I realized a really funny thing the other day...

I started dating someone a month ago. (and omg, I feel so funny having to come out of the closet as a  STRAIGHT girl, which is so bizarre in and of itself, but yes, I'm dating a HE.  It DOES happen, you know! Nothing to see here, move along...) He's a typical bachelor,  eating out all the time.  In his defense, he's pretty busy, and doesn't have time to cook.  But, still, Jack in the Box is not one of the four major food groups. So, I broke my usual I-won't-cook-for-anyone-rule and I made dinner for him one night, very early in our dating.  Like week two.  I know, props, right? I made it in advance, and tasted it before agreeing to this. I am super shy about cooking for people. I'm convinced I cook like crap, and my family and friends are way to nice and supportive to tell me so.  But my friend Anita inspired me, she has a copy of Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  And, since I think Anita is One of the Coolest People Ever, I decided I must have a copy too. So I ordered it, sometime around when the boy asked me out, but not BECAUSE he asked me out. Come on, even *I* am not that strange.  When it arrived, I opened it, and it sat on my kitchen table (which is also my computer desk, sewing table, and catch all) like the holy grail on a shrine.  I was afraid to even open it.  (For the uninitiated, JC's cookbook contains no actual photographs, only line drawings. And those are of weird things like deboning fowl, and other gross things I'm too afraid to look at. Nary a one color photograph of prepared, delicious food.)  (For the really uninitiated, I am a foodie.  Color photographs of food are like food porn to me.  And I'm not the only one, google FOOD PORN. You will see.)  And so, a few days after getting the book and enshrining it, I finally worked up the courage to crack it.  Granted, it was when I should have been doing some heavy duty studying, but whatever. I mean, this is JULIA CHILD, for pete's sake.  Who can't bump some crappy java program to read about recipes FILLED with butter and other sins??? I did at least tell myself I would only read one recipe. Maybe two, if the first one contained weird ingredients.

I had some beef in the fridge, and needed to cook it. I was also craving stew. With peas.  Stew without peas is really just braised beef with vegetables.  So I found the infamous recipe for beef bourguignon.  Did you know it has wine AND brandy in it?? That's MY kind of recipe!!!  I sauteed the beef, added some shallots; then the alcohols, cooked it down, added the vegetables. Then I tasted it. Holy Mother of God, that stew rocked.  JC definitely knew what the hell she was doing.  So I figured it was safe to serve to the boy. He came over, he was hungry, I figured I DID have something on JitB when it comes to stew, since they serve a total of NO stew dishes.  I dished it up, served it, he took a bite. I swear he closed his eyes and MOANED.  I'm not making this up.  It wasn't a moan of pain, either. I think I then really realized the power of food. It conveys so much.  Pleasure, artistry, nurturing, freshness, innovation. Food rocks.

Bouyed by my success with the stew, I tried other recipes. I tried the gratin aux fruits de mer otherwise known as a creamed salmon casserole; I tried another gratin, this one with freshly grated potatoes, eggs, ham, and swiss cheese. I made the roasted chicken with tarragon, and served it with the butter braised carrots.  I served THAT meal with a Moelleux au Chocolat, otherwise known as a chocolate lava cake. That bad boy is made with 6 oz chocolate, 1 and 1/2 sticks of butter, and 3 eggs.  It makes 3 cakes.  You do the math.  I like to call that entire meal a heart attack on a platter.  I suddenly realized not the power of food, but the power to kill someone with french cooking.

But, through all of this, I still felt that nagging feeling that my cooking wasn't good enough, that I was not able to follow recipes and cook great food, and that I just didn't have any talent in the kitchen.  Then I realized what an idiot I am. I am so focused on the details and what I think the end result is SUPPOSED to be that I miss out on the actual experience of eating and enjoying the food.  My food IS good, and it is fun to cook for people, and show how much I care through my food, and my enjoyment comes from the planning, the preparation, the presentation.  It's such a waste of time to be so hyper critical of ourselves. Which isn't to say I won't always have that little nagging feeling, but I don't have to quit doing what I love to make it stop. Actually, now I feel like tackling some of the recipes with the weird ingredients.  If it doesn't turn out well, then there is always Domino's.  :)