On Adventures in Cooking

People often travel to foreign countries, go backpacking, or conduct science experiments to enjoy the fear and excitement that comes from exploring new vistas.  For me, such experiences hold more fear than excitement and more discomfort than enjoyment; instead, I find my preferred mix of these sensations by trying new recipes in the kitchen.

                As when taking a trip, embarking upon a new recipe involves risk; a failure could waste time and ingredients, but a success could widen one’s repertoire of healthful dishes and introduce a new source of olfactory and gustatory delight.  (Such a fun word, gustatory!)  While recommendations and clear directions may ease our concern somewhat, differences in personal taste keep us slightly on edge, as does the newness of the process, knowing that we might misinterpret some vital instruction, that a substitution for an unusual ingredient may not work quite right, or that our off-brand products could throw off the taste or texture.  I failed horribly when I attempted to make flaky croissants—perhaps I needed more butter between the layers—and my tough jelly-filled pastries weren’t anything like I expected.  I haven’t attempted to make them since, but I have continued to branch out in other respects.  Learning to make tamagoyaki—a sweet-and-savory rolled omelet—was a stimulating challenge, especially the novel technique of cooking with chopsticks as my sole utensil.  I still find the challenge of rolling the omelet without tearing the layers quite invigorating, and it’s been a great success with my husband.

Just as the risks change whether one ventures into the next town verses the next country, trying variations on familiar recipes feels far more comfortable than trying completely unfamiliar dishes—especially when we’ve never tasted the dish prepared by a professional.   Since I dislike the texture of eggs, I’ve never tasted the aforementioned tamagoyaki, so making it for my husband was doubly risky, and I was prepared to throw it out if he disliked it.  On the other hand, I can usually see just from reading the recipe whether we’ll like a new variation on familiar dishes like meatballs or stroganoff; I can be sure of its being tasty and only risk its being slightly less tasty than our usual recipes. 

A traveler may accidentally take the “scenic route” and discover something great, and in the same way, a cook may accidentally make a cooking mistake and invent a delightful concoction.  The error may come in many ways; I’ve sometimes started a recipe only to find out I’m out of this ingredient or that.  Other times, I have misread tsp and TBSP or mixed up the directions and realized the mistake a moment after the error had become irreversible.  Attempts to use substitutions or re-purpose ingredients for a different recipe have at times necessitated regrettable wastefulness, but at other times they’ve created a surprisingly pleasant product.  For instance, I accidentally doubled certain ingredients and not others while making chicken pot pie but, realizing it tasted a bit like I imagined a nicely thick potato soup would, I experimented by adding water, potatoes, celery, and other such ingredients, and decided I rather liked the effect.  It has needed very little adjustment since that first attempt, and I still enjoy making (and eating!) it every now and then. 

In a similar deviation from established recipes, like any scientist in a lab or artist in a studio, I’m sure every experienced cook has experimented in the kitchen.  We wonder, “is this step really necessary?” or “how would adding this ingredient or changing the timing alter the outcome?”  Our experiments lead us to discover the effects of baking powder, soda, eggs, and various fats, and to learn what temperatures will cook a certain food thoroughly without drying or burning.  This knowledge makes future experiments more successful as we understand what combinations will create which effects.  Further study in books or by word of mouth teach us techniques with foil and forks and the like that help us make an experimental recipe more successful.  It was in this way, by experimenting, that I taught myself to make a lovely clear soup out of whatever I have on hand or whatever combination strikes my fancy—vegetables, chicken, noodles or rice, and so on—and I can mix and match spices to complement the main ingredients with increasing success.  Similarly, I once had some leftover sopapilla dough and decided to experiment with making baklava based only on my rudimentary knowledge that it comprised layers of paper-thin pastry separated by butter and honey and cinnamon.  The baked result wasn’t baklava—not nearly as thin, flaky, or sticky sweet—but it did taste rather good, and I wouldn’t be adverse to making it again.  

Other times, experimentation comes out of necessity rather than curiosity: I had to experiment with the way I made nikumanji (meat buns) so that the buns wouldn’t stick to the bamboo steamer and tear open when removed; little squares of wax paper underneath each bun keeps them intact and still allows the steam to reach each one.  Similarly, my first attempts at frying spring rolls and sopapillas were generally successful but required some experimentation with the heat, timing, and methods of retrieval from the oil to get the best result.  Despite the challenge (or in addition to the challenge), watching the sopapillas rise and the pastry's color change remains a rather fun experience.

What does all this say about those who find such wonder in the kitchen?  That we’re domestic?  That we’re easily pleased?  That our world is small and cramped?  The former two may have merit, and I consider them positive traits in any person.  However, the latter cannot necessarily be true since cooks, like any other person, may extend their delight of exploration to other fields.  Even if they are homebodies, though, in the same way we take vicarious adventures while reading books, cooks can vicariously experience the practices of foreign kitchens and explore the tastes of different cultures.  This, and the natural desire to feed other people with the product of our labor, gives us cause to expand our "cramped" world.  Thus, if other forms of exploration don’t lie within our budget or interests, instead, we can expand our experiences by diving into new forms of cooking.  Each discovery of a culinary treasure among the flood of recipes will make it worth the risk and effort!

On the Love Language of Food

            Plenty of books and articles have been written on love languages, but I feel there’s a unique language that shares traits with acts of service, quality time, and giving gifts: that is, the love language of food.  As James Beard wrote, “Food is our common ground, a universal experience,” and naturally, it is a universally recognized expression of the cook’s love toward the recipients.  For this reason, most cultures consider the giving of food a necessary part of good hospitality and parenting, and we often give food as presents to everyone from customers and coworkers to family and friends.  Furthermore, we may prepare food so others don’t have to as a considerate act of service, and we typically use meals—whether homemade, catered, or potluck—as an icebreaker and time for fellowship.  (And food often functions as one of the topics of conversation!)  

As with any other love language, food given grudgingly or carelessly, or shared in an atmosphere of discord won’t communicate love—only duty.  However, assuming the cook has loving intentions, one can easily see the truth behind the adage, “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”  Cooking for other people is really like giving them a valentine.  When the food is well liked and timely given, the gift blesses both the giver and the receiver, and even if the fare is objectionable, often the thought still counts to some degree.  Even so, the effort put into the food does serve to demonstrate the depth of the giver’s love; while parents who buy food for their kids clearly care for them, the father who occasionally goes the extra mile to make pancakes himself and even shape them into Mickey Mouse, snowmen, and other fun forms, or the mother who takes care to prepare nutritious lunches rather than slapping together quick, processed calories clearly demonstrate a deep love that surpasses duty.

While time constraints, personal abilities, and proclivities may make cooking an impractical way for some people to demonstrate their feelings toward a person with the love language of food, even making an effort to remember the person’s food preferences or to buy special treats that the person enjoys can demonstrate affection.  Picky and careless eaters would also do well to understand this love language so that they can see the love behind even unwelcome gifts of food and learn to show proper appreciation—and to respond to the giver in the language they will understand.

On Winter Procrastination

            Winter seems to freeze more than the air, especially during holidays from work; the cold slows our actions and thoughts, making us sluggish—like bears without the sense to hibernate.  We allow ourselves to become prisoners of the cold, locked in our homes, seized by depression, and procrastinating all but the most essential tasks.  We seek escape and pleasure in books or games or whatever else suits our fancy, just killing time with the never-ending thoughts, “I’ll be happier when . . .” and “I’ll get to it when . . .” and when “When” comes, we sheepishly push the deadline to some point further in the future.

Which comes first: depression or procrastination?  It’s a chicken-and-the-egg question since the negative consequences of procrastination can depress a person, and depression can cause a person to procrastinate.  In this cycle, the best motivation out of both procrastination and depression is a mixture of hope and aversion: hope in eternity, certainly, but in the short term, hope that one’s troubles will improve by taking action—hope that by taking those single bites of the metaphorical elephant before us, we will gradually consume it, preferably before it spoils and gives us a tummy ache.  Next, aversion is not necessarily an emotion like fear or hate, but a common-sense avoidance to such things as food poisoning and to the pervasive smell of spoilt meat, and this aversion may further fuel our hope of eating the elephant in time to avoid these consequences and may motivate us out of our procrastination.  In turn, cultivating and allowing oneself to feel hope—and the simple satisfaction of acting can also help relieve depression.

Here I sit as a prime example, faced with a mess of colored papers, stickers, glue sticks, scissors, and calligraphy supplies over my living room floor and kitchen table.  I have only the aversion of the mess and of waste—and the hope of a clean house and useful, pretty cards—to keep me from chucking the lot in the bin and, instead, to motivate me to finish the partially-made cards so I may eventually tuck the materials back in their places out of sight.  The living room mess is already decidedly smaller, and I nibble at the rest whenever I can drag myself from the refuge of the books I received at Christmas.  In the same way, the hope of spending my vacation time usefully and the aversion of letting a month go by without at least two blog posts has prompted this contemplation.  The satisfaction of defeating these small battles with procrastination go a long way toward mending my winter blues.  
However, happiness in “I’ll be happy when” is too unreliable; when spring comes or the project ends, we need a new hope to fuel us lest we fall into a funk.  Ideally, our emotional state would be separate from our actions (or lack thereof) and we could be content in all circumstances (which would remove one cause of procrastination), but few people find this easy to accomplish—on their own.  As Immanuel Kant wrote, happiness requires “something to do, someone to love, something to hope for.”  Naturally, the first and best place to find all three is Christ.  His Spirit will help us win the daily—minutely—struggles against our human nature and keep our hope and zeal.  Success will come easier with practice in relying on Him, but as one might tell from the paragraphs above, I’m not there yet.  Well, I suppose I’d better praise God for giving me these (unwanted!) opportunities to practice diligence and contentment this winter.  :)  

On Essays and Expectations

        As a Writing Paraprofessional at a community college, I maintain our tutors' supply of handouts on all manner of grammatical and stylistic topics, often improving old handouts or writing new ones as needed.  Some time ago, I wrote the following handout, which answers the question I hear most from students: "What does my teacher expect from my essay?"  I'm rather proud of how well it explains universal college-level expectations for essays while also making a case for the existence and assignment of such essays.

What Professors Expect from Student Essays

Or How to Write A-level Essays

Professors expect you to follow the assignment directions.

                Anywhere you go or work, you will find certain expectations, and whether fair or not, you must learn and meet them to succeed.  Following an assignment shows, first, that you’re able to read and follow directions—a basic skill you need in any job.  Second, it respects the teacher and implies you care about your academic success—you’re not arrogantly blowing off the directions because you think they’re unimportant.  Also, some directions (such as using MLA or APA format to cite your sources) will keep you from plagiarizing, which can earn you a failing grade or expulsion.  Therefore, take special note of instructors’ directions about writing a given length, covering certain topics, following a specific format, avoiding certain words, etc..

Professors expect you to write in a logical, organized manner.

                Follow Western essay organization.  Start with an imaginative introduction, which may give background facts but won’t yet develop the supporting points.  End the intro with a clear, specific thesis (position statement) that you’ll support throughout the essay.  Start body paragraphs with a topic sentence, and order supporting points and examples sensibly.  Use parallel structure and transitions to help readers follow your train of thought.  Explain or support debatable statements, and avoid logical fallacies (bad reasoning).  Conclude by summarizing the supporting points and thesis—in new wording—and closing with a thought-provoking final statement or question.  (If you don’t know a term, look it up and practice writing it.)

Professors expect you to demonstrate deep thinking.

Professors assign essays in college because they’re the best way to evaluate how deeply you’re thinking about what you’ve learned; instructors will see immediately if you’ve only learned ideas on a low level like mere memorization and regurgitation.  Instead, they expect you to evaluate ideas, synthesize them with old ideas, apply them to your life or theoretical situations, and moreover, communicate your understanding of the ideas clearly and uniquely.

Professors expect you to use relevant details.

All statements, details, explanations, and examples must support the thesis well and be complete and clear.  Delete “bunny trails”—details or statements unrelated to the thesis.   If you feel a bunny trail relates, but the relation isn’t clear, clarify how it supports the thesis.  Don’t leave readers with any questions about your meaning, and remember that grammar and word choice may affect the clarity of your ideas.  If you don’t know how to make an awkward sentence clearer, try completely rewriting it or splitting it into separate sentences.   

Professors expect you to use appropriate word choices.

                Instructors assume you have a sizeable vocabulary by the time you reach college, and they expect you’ll use words that are correct, specific, vivid, concise, and varied.   Only use informal words like “well, you see,” “uh,” “yeah, so,” etc. when quoting someone directly.  Beware awkward wording, incorrect word choices, too many weak verbs (is, are, was, were, am, be, being), vague words (such as “thing” and “stuff”), unclear pronoun references, unnecessary repetition, and wordy phrasing that you could reduce with more precise wording.  Avoid condescending to your reader’s intelligence with simplistic words and transitions that go without saying.  Also beware of misspelling words with their homophone or another similar word, such as writing “defiantly” for “definitely” or “they’re” for “their.”  Finally, many instructors also prefer you avoid potentially offensive language, whether derogatory terms, obscenities, or profanities; you can narrate “He swore” or “She called him names that would have shocked her mother” instead of offending readers with the words themselves.

Professors expect you to use correct grammar.

Writing correctly makes you look more knowledgeable, dependable, and professional, and it helps your audience read and understand your work more easily.  Also, whether it’s correct or not, people equate poor grammar with poor intelligence, so readers will likely treat an ungrammatical essay (or resume or article) with disrespect rather than thoughtful consideration, even if the content makes good points.  Therefore, learn as much about the rules of grammar as you can, and practice them so you can write with more confidence.   If you have a learning disability that makes using good grammar difficult, ask for help from your teachers, counselors, friends, or family after doing as much as you can on your own.

Professors expect you to revise and proofread multiple times.

                Unless you’re a stupendous writer or your instructor is remarkably lenient, a paper written the night before it’s due and that has not undergone any revision or proofreading will likely earn a poor grade.  Most writers have to proofread more than once to catch the majority of their errors.  Refusing to revise is 1) arrogant, for even well-loved, published writers revise and need an editor’s help, 2) disrespectful, for it implies the teacher and class are not worth the effort, and 3) unwise, for it makes you look less capable than you really are and can earn you a lower grade than you’re capable of earning.  Revise and proofread till you’re pleased with the result.