The Foodie Who Can’t Cook

There, I said it. Well, I wrote it anyway. This self-professed foodie doesn’t actually know how to cook. Cook real meals, that is. I’m a master at microwaving dishes and adding fresh herbs and seasonings to kick things up a notch. And my cocktail mixing abilities have earned me some serious street cred… in the suburbs. And I can prepare a rather impressive arugula salad with real balsamic vinaigrette (from scratch!), but we all know that’s not really cooking. So, it’s time to let the cat out of the bag.

In my defense, I’ve never really had a compelling reason to learn how to cook properly. For the last 10 years, my husband (a.k.a. Chef Hubby) has been preparing delicious meals on a daily basis, and genuinely enjoying it. Which is bizarre to me. Personally, cooking has always felt like a chore that should be avoided at all costs, second only to picking up dog poop in the backyard. But Chef Hubby seems to experience absolute delight when flinging ingredients around the kitchen using various utensils that I cannot even pronounce, along with the occasional near-house-fire or near-fatal-injury and a steady stream of cuss words, in order to eventually produce a spectacular dish.

Because of his culinary genius, many of our friends were not surprised when he gave up his stable job to follow his dream and go to culinary school to become a real chef. And I’m beyond proud of him for taking this risk and finding his true calling, but I’m also faced with a dilemma…

Chef Hubby has landed the internship of a lifetime at a highly acclaimed restaurant in Atlanta for the summer. Which is wonderful! There’s just one problem. This means I’m going to have to cook meals for myself. On a regular basis. And microwave meals, cocktails and arugula salads will only tide me over for so long. (Although, if I’m drunk off cocktails, I may not notice how bad my cooking is…) Let’s face it. Eventually I’m going to crave the wonderful meals I’ve been so ridiculously spoiled with over the years. Something tells me you have little sympathy for this predicament.

I realized action must be taken. So I (finally) asked Chef Hubby to teach me how to cook. For lesson #1, I decided on gazpacho (a chilled Spanish soup) and spinach-mushroom quesadillas. Ok. Quesadillas are no-brainer, for the most part. We had some leftover speck (salty cured ham) from our dinner at Rooster’s the evening before, and I discovered that by sauteeing this with chopped mushrooms, red onions, spinach, garlic and a little chicken stock and olive oil, you have a GREAT filler for quesadillas. Add a little goat cheese to the mix and stuff into a tortilla on a heated nonstick pan and voila! You have a kick-ass quesadilla.

Now for the gazpacho. I started with:
– 6 plum tomatoes
– 1 large red pepper
– 1/2 red onion
– 4 garlic cloves
(all cleaned & peeled) placed in a glass casserole dish. Added a heavy drizzle of olive oil and sprinkled on:
– cracked pepper
– sea salt
– harissa spices
Then popped the dish in the oven for about 15 min at 450°. This roasted the veggies to perfection and I placed them in the fridge to cool. After everything cooled, I added 1/2 of a chopped cucumber and used a hand blender to mix the veggies, since this seemed less intimidating than a giant mixer or complicated-looking food processor. Luckily, this worked out pretty good.

After that, the tricky part began. This is where the recipes (or chefs) stop providing step-by-step instruction, and simply tell you to add seasoning “to taste”. What the hell does that mean? It means this is where the artistry of cooking begins…

You can follow recipes all day long, but at some point, you have to determine with your own senses what tastes good. Not just the flavors in the dish, but the texture, color, viscosity (my first culinary term!) and overall appearance. This is where I had to rely on Chef Hubby for some guidance. Something was clearly missing from my gazpacho… but what?

With Chef Hubby’s coaching, I learned how to trust my instincts with food. If something tastes too sweet, it needs more salt or acidity (like from a citrus fruit) to cut through the sweetness. If it’s too bland, it needs more spices to give it depth. If it’s too thick, you need to thin it out with stock; or if it’s too thin, you need to add thickener with pureed veggies or starches. I finally began to see the true art behind cooking, and the technique of combining flavors, textures and colors to create balance.

The ability to create this balance will surely take years achieve, but now I’m actually eager to try. Though I don’t aspire to be a master chef, with practice (and trusting my instincts), I might eventually become a halfway decent cook!

It turns out, my gazpacho and quesadillas didn’t suck. I might even be so bold to say that they were rather tasty! So, there’s hope that this foodie will survive the summer without relying on a microwave. Or arugula. But don’t even think about taking away my cocktails.