This is certainly not the way I cook. I cook the way I used to exercise---no distractions except maybe the radio, mind as blank as I can get it. And I like to do things kind of slowly, no rushing around. And I like to follow directions for the most part, particularly if I am making something new, but be able to get creative if I feel like it. And I like to have a big glass of wine, and maybe a second glass if there is any Down Time like something being in the oven. And I don’t want any help. However this does change once in a while because of my frantic schedule, and instead of calmly slicing up vegetables and drinking my lovely glass of wine I end up frantically mixing up oatmeal with a swizzle stick and sharing a plate of cream cheese/grape jelly Wheat Thins with my children.
you should read her more often. she's good.
she is comparing her way of cooking to jamie oliver. now, i would not, personally, compare myself to jamie oliver 'cause, quite frankly, i'm a little in awe of the man. i'd like to bear his love children, except i'm not having any more children and the kiddo quite enjoys being an only child (such luxuries allow me to entertain the thought of buying him an ipod shuffler just because, and he knows this. as well, he's quite content knowing that he'll probably get everything on his christmas list 'cause he's the only son/grandson. were there more children he'd have to share and he's not so pleased with that idea.) either way, if jamie oliver came by and asked me to bear his love children i'd have to seriously consider revoking his independent nation status and creating our own little un. actually, better yet, i'd just tell mr. oliver that i'd bear the love children, take the potato mashin, cheeky custard, banged flat chicken lovin' and secretly take anti-childbearing measures. not the best way to begin a relationship but seriously, now, all i'm looking for is a one night confection saturated thrill, not a committment here jamie and don't you think you are getting ahead of yourself a little? we just met. sheesh.
but i digress.
i think i cook more like jamie than like melissa, though i fully embrace the idea of eating crackers and jam with a large glass of wine for dinner. just the other night i had half a peanut butter cookie, two muscle relaxants and a shot of stoli. good times. i didn't share the vodka with the kiddo though. i mean, seriously now, i'll buy him an ipod but stay the fuck away from my stoli i mean it.
ok i just said i wasn't gonna compare myself to jamie, but then he got all uppity about me lying to him regarding children and committent and shit so i'm gonna do it anyway. i cook more the way he does than melissa 'cause i can't detach - i put myself right into cooking and feel it at my core. i believe that you should cook with your hands. fuck spoons - get your fingers in the bowl and feel the mix of the dough. squeeze the little beads of flour and butter and sugar between your fingertips, gently gently, maybe with a little more force. give them a squeeze and a bit of a tug - fire the elements together with the heat of your touch 'till you don't recognize the living breathing creature in front of you anymore. knead the dough; stroke it and ply it under the strength of your hands. give it a little slap and feel it quiver. not too hard though 'else it will turn on you - turn tough and give you a hard stare refusing to wield to your charms. just hard enough - you know what i mean - just hard enough to hurt but not *hurt*. no longer are you faced with a cool detached entity - the heat of your touch has melted it beneath your gaze into a languidly smooth expanse rising rising to a peak of pleasure. it's the heat and the chemistry and the fire. magic.
so anyway, i think that, in the kitchen, i'm more like jamie than melissa, though in most other ways i'm more like melissa than jamie. and i'm sorry jamie, for lying to you. call me, k? we can make some more custard and spoon.
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