I hear many people say they don’t have time to cook. I hear Michael Ruhlman say,  ”bullshit” in response. And I have to agree. However, it would seem some people don’t.

This morning @Tanukipdx posted a lengthy (for twitter) screed about Ruhlman’s comment. In part:

Someone wants to say they are too uneducated/lazy/drug addled/asshurt or artistic to work they get sympathy. Someone is too self-indulgent/lazy/progressive/drug-addled/ or artistic to deal with society’s norms, laws and mores they get sympathy. But a working person struggling to balance the needs of their life who says they can’t find time to cook homemade meals? Ridicule them! Sir, you have grown too fucking self-satisfied and smug to be believed.
-from a post at TwitLonger

A couple things to note, given a cursory glance at the screed-author’s twitter stream: one, the stream appears to be the official Twitter account of a Portland Restaurant. Two, the author seems to relish a little confrontation.

My immediate question: who better to benefit from people feeling they’re too busy to cook than a restaurant?

That being said, I believe people use “too busy to cook” as an excuse. And in that way, it is bullshit. I’m amazed at what people find time to do. They go out to eat, they go to the gym, they spend hours in front of the television on a Sunday afternoon. They tend fake crops on Facebook. Maybe, rather than say they’re too busy, they should fess up and say they don’t enjoy cooking. Or that they don’t know how. Because to say you don’t have time is ridiculous.

Take me, for example. Cooking is important, as I’ve said, and so I make time for it. In addition to working full time as a Web developer for one of the Southeast’s premier health care systems, in addition to being an adjunct instructor at the community college. In addition to spending time with my family and finding time to write a novel (now in revisions), I still, somehow, inexplicably, find time to plan a menu every weekend. My wife and I find time to shop for groceries, depending on who is busier. I find time to make an awesome Sunday dinner for all of us, and I find time to create delicious, easy meals every other day of the week–breakfast and lunch for me, dinner for all of us. I don’t exercise as much as I should, certainly. And yes, some evenings I just can’t bring myself to go into the kitchen. Those nights we figure out something else. The thing is, I never say I’m too busy to work out. I just haven’t made time for it in my schedule. There are other things, like cooking and novel revisions, that are more important to me. That’s where I think Ruhlman’s “bullshit” comment comes in. If someone says he’s too busy to cook, he’s lying. He’s not too busy; other things are just more important.

Last night I got home from work and began cooking up a big pot of lentils. Not the fanciest of dinners, but delicious and wholesome. As they simmered, I changed out of my work clothes, and spent some time on the kitchen floor “cooking” with my eighteen-month-old son. I made sauteeing noises while he stirred a small potato and a splash of water in a small skillet. When the lentils were done, I served some plain for my daughter, then added kale for my wife and me. We all ate together at the dining room table, then went to the back yard to enjoy the cool spring evening. We ate ice cream, and it was awesome. And that’s why I’m never too busy to cook.

A: One good knife is the best thing to have in your kitchen. Start with a good chef’s knife that’s sized to fit your body. I use an eight-inch Anolon chef’s knife almost exclusively. I like its weight and balance, and it was pretty inexpensive, too. I think I got mine for about $20 during a post-Christmas sale at Bed, Bath & Beyond. If you want to add a second, go with a good pairing knife for small-scale work. A third? I’d suggest a small, thin fillet knife, especially if you cook a lot of fish.

Spend a little money, too. I know you can probably get a whole knife set (including wooden holding block!) for not much more than the cost of a single chef’s knife, but please don’t do that. Just go with the chef’s knife. Seriously.

I wouldn’t suggest sharpening knives on your own. Some people probably get pleasure buying a whetstone and oil and going through the meticulous ritual of sharpening, but that’s jut not for me. I don’t have the time or interest to devote to that learning curve, and the guy down at the local hardware store has a much greater chance of getting a good edge on the knife than I do.

Alton Brown recommends sharpening your knives every year or so, and honing several times a month. I value his opinions when it comes to food and cooking gadgets.

And it is so important to use sharp knives! Imagine how your face or legs feel after using a dull razor. Not the best feeling is it? Now translate that feeling to your kitchen. Your whole body is involved when you’re really cutting, and life is easier if you have a sharp knife. Which reminds me, I really should get mine sharpened.

As for technique? I can think of no better resource than Jacques Pépin. It seems full runs of his series, More Fast Food My Way are available via KQED’s Web page. Just watching him work with a knife is amazing.  If you search through the archives, you can probably find several where he talks specifically about various knife techniques.

Also, Saveur has an excellent section on techniques. Check out the various knife techniques on their site. They’re not the most comprehensive (no step-by-step illustrations, for example), but they seem to cover the basics at least.

Finally, practice. Carrots are cheap and plentiful and packed with beta-Carotene.  Slice them, cook them up as carrots vichy, and enjoy.

My intent was to snap a few photographs, get Aiden out of the house for a while and let him see the outside world. He’s four months old. It’s important to understand there’s an outside, a world beyond the four walls of our living room. And it’s important for everyone, not just four-month olds.

And so we walked. We said hello to joggers, watched motorcycles rumble past. We heard dogs bark behind slat-wood fences, and I took a photograph of the Texaco star at the station up the street.

Sometimes, life is perfect.  In those slim moments, a singular action transports you to a time and place that’s just right, that becomes exactly what you need.  So we found Northwood Bakery, stickers on the door showing credit cards accepted and a neon sign in the window: OPEN. I could smell the donuts from across the parking lot.

Long ago one of my New Year’s resolutions had been to buy local when possible, to eschew large chain stores in favor of local businesses. It’s been easy when eating out. Pick a local burger place like Louis’ over one of the fast-food giants, pick pizza from Satchel’s over any other kind. Lunch at Buddha Belly, dinner at Mildred’s Big City Food.

Other things are harder, though. Polaroid film, a non-stick skillet–these things come from large stores. And until this morning, donuts came from one of two places: Dunkin’ Donuts or Krispy Kreme.

No longer. I bought half a dozen donuts, placed the box in the low-slung cargo area of the stroller and walked them back home. They were still slightly warm when I opened the box on the counter, and their sugary aroma wafted through the kitchen. My wife and daughter and I each had two, light and airy and sweet.

Northwood Bakery
4917 NW 34th Street
Gainesville, FL
32605
(352) 376-5599

What the hell happened?

I’m not entirely sure.  I’ve been cooking and mostly loving my time in the kitchen, but I haven’t had the luxury of time to write it all down.  Part of it is a new photography project I’m working on.  Sorting and processing photos is surprisingly time-intensive, but relaxing and not as mentally strenuous as writing.  Writing’s hard work, and I just don’t have the energy for more than a few scrawled notes in the evening.  And I don’t have time in the mornings.

My son’s been waking early.  The time I normally devoted to writing up blog posts, from 5:30 to 6:00, is now spent laughing and bouncing and tickling and reading.  And given that choice, the blog’s going to lose every time.  Sorry, but it’s true.

So that’s that?  Well, not entirely.  As I adjust to the new time schedules, I’ll fit the blog posts in when I can, and I’ll try to get back in the habit of writing on Sunday afternoons or something.  Rather, cooking Saturday and spending a couple hours Sunday morning to capture it, keyboard to screen.  Until then, maybe we can talk about last week’s dinners, the failures and successes.  The surprise winner of the week? Arugula. Seriously.

Sunday- I have no idea what I made for dinner a week ago.  I would have to find my menu plan and shopping list, and I can’t right now.  They might have ended up in the recycling.

Monday-I teach Monday nights and my wife and daughter are left to fend for themselves like some kind of woeful pioneer family. I think they had a California style pizza that was delicious.

Tuesday-Lentil soup with spinach, then Parmesan orzo with garlic bread

An utter tragedy.  Not that anything tasted bad.  The lentils were made with three cups of water and a generous sprinkle of kosher salt.  I added the spinach at 20 minutes and allowed it to wilt down a bit before serving.  The orzo I made with arborio rice, white wine, kosher salt, water and Parmesan cheese, and it cooked up delicious and creamy.  But I managed my time poorly, and I took two times longer than expected to cook dinner.

Wednesday-Frozen pizzas: roasted vegetable and margarita.

I love my wife. After Tuesday’s fiasco she figured I could use a break from the kitchen.  It had been a hectic week and it was only Wednesday.  So she stuck some pizzas in the oven, they were ready when I walked in the door and it was the best mid-week present ever.

Thursday-tofu pad thai noodles and something forgettable

Average. Completely.

Friday-Flat iron steak with a simple arugula salad (so good!) and a top-notch Spanish wine I’d been saving since Christmas

Since my daughter went vegetarian we haven’t been eating a lot of meat.  I will sometimes roast a chicken and make my daughter a helping of tofu for her meal’s protein, but for the most part we’ve gone vegetarian too.  Friday my wife and I ate alone, and it was great.

Salad dressing on the arugula? Two parts extra virgin olive oil to one part lemon juice; a sprinkling of salt; toss.  The peppery taste of the arugula was the perfect compliment for the steak and the dressing provided just enough salt and acidity.

The wine was amazing.

Saturday- broccoli and cheddar soup

Good, but it was decided the potato leek soup is the best and this comes in second.  In my defense, the potato leek soup was seasoned perfectly and this batch of broccoli soup was not.

Sunday- black bean burritos with white cheese sauce

Given the choice I think we might eat this every night.

Begin with the rice

When the rice is done, combine a couple large spoonfuls of rice and beans in a tortilla, wrap, plate and drench in cheese sauce.  If you want, you can top with salsa, taco or hot sauce (or any combination).  Just an amazing, simple meal that comes together in about 20 minutes.

Note: this is a repost of an article from my previous blog. I wasn’t boozing recently, but my animosity towards the cupcake still stands

While boozing recently in celebration of a friend’s birthday party, the birthday girl reveled there would be cupcakes later. As I’m sometimes wont to do, I tiraded on the cupcake’s criminality for about five, maybe ten minutes before a well-tuned waiter asked whether or not I needed another heffeweissen. “Yes, please,” the party said in unison.

I can get pretty riled up.

However, in this case I think it’s with good reason. The cupcake assumes much of what’s wrong with urban America. At its heart it’s a selfish food, a sad food. The cupcake is lonely.

When we’re kids, the cupcake is wonderful. For Timmy’s second-grade birthday party, cupcakes are the perfect solution. Each child has something uniquely his own. Little Suzy can grab one, rush off to some dirty corner and return, eyes glazed and wild, lips stained blue-violet from the plume of sugar icing. And the teacher doesn’t have to spend 20 minutes fighting the tide of seven-year-olds as they ebb and flow impatiently, waiting for him to parse pieces of a larger cake. But at some point we must grow up and engage the world around us.

The cupcake is a lonely food, its single-serving size just the thing for someone on her way home from work. His way home from the gym. It’s designed to reward, to comfort the singular human. But doesn’t it then serve as a reminder of loneliness to the person it’s comforting? The individually sized dome of icing and cake, whether it is simple chocolate or some strawberry-banana-walnut-kiwi monstrosity, stands by itself, separated from the rest of its batter, sheltered in that little paper container. Each cupcake consumed on a park bench serves as a hat-tip to the isolation we experience even when surrounded by eight million people.

The cupcake is also a selfish food. It eliminates the need for compromise and communication. You get your chocolate, I get my vanilla, and the woman behind us gets her cherry-mango-coconut swirl-top kittycake with an extra helping of “You go, girl!” Each of us is happy, but for what reason? Because we get what we want? Getting what you want isn’t always the best thing, and it doesn’t serve as a way to think about the world around you. First it’s the cupcake, then it’s the Escalade. At some point we have to ask whether or not orange-raspberry-mocha right now is the best thing we can do for ourselves and each other.

I’m not saying cupcakes should be eliminated. I’m not saying they’re inherently bad (though I’m kind of saying they’re inherently bad). I am saying they tell us a lot about ourselves, as all food does–imagine a bakery creating amazing cakes portioned for three people–and that we should pay attention to that kind of thing. And next time you’re with a group of friends, see if you can make a cake. Together. And if you’re alone and headed home from work, make a friend. Then split something. Breaking bread is wonderful, even when that bread is sweet and topped with icing.