Musings

Cooking with Intention

While in Los Angeles, I was invited to dinner at a chic Indian restaurant by my girlfriend and the man she was dating. I agreed but felt out of my element. I was raised in the South, eating Texas cuisine, and I have little experience with Indian foods.

Once, I sampled Indian cuisine in New York City and experienced the most horrible case of heartburn afterward. So naturally, I was hesitant about eating anything on that menu. My girlfriend’s date presented himself as an expert in Indian food. With great excitement, he explained all about ayurvedic meals and how the tradition was to deliver tastes in a specific order. He said I wouldn’t suffer later if I ate things in a certain order. I found that confusing. I didn’t want to seem ignorant, but at that time, I just had not been exposed to the idea of ayurvedic meals and could barely pronounce the word, much less understand the concept.

He went on and on about how much intention and love was put into blending ingredients when cooking Ayurvedic. I listened earnestly and then asked him if he had ever eaten Southern food. He asked, “Southern India?” I giggled and said, “No! Southern, like Texan!” He admitted that he had not (actually, I recall him gasping when I clarified my question.) I compared what he had taught me about intention with Indian food to my grandmother making pickles.

Making pickles was a task that took MawMaw weeks to do and required that she tended to the pickles each day so they would be delicious—not too bitter and perfectly crisp. The pickles she made had the perfect blend of fresh dill and cucumbers grown in her garden mixed with vinegar, spices, love, and devotion.

After our dinner that night, my California friends and I agreed that whether we prepared our food Indian style or Texas style, the key was adding the right amount of devotion and love to the action of preparing food.

I can recall visions of my grandmother in the kitchen putting together meals for us, an extra-large brood of eight children, plus spouses, plus grandchildren. Most vividly, I remember her frying chicken in a cast-iron skillet and how she mixed hot bacon grease with vinegar to make the most delicious salad dressing. Today, many people would think this kind of diet is unhealthy, but when my grandmother cooked it, I think it was infused with something fed more than your stomach.

What my family taught me about cooking is precious. My memories of the times we have spent in the kitchen in conversation while preparing meals are also special.

One More Thing…

My family has most definitely influenced my cooking, but I must say that my mother-in-law Jane gave me the ultimate secret to this art. Jane (we all called her Grandmother) had six children. She subscribed to the same theory that my Dad does about how to get your grown children to visit often: “If you feed them WELL, they will come back!” As I think about food and gatherings, they bring the family together through disagreements and challenges that naturally happen within families.

My husband Tom loved his mom’s cooking, and Jane was happy to cook his favorite things. It gave both of them a great deal of pleasure. My son Jerry loved Grandmother’s yeast rolls. There was something special about those rolls. As a child, I remember Jerry happily eating 4-5 rolls and not a bite of the other dishes that made up the meal.

Jane’s rolls were made from store-bought frozen dough balls that anyone could buy at the grocery store. What made those rolls so special? They rose perfectly and uniformly, were golden brown in the right places, and soft on the bottom with just a hint of crisp outside. Yum! Jane shared her secret to great rolls with us. She put on a pair of disposable rubber gloves, put a dab of shortening in the palm of her hand, and rolled the frozen dough balls in her hands before placing them in a greased muffin tin to rise. That special technique kept the rolls from sticking to the pan, helped them to brown more evenly, and also created the touch of crispness we all loved.

Jane went on to share that her philosophy on cooking was simple: follow the recipe, then just add one more thing. I found her insight to be profound. After she shared that idea with me, I started experimenting more with food. In the past, I had followed the directions precisely, but soon after learning this wisdom, I became more experimental. If I messed something up, then we could always have a sandwich for supper. I considered what I was cooking and looked into the pantry to figure out what creative things I could add in touches or bits. As I got better at adding just one thing, soon I was adding two things, three things, and then I became so confident that I didn’t need to strictly follow recipes any longer.

Now I realize what Jane taught me was not only the secret to cooking; it was a secret to doing anything well in life.

That simple concept can be applied to anything we do. We begin whatever we are to do by following guidelines that have worked well for others. Then, we add in our own unique flavor until it belongs to us. Thus, we become experts and more excited about our own creativity. I am so thankful that my mother-in-law Jane taught me this secret.

So next time you read a recipe, think like Jane and try adding just one more thing. I know it will add wonderful things to your meals and life.