I admit that when Janet and I were weekenders, there were often times when I resented having to cook all of our meals. It wasn’t that I wanted Janet to pitch in or to take a turn. She has no …
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I admit that when Janet and I were weekenders, there were often times when I resented having to cook all of our meals. It wasn’t that I wanted Janet to pitch in or to take a turn. She has no interest in cooking and, truth be told, I had no desire (nor did she) to eat anything she might have prepared.
What irked me was being stuck in the kitchen while Janet sat out on either the front or back porch, leisurely reading a book or quietly observing the dozens of birds that alight on our feeders and bird houses. It’s a beautiful and hypnotizing experience. I felt left out and put out, partly because I don’t ever just throw a meal together.
We rarely ate sandwiches, but on a day when I wanted a less labor-intensive meal, sandwich-making meant carefully layering honey-mustard or mayo on good brioche rolls, followed by a bed of crisp lettuce, then rare roast beef and/or a slice or two of honey maple turkey. Or possibly tuna fish salad laden with minced celery, red onion, and French cornichon pickles. The sandwiches were served with salty, crunchy Cape Cod potato chips and thinly sliced Klausen pickles (sold in the refrigerator section of Peck’s supermarket in Callicoon, NY). No other pickle would suffice. In short, even the simplest meal I prepared deserved my attention to detail.
So. there we were in our lovely country home for only a couple of days each week, and I was busy cooking, then had to turn around and return to the workplace before I knew it.
Interestingly, once we moved full-time to our house, my cooking duty stopped being a chore. The kitchen is my domain and I look forward to planning meals for the following day before we turn in for the night.
For some time, we have been eating only two meals a day. We picked up this habit in both Italy and Mexico. We eat a substantial breakfast, and a late, hearty lunch that’s big enough to preclude having to eat dinner. Skipping a late and filling dinner is a healthy choice for us.
This year, during our six-month stay in Oaxaca, Mexico, I cooked more than I have on any other previous visit. Our studio has an amply sized kitchen and we sprung for a toaster oven so big I could probably sleep in it. Over the years we had outfitted the kitchen there with just about anything I might need as far as pots, pans, equipment and housewares of all sorts.
I mostly prepared breakfast, which might consist of quesadillas, chicken enchiladas or savory vegetable bread puddings called stratas. We always had fresh fruit salads laden with the deliciously ripe mangoes, papayas, bananas and berries I bought at the local markets. Sometimes we each had a half an avocado, thinly sliced and doused with fresh lime juice, plus sea salt and a sprinkle of chopped cilantro.
We saved a bit of money when I cooked in the studio. But the food in Oaxaca’s restaurants is so amazingly inexpensive, diverse and delicious that we ate many more meals out than we did in.
We returned home in mid-April to rainy, cold and perpetually slate-colored grey skies. I’ve had to get used to cooking full-time once again. And as I write this it’s nearing the end of April and we still haven’t made it to the Callicoon farmers’ market. I’m not yet up for a walk in the mud. Still, we made two large shopping sprees, one to Peck’s and the other to ShopRite in Monticello, NY. The fridge and freezer are packed with enticing options.
I recently found a recipe in the New York Times by Melissa Clark. It reminded me of the Moroccan dried fruit and chicken tagines Janet and I enjoy when I make them. Clark’s recipe was based on a classic Ashkenazi dish served on Rosh Hashanah and other Jewish holidays. I very loosely based my recipe for chicken thighs with sweet potatoes and dried fruit on hers, leaving some ingredients out and adding others I thought would add some spunk. So, little by little I’m getting back into the swing of things.
Jude Waterston has had a passion for food and cooking for as long as she can remember. The first day of kindergarten had her glued to the “kitchen” in the rear of the room, with its stove, sink, fridge, and miniature pots and pans. She made her first (disastrous) breakfast for her parents at age seven. It’s been uphill since then. She’s been writing about food and cooking for over 20 years.
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