, tear jerking, grimy, awful vegetable. I love broccoli (the adolescent’s nemesis), but can’t stand even the smell of the despicable onion.

But then something happened…

I realized one day I was cooking with onions! They were in my refrigerator, on my shopping lists, even in my recipes and dishes!!!!

The reason for this transgression against my former self didn’t become clear to me until I was in Atlanta this recently, sharing my New Year’s goals. One of the points which I aim to improve is my level of maturity with every interaction and relationship I have, now and in the future. As I was juxtaposing a blonde beer and a dark beer and making snide but witty comments about the evolution of my taste in women (see below), an epiphany struck me – for the last few years, I have been approaching food with an increasingly mature perspective, learning about and beginning to appreciate the finer subtleties of the wonders of God’s Earth.

As I analyzed my life, I realized that over time I have become more amicable to things which have added great value to my life experience which I never could have brought myself to appreciate until I matured mentally. I couldn’t stand politics. Now I follow the future leaders of our city, state and country passionately with a waxing interest in their perspectives and positions. I despised beer when I was younger. Now I appreciate its rich diversity of flavors and textures. I (sadly) had a preference for women of a certain complexion. Now I enjoy the entire spectrum of women, very much like the gamut of wines – the beautiful bodies, the rich and varying colors, the smells…

I see myself approaching life like I approach my taste for food. I lived my life in a very narrow sense when I was younger, but as I mature I realize just how much more there is to offer, from the experiences of meeting new people from all walks of life, to traveling to exotic and fabled places to learn of its sights and sounds. The question this begs is which was the inspiration? Is it my maturing taste for life and her spoils that drives me to explore, or my quest for more deliciously diverse food? Would I have gone to Italy if they didn’t have

delectable gelato? Would I have explored Beijing if they never perfected roasting our favorite feathered friend? Would I have tolerated the aromatic, coarse mannered French if they didn’t have such arousing wines and liquors? In any case, I find that as my quest for a more respectable and extensive palette and cookbook continues, so does my quest for a more respectable and extensive journey in life.

…and I now can tolerate onions. I don’t love them, but progress is about baby steps :)

-The UE

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My New Toy

A real Texan always finds a way! Even if its cold and snowing outside.

Introducing the DeLonghi Cast Aluminum Indoor Grill

Menu
Lamb Ribs
Lamb Chops
Strip Steak
Roasted Asparagus
Roasted Rosemary and Garlic Potatoes

Chimay Red

I can't wait until the summer! Im having my mother bring some hickory wood to save me in this pitless, yardless, pagan land...

-The UE

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My First Taste of Life

Do you remember the first time you had a taste of your favorite dish? Maybe that perfect spaghetti, with a rich and meaty homemade tomato sauce. Or maybe that unforgettable piece of pizza topped with pepperoni, rich, creamy cheese, and a crust as close to perfection as 3.14 is to Pi. How about the silky, smooth and luscious piece of cake, freshly baked, with a scoop of your favorite ice cream? Or the satisfaction of Mom’s home cooking after eating cafeteria food all semester?

I remember…

The first time I truly ate tiramisu. I had ingested it prior, but never truly ate it. This Tuscan treat was born in Siena. The occasion – a visit by Grand Duke Cosimo de'Medici III, in whose honor the concoction was dubbed zuppa del duca (the "duke's soup"). The erstwhile duke brought the dessert back with him to Florence, and although some suppose Tiramisu was the favorite of Venice's courtesans who needed a "pick me up" (the literal translation of "tirami-su"), its name evolved from the duke’s soup and today we can find tiramisu almost everywhere in Italian restaurants (and some local bakeries).

This particular specimen was from The Palm, an upscale steakhouse in New York. As soon as my fork cut into it, I cosmically sensed this was going to be special.

I raised the piece to my face and blissfully caught a whiff of the mocha infused in the crème.

The lady fingers melted in my mouth, exploding with flavors of bitter chocolate and coffee.

The burn of Kahlua and rum lightly singed my nostrils.

The textures of the pastry and custard washed over my tougue – silky, smooth, elegant, sophisticated.

I was in love.

This dynamic piece of food, prophetic in its effect on me, truly demanded attention from the eater, beckoning me to pay full attention to every glaze, whip, whisk and movement the calculated chef performed to bring to life a vivid and imaginative interpretation of this iconic dish. Inspiration incarnate.

And so began my journey to true understanding of a work of art. Simply put, inspiration translating into details. Sartorialists have their accessories, foodies have their spices, musicians have their staccatos, artisans have their brush strokes, etc. So many dissimilar manifestations all come from one place – inspiration.

I triumphantly found the words to describe this feeling while watching a friend’s father play piano at Carnegie Hall. I was so graciously asked to attend the showing, and sat with a few of his close friends in the audience. The stage, empty save a few chairs, music stands, and a stately grand piano placed center stage. This, ashamedly, being my first time in the historic music hall, I sat back and followed the crowd’s behavior as any well socialized sophisticate would do in a foreign arena. A hush befell the crowd as the orchestra took their positions, gently stroking and tuning their instruments as a warrior prepares his tools for battle.

Enter the pianist, a tall silver haired man with an upright gait and effortless stride. The musicians began playing. Notes intertwined with sound, birthing harmony, and soon I found myself attentively sitting forward harping on every octave played. The dancing of the piano over the melody played by the supporting orchestra, and later the collusion of a full orchestra to play a modern symphony piece made me realize just how amazing life can be when one appreciates the details. I recognized the happy peep of the flute, the sultry oboe, the playful clarinet, the majestic French horn, the pluck of the violin, the pulse pounding reverberation of the bass drums…

Suddenly I realized I had been whisked away into an all too familiar feeling. It is the feeling I get when I taste a commingling of rosemary, sage, thyme, chicken, cheese and a pinch of black pepper; the wave of elation I ride when my palette explodes from the mixing of a fine rose with a spicy garlic and onion sauce; the excitement in realizing that I can detect the subtleties of a hollandaise sauce or the berry taste of a scotch aged in a sherry cask; the fulfillment of creating a beautiful cake with a sweet and fluffy icing washing over me; the appreciation of a well marinated steak, a finely crafted crème brule – all works of art deserving of the Louvre or the Orsay.

I

felt

:::ALIVE:::

Thank you

-The UE

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Food > Life?

What is it about food that makes it so amazing? Well, I mean besides the fact that it tantalizes your palette, awakens your olfactory senses, is aesthetically more pleasing than 75% of women in NY, provides quiet time to converse with people….I could go on for days about what makes food so important.

But one thing I cannot get is why people put food before their own lives. Take this lady for example. Now I’m not going to presume I know this lady’s life, but I have to worry that she’s not being healthy.

I live and breathe in New York City, a prime location for someone such as myself to support my compulsive eating habit. As I was sitting on the train, I have found there are 2 types of people – watchers and hermits. Hermits tend to shy away into their iPods, trying to avoid any and all eye contact or social interactions with other subway patrons. Watchers have active eyes. We observe our surroundings for safety and for general entertainment. While I was on the subway a few weeks ago, I was struck by this image – a woman consistently feeding her body donut holes for 8 stops! Now, I realize this sounds terribly judgmental, but understand I, myself, am known to abuse the delicate, fragile relationship I have with food and my body, sometimes abusing it senselessly and having to then apologize and pamper it the following few days. But I have probably the most active physical workout regimen of anyone I know, so when I do fall off the wagon, at least I have some room for fault. I worry that my compatriots in the pursuit of food fail to consider the toll that cuisine (especially the more delicious items like a quality burrito or a well made gourmet cookie) takes on their physical body.

This begs the question – when does food become more important than your life? A good friend expressed once that to him, healthy habits should start now, and if a person doesn’t get that in their routine early, you can’t expect them to turn back later. I wonder if people consider how what they put in themselves now will affect them later. I find it odd that people persistently disregard how their daily habits can affect them long term. “Oh its just one more cookie”; “I’ll start tomorrow”; “I have good genetics, so I’ll always stay skinny”. Skinny with a gut is not cute – trust me, its in my family genes. Do they ever think about keeping themselves physically fit for their future spouses? Their kids? Themselves? Or do they even care?

I had a conversation with my mother recently who as of late has been re-mastering her relationship with food. Her motivation, she said, was that her only son had so much more to do in his life, and she wanted to make sure she was around to see it….

Who would you rather be? Its your life – enjoy food responsibly.

-The UE

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Texture Torture: Squid

I never thought my kitchen would evolve into a place of torture. I’m a female but not stereotypically squeamish. Others are free to disagree but this is my opinion. On Saturday, I was struck by my usual craving spell. This time it was for calamari. Due to my upbringing I believe in the integrity of natural ingredients. I submit to the school of “the fresher the better”.

I therefore decided to purchase fresh off the boat squid. I live in landlocked Atlanta so I took my local seafood grocer’s word about the freshness of his product. The squid was a limp blackish grey creature. I became overwhelmed by fear at the sight of it. It looked gross. From the eyes to the tentacles, I was not pleased. I touched it and it was soft and squishy. Being the brave person that I am, I kept my goal in mind: fresh calamari. I focused and pressed on. I checked my pulse and it was elevated. My anxiety level was high. Where was a sous chef when I need one? These were words that I thought I would never utter, as I can be quite selfish with my kitchen.

After staring at the squid I decided to act. My fear was illogical. The squid couldn’t hurt me but it felt so gooey. At last my mantra prevailed. In the face of fear, I acted. I proceeded to take hold of the squid for what felt like eternity. With knife at hand, I cleaned it. I will spare you the gruesome details, but sadly the anxiety level did not subside during the task. However, by the end of this nasty ordeal, I was satisfied to have conquered my ridiculous fear.

I am happy to report the squid was delightful. I made a sauce with garlic and San Marzano tomatoes, served over pasta. Any remnant of anxiety melted away with each bite. I will definitely make this dish again, but next time I will enlist the help of a sous chef.

-Sabor

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