The other day I saw a list of questions for things to write if one doesn’t have a subject at hand. One was “best meal.” After a lifetime of holding in opinions, I’ve a boatload of things to blog about, some culinary and most, due to our dangerous political atmosphere, related to maintaining and renewing our democracy.
But for a few moments, permit me to reminisce. I’ve been a foodie since I can remember. I learned to read early and the first book I borrowed from our small hometown library was the Betty Crocker Boys & Girls Cookbook. I kept it long enough to amass $.32 in late fees so on my birthday a few weeks later I received my own copy. I started with the carrot curls and before long was organizing themed birthday parties for my little brother (7 years younger) like King and Queen, but the best was Pirate Treasure Hunt. Cardboard trefoil hats and foil-wrapped “daggers,” plus a treasure chest cake.
I’ve had the good fortune to go to French cooking school in NYC and Italian cooking school (a 40th birthday gift) in Tuscany, and have eaten fantastic meals at home and in many restaurants in other countries as well.
For my brother’s 18th birthday (the 17th we were in Paris) I brought him whitewater rafting in the Adirondacks. Class V rapids, scary stuff. We got up at 4 a.m., drove to the site and, in fifty degree indoor weather donned the wet wetsuits of yesterday’s victims. Brrr. Then we all had a paddling lesson, emergency procedures et al and headed to the guided rafts.
About halfway down our raft hit a rock and I popped out into the freezing water. Just popped. I remembered my instructions and headed downstream, feet first, paddle held across my chest. I was oddly calm the entire time. Another raft helped rescue me but then our raft got pulled into an eddy. All hands on deck, we emerged with a lot of help from other rafts.
A few moments later we landed at our midway lunch site. Someone handed me a styrofoam cup filled with hot broth. I sipped it and had never tasted anything better. It was salty, probably cheap powdered broth but it warmed my bones and was incredibly delicious. I don’t even remember what we ate after that, I think tough steak and potatoes over a wood fire. But that broth… elixir of life.
I meandered around, warm and fuzzy and feeling just fine until I heard the raft guides talking about how everyone could have been pulled under and died. All of a sudden my hands began shaking and I started to feel an overwhelming sense of relief that we all got through it alive, and that they had done that for me. Little old me.
There are many other memorable meals, but the best were simple. Probably why I prefer simple Italian cooking to fussy Frenchified stuff. After all, French sauces were created to make rotting meat palatable, before refrigeration made our lives easier. I remember sitting on the Piazza in Siena where the annual Palio horse race is conducted. I got a heavenly slice of pizza with thinly sliced potato and rosemary. What American knew that pizza could be pizza without tomato, mozz and pepperoni? Also, Ciabatta bread beats Wonder every day of the week and twice on Sunday.
Some family members chastise the cooks among us for always talking about food or planning meals. But they eat everything we make for them! With gusto! To me, food is always an adventure. Do you have a broth story to share? Buon appetito, Dee
Cooking with Dee 