Julie Powell blogged her way through the pages of Julia Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”, recording her experiences in the kitchen, followed by a national bestseller. This is not inspired by a cookbook, but my life 10,000 kilometers away from home, away from my mother and the meals she fed us, that appeared so effortlessly onto the kitchen table the I never thought how and where they came from. This is my journey, independent and liberated in a kitchen to call my own, without my mother whom I adore hassling that I have made a mess and soiled her stove top, or meddling in my pot, telling me that it should be done this way and not that.
Food is meant to share, as it is an experience that must be savored, not a drive that must be filled for the sake of filling. Now eating for one may not be as pleasurable or possible – I believe cooking in too small portions can be challenging and complex, and fortunately, I did not have to struggle terribly finding the second mouth to feed. I tried nourishing friends, in groups and in singles, but it was too easy. As much as they made little and big noises indicating satisfaction and begged for more, I was the one who was not satisfied – until I found my current guinea pig, an Italian of 179 centimeters with green eyes and dark dishwater blonde hair. I will accentuate that this guinea pig of mine is not a third generation who sounds like a New Yorker and speaks as much of his grandmother’s tongue as I do, limiting his vocabulary to si, ciao, and cazzo. No. He comes crisp from his parent’s house located in a small town in Northern Italy where everything is homemade and fresh from the garden, stressing and pronouncing English words and sentences no different than he would if he were speaking Italian. Moreover, he is a foodie who can cook, amused by not only the boring discussion of nutritional value – potassium among his favorites, but taste and texture, and every sense that a dish may tickle. He knows food and distinguishes great food from good food, and makes a mesmerizing penne with radicchio and sweet sausage that swallowed me into the depths of love. To hear little and big noises of satisfaction coming from him as he unhurriedly chews and swallows with his eyes closed and chin extended, completely baptized in each morsel, satisfies my urges and brings me to content with myself and my creation.
With my guinea pig enthusiastically on board and my high capacity belly always welcoming deliciousness with or without his presence, I pledge to create, cook, eat, drink, and enjoy, photograph, write, and post.