Vile. Disgusting. Crazy.
I wish I could add asinine to the list of words that my loved ones use to describe my cooking, but they have yet to dig deep enough into either their vocabularies or repulsion. I don’t want you to think that I am totally useless in the kitchen, I assure you that the truth is quite the opposite. I am awful at many things, including spelling and telling concise stories, but cooking is not one of them. I am now, and have been for some time, quite comfortable in the kitchen, whether I am cooking, baking, or far more likely: eating. Why such a negative review from your loved ones, then, Jeremy? Well, that’s an interesting problem. You see, because I am comfortable and, dare I say, competent in the kitchen, I sometimes become bored following recipe after recipe. This boredom leads to experimentation, and that experimentation very quickly turns into deep and unrelenting familial disgust.
My pattern, or perhaps compulsion, to experiment with food is one that has always been with me. I remember going on holiday with my parents and a friend from school when I was about ten years old. As it was a vacation, breakfast felt more like a special occasion than a regular occurrence, and we therefore celebrated by making pancakes. I say we, my mom made pancakes for the 3 boys (dad inclusive). We ate them, as is the South African tradition, with many sweet toppings, cinnamon sugar, syrup and honey among them. My dad’s ideal pancake is topped with honey, cinnamon sugar and a squeeze of lemon juice, and then tightly rolled, folded in half and held in one hand. It is a very delicate and expertly honed technique. To hell with crockery. Side note: I am beginning to suspect that my strange food habits may have paternal origins. Long story long, I got bored of the monotony of sweet pancakes and went to the fridge for inspiration. My next pancake was topped with smoked chicken, cheddar, tomato sauce (or ketchup, I am told calling it tomato sauce is a South-African-ism) in addition to the usual syrup. As you can imagine, many foul faces were pulled, the majority by my mother.
That is rather a tame example, but is the earliest one I can remember. Along the way I have attempted and failed to create many wondrous things. I once combined chocolate powder and apples in a smoothie. Please, learn from my mistakes, that truly was asinine. As I continued, though, I slowly learnt what works and what doesn’t, and once in a blue moon, magic happens. Hot cross bun ice cream, apple crumble milkshakes, vanilla and cardamom panna cotta. This morning I melted a Peppermint Crisp into some milk and then poured it into a milk frother. Jury’s still out on that one.
I suppose the joy is in the creating for me. It doesn’t really matter whether the experiment I’m working on is widely approved of or not. I encourage you to attempt to do the same: create for the joy of creating, rather than to create a meaningful (or even good) final product. Draw if you aren’t a foodie. Garden if you aren’t an artiste. I just had so much fun eating my smoked chicken and syrup pancake.