Inspiration is a funny thing. I think whether you’re a
painter, a writer, an architect, a musician, or any of those creative types,
you recognize that when inspiration strikes, you’ve got to grab a hold of it.
Cooking is no different. Without question, those chefs you
see on Chef’s Table, or Mind of a Chef, or even something as bougie as
MasterChef (don’t tell Gordon Ramsey I called MasterChef “bougie”), are
artists. You can’t get one Michelin, let alone three Michelin stars, without
being a creative genius. But I think that sometimes, as home chefs, we don’t
take advantage of inspiration when it strikes because we think, “Well, I’m not
Ferran Adrià. I’m not David Chang, or René Redzepi. I’ll just stick to this
recipe, because who am I to improve on it?”
I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, because I just
read Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic.
Yes, yes, cue the eye rolls. Kelly (also known as Sister) had plenty of them
when she saw I had taken it out of the library. (Public libraries are an
institution. Support yours as much as you can.) But honestly, I enjoyed the
read. It wasn’t great literature by any means, Bridget Jones’ Diary probably has more to offer in terms of prose,
but it did give me a few great ideas, and it definitely made me feel more confident
in trying, and failing, at creative ventures.
Foodie-ism, while an exciting cultural movement I’m proud to
be a part of, has placed an inordinate amount of pressure on all of us to
produce gourmet food on the regular. This is not a food culture that embraces
experimentation, and by extension, failure. Have you been to a potluck lately?
Jesus. It’s full of Thai mussels, and roasted figs with burrata, and scallops
with whiskey. Long gone are the days of Jell-O salad and tuna casserole. You
can’t even have mac and cheese anymore without lobster and béchamel. And
honestly, I’m not complaining. If you want to spend $88.00 on scallops for your
kid’s soccer barbecue, you do you. YOLO, right? Fuck sustainability. Fuck
staying in the black on your bank account. Those other parents always bring
gluten-free, ethically-raised, organic, local lamb sausage with homemade kefir
yogurt tzatziki. Fuck those Joneses, am I right? You gotta keep up.
So, okay, don’t experiment on kid soccer potluck barbecue
day if you’re going to spend half the rent on scallops.
But do experiment.
The kitchen is not meant to be nearly as much pressure as it
is for so many people. It bums me out so hard when people say, “I hate
cooking.” Food is a blessing! Enjoy it. Making food is meditative. It’s time of
your day that you dedicate entirely to the nourishment of your body, and if
you’re a particularly lucky person, to the nourishment of your family’s bodies.
That’s worth enjoying every minute of, even if chopping garlic is the most annoying
thing you can think of.
In that vein, if you try, if you make things up, you are
bound to fail. Failure, in the kitchen, is disappointing, no doubt. I’ve had
epic failures in the kitchen before. I’ve
had vague failures in the kitchen before- once, when I had the goods to make a
cheese sauce, but no pasta beside lasagne bars, I attempted a lime pickle
cheese lasagne roll up. They were truly awful. Lime pickle is not meant to be
spread amongst pasta and doused with cheese sauce. This is not what lime pickle
was made for, and it was not an exciting fusion discovery. It was a failure and
it was truly disgusting and I ate as much as I could. I ate the majority of it,
because: 1. I do not waste food, and cheese in particular is expensive and 2.
Perhaps most importantly, I needed to understand where I failed. What went so
wrong? I learned a few lessons by choking down that dinner. These include:
·
When using ingredients you’ve never used before,
taste them first
·
Sometimes, tradition works
·
Cheese doesn’t actually make EVERYTHING better
·
Chunks of pickled lime rind are harder to chew
than you might imagine
There you have it. A lesson on failure. You can probably
find some great Instagram or Pinterest graphics to back up these lessons of
failure. You know, something along the lines of, “Your comfort zone ends where
discovery begins,” or some such drivel.
On the flipside (and we are getting to the recipe now
friends, it’s coming, there is one that goes with this post), sometimes you try
something different and it totally fucking works and you convince yourself you
belong on some bougie cooking competition show like MasterChef and you are
quite certain you are the Queen of your own domain and the next time you go to
a potluck you are going to outshine the fuck out of those Joneses. That would
be like when I made this delicious summer salad last week.
The inspiration to cook (see, I’m tying this all together,
albeit in long form journalism type of way) struck me as I was driving home
from the cottage. I’d spent a weekend in various levels of Canadian debauchery,
and I was ready to resume a semi-healthy lifestyle when I arrived home. Not
until I in fact, ARRIVED home, though. On the way home I stopped at a chip
wagon and had a poutine and Pogo. One step at a time, after all.
I was struck by the desire to cook something awesome, but
nothing came to mind. As Elizabeth Gilbert insists, however, this is no time to
give up. At this point, the answer is to seek inspiration. Nothing inspires me quite
like the LCBO Food & Drink magazine, so I started flipping through that.
Some of their recipes are pure silliness, like lavender cheesecake and roasted
figs with burrata (ha! Okay, totally kidding, obviously I’m making that as soon
as the burrata goes on sale around the way) but sometimes they list something
that I can make. And I especially love it when I have most of the things they
list.
When I first started cooking, I would panic if I didn’t have
every ingredient exactly as the recipe called for. But now I take that as an
opportunity to make the recipe my own. Same as when I love the idea of a
recipe, but I’m not crazy about some of the ingredients (I really hate ham. And
ham is ALWAYS in things.) So now if I’m not keen on a flavour, or if I know
something will be hard to find, I replace it. You can go two ways when you
experiment. You can pick a flavour that’s very close, or you can try something
totally different.
At the end of the day, it probably won’t be AWFUL. And more
than likely, it will be successful.
So the recipe now:
Theirs:
1 cup (250 mL) French
green lentils (Du Puy)
2 tbsp (30 mL) olive oil
3 cups (750 mL) sliced peeled squash pieces,
about ¼ inch (5 mm) thick
Salt
Curried Yogurt Dressing (recipe follows)
1 cup (250 mL) chopped radicchio
1 cup (250 mL) hickory smoked salted almonds,
coarsely chopped
⅓ cup (80 mL) dried cherries
4 cups (1 L) baby arugula
Dressing:
Heat 2 tbsp (30 mL)
canola oil in a small pot over medium heat. Add 2 tsp (10 mL) grated ginger and
1 tbsp (15 mL) Madras curry paste; sauté for 1 minute or until spices are
fragrant. Remove from heat. Let cool. Whisk in 1 tbsp (15 mL) fresh lemon juice
and ⅓ cup (80 mL) plain yogurt (ideally 4% MF); season with salt to taste.
Mine:
1 cup (250 mL) green
lentils (Du Puy No Name)
2 tbsp (30 mL) olive oil
3 cups (750 mL) sliced peeled squash pieces,
about ¼ inch (5 mm) thick
Salt
Curried Yogurt Dressing
1 cup (250 mL) chopped radicchio
1 cup toasted walnuts
4 cups (1 L) baby arugula
3 tbsp goat cheese
(sliced)
Chopped mint (garnish)
Dressing:
Heat 2 tbsp (30 mL)
canola oil in a small pot over medium heat. Add 2 tsp (10 mL) grated ginger and
1 tbsp (15 mL) Madras curry paste any curry paste/curry spice/ curry
blend of your own making after searching three stores for Madras paste; sauté
for 1 minute or until spices are fragrant. Remove from heat. Let cool. Whisk in
1 tbsp (15 mL) fresh lemon lime juice and ⅓ cup (80 mL) plain
coconut milk yogurt; season with salt to taste.
The Madras curry paste was a slight disappointment. But I
moved on after a second store and decided I could make those flavours up
myself. Guess what? It was still delicious. And majorly pretty. And frankly,
inspired, if I do say so myself!