The Zen of Cooking

The "art" of preparing a meal does not come easily for me. Don't misunderstand. I love to cook (well, most of the time). When I first married, my cooking repertoire consisted of steak and salad. You can't possibly go wrong with that, unless you burn the steak (which I did) or drench the salad to the point of mush (which I also did). My Italian mother-in-law took me under her wing and taught me how to cook. No self respecting Italian mother would let her son starve at the hands of a wife who couldn't make a decent "gravy" (which is what Italians call spaghetti sauce). I learned to make a "killer" lasagna. When I say "killer", it is not only in reference to the compliments I get, but also in that it is a heart attack waiting to happen when you eat it.....four kinds of cheese, eggs, sausage, etc.

My sons, who love to tease, remind me that both their father and my present husband have had quadruple heart bypasses. I say it isn't my cooking but their genetics. However, my cooking now has been altered since we have become aware of all the information about cholesterol, trans-fats, organic versus processed, etc. So now preparing a meal, has become a science for me. But the art of serving it is still pleasurable.

Once upon a time, I would do "theme" dinners. It was fun to plan a meal for family or guests. I followed the Julia Child principle....butter and more butter and a little wine, a tad on the dish and a glassful for the cook. So just as my art has taken me in new directions, so has my cooking. I now plan healthier meals, relying on the vivid texture and taste of vegetables, grown locally and organically. I cook by the seasons and a Saturday morning drive out to one our local farms has become an adventure in creativity. We are so blessed here in California with year round growing weather. I have even managed to introduce some unique vegetables to my grandchildren, who think french fries are the only vegetable. They have discovered and like "spaghetti squash" (maybe it's the name). They learned to like "Grandpa's chicken". They never liked fish, perhaps due to living in Utah, so we cooked a batch of Cajun catfish for them and said it was chicken. They came back for seconds. Now that they are older and smarter, they still ask for "Grandpa's chicken".

But the pleasure of serving family and friends, enjoying their company around the table is what enhances the quality and flavor of the food itself. I guess the main ingredient is love and isn't it what we hunger for anyway?