Thursday, April 28, 2011

Week 11: Expertise, Authority


I absolutely love cooking; cooking shows, making food, cooking books, and eating out - you name it, I more than likely love it, give or take a few exceptions (no mussels or calamari, thanks).  Ever since I was young I have helped my mom cook in the kitchen, whether it is something as simple as scrambled eggs, ranging all the way up to Chicken Parmesan and above.   Where I’ve gotten much older than the days of yore, I am become much more affluent in the delectable art that is cooking.  I always tell my friends, ask me to make anything and if I don’t know how to make it, I’ll learn real quickly.  There’s not much in this world that intrigues me like designing a plate or preparing a new meal, and it’s something that I am extremely fond of.

I’ve watched my mother for years, preparing all of our families and other friends’ favorite meals: Chicken Cacciatore, Beef Wellington (I’ve always loved pâté), Peking duck, there’s just so many dishes I can barely remember and name them all but one has always held the position as my favorite, all-time meal.  I used to think it was spaghetti, mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup even, but nothing compares to the first time I tried Paella.  Succulent shrimp, tender chicken breast, delicious gandules, soft jasmine rice, among a myriad of other ingredients all baked slowly for about an hour, top it off with a little Goya hot sauce and I’m in heaven.  I never thought I’d ever be able to recreate that magic in a casserole dish that my mom made like it was easy as pie, until recently. 

In the past, if I were to be craving that wonderful amalgam of my ultimate delight, all I would have to do is simply ask my mom to make it and within a few hours, it would be seated in the middle of the kitchen table.  But just like every other simpler dish she had prepared that I favored, I had a deeper desire; I needed to learn how to make it.  I remember the first time I attempted such a feat, it was nerve racking, but now I can make it with my eyes closed – even though I might incur a few minor and possibly major cuts by doing so.

Garlic, Onions, Scallions: Check.  Green and Red pepper, Olives, Cilantro: Check.  The night prior I always go out and purchase everything I need to make it.  I break out the same casserole dish that my mom uses and once all of the necessary ingredients are in front of me, I take a deep breath before delving any further.  First things first, the garlic and olives need to be minced, the onions and scallions diced, same with the green and red pepper.  Once that is all chopped nicely and pushed to the edges of my giant cutting board, I push forward.  Next item on the agenda, I peel the shrimp and cut the chicken breast into square chunks and place them into their perspective separate bowls, easy peasy. 

Onto the microwave defrosting of my mom’s homemade chicken stock (yes, I cheat a little), it makes the rice so succulent rather than just using straight water to slow boil it in the oven.  Once that is done, it’s time to sauté the chicken breast pieces with a little canola and hot garlic oil, some grinds of pepper,  a tad of salt, all of my diced and chopped veggies and the most important ingredient, saffron – have to make sure to only brown the chicken though, otherwise it’s tough after the slow bake.   My mind races as I try to keep the pace with what I’ve seen my mom do. 

Right as the chicken is about ready, I throw the rice in to brown that a little as well, along with the gandules, shrimp and cilantro.  The delicious aroma starts to fill the kitchen as I am roughly half way there and due to that, my mouth begins to water.  As soon as the browning is nearly finished, in go the chicken stock and a few dry herbs to complement the other strong flavors.  I let it simmer for about five minutes and toss it gingerly into the oven at 325-350°.  Almost there, and it’s at that point that the anxiousness starts to creep up on me, so close yet so far!

After tidying up all the dishes and utensils I’ve used to prep-cook, I meander around the kitchen pensively awaiting the completion of the dish.  I check the clock rapidly as I peak into the oven every now and again to check on the progress, but not so often as to upset the cook time or the texture of the meal.  30 minutes transpires and I almost always try to pull the dish out early just because of the eager anticipation, but I resist because I know it’ll be that much better if I let it run its course.  Just a little bit longer now.

Finally, the timer goes off and it’s time to let the Paella sit for a second and think about what it’s done.  It’s always better to let a dish’s flavors marry once it is complete, the patience makes it all the better.  I call the family to the meal as I sneak a bite out of the covered dish, quickly so as not to alert the others.  Everyone gathers around the table, excited to eat, but none more excited than I.  The cover comes off and the hyenas converge – you know you’ve done well when the entire table is silent while eating.  Although I love Paella an incredible amount, there’s nothing more pleasant to a cook than seeing that everyone else is enjoying it as much as myself. Bon Appetit!

1 comment:

  1. The hallmark of the expertise essay is not expertise--it is writing with absolute confidence and sureness. In other words, the important thing is not the thing itself but the way it is conveyed--if it's conveyed with that confidence, the reader is wrapped in a cozy warm blanket.

    I feel quite cozy as I sit here typing my comment!

    Usually I push a writer to challenge the reader, to demand that the reader interact, think, work with the writer. It's good advice, but every rule has its exceptions and an essay like this shows me the limits of the advice. This essay is completely accessible (I'm almost tempted to say 'It's easy peasy.') and gives the reader a chance to simply enjoy the writing.

    Or...wait, I'm going to take back those last few sentences a little. As I think of it, you do challenge the reader on an imaginative level: we walk around the kitchen with you, watching you cooking, and, frankly, getting first a bit hungry and then a little pissed off that you haven't fed-exed a sample casserole to your instructor to show us whether all the flavors have truly married.

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