An Omelette: Behold the Fork

Ridiculous.

I call myself a foodie and I've never perfected the omelette. I have just one thing to say:

Behold, the fork.

I have applied spatulae of various shapes and sizes with tortuous twists and turns of the wrist to pools of whisked eggs in skillets of countless and varied materials. Omelette shame had met me face to face so many times that I simply gave up and have avoided the dish among my breakfast offerings. But today, this glorious morning, I rediscovered the beauty of the fork.

Perhaps the commonness of a kitchen tool deceives us; I have so many forks in my kitchen that they simply cannot be the key to any particular dish. One KitchenAid professional mixer is the key to many a light-textured cake; one potato masher is the answer for soft, fluffy mashed potatoes; one fork simply can't make the difference, I contemplated at 6:00 this morning, rubbing my bleary eyes as I perused the directions for a "plain omelette" in LaRousse's Gastronomique. But I was determined and gathered my muster, fork in one hand, bowl of eggs in the other, and my favorite, simple cast iron skillet before me over medium-high heat, bubbling with a mere two teaspoons of melted butter.

"I really can't believe I'm going to fork these eggs to death and expect a smooth omelette," I mumbled. I went for it, rubbing my eyes with one wrist. Hurriedly pouring the eggs into the skillet I made quick work of whisking them continously with my simple dinner fork. Once about half-set in a curdled, wet disk, I tempted the cohesed eggs to move from the surface of the skillet on the side closest to me. They lifted in such a heavenly, easy fashion I was, frankly, stunned.

Now I love my cast iron skillet for its non-stick properties, but eggs are normally the curmudgeon that defies me, sticking with a crust, ruining my breakfast, leaving me with a mess to scrub, and possibly lifting years of my Grandmother's precious seasoning from the iron. But lift they did without a spot, and I folded the near side of the disk over onto the middle. Pushing the fluffy, folded edge away from me towards the opposite side of the skillet, I gently nudged with my fork until the entire omelette moved up the sides and folded over on itself.

"I'm done. I can't believe I'm done," I thought. Here in my sleepy stupor I had finally mastered a simple omelette. The omelette possessed that delicate fluffy sponginess I'd sought to capture for so long; it was light and delicious, with a hint of kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper (I was out of the traditional white). And it was beautiful. Without a hitch, in the blink of an eye, and with only a fork in my hand. No fancy tools, no spatula, nothing but me and the fork. Well, and Grandma's cast iron.

Sadly, I forgot to take a snapshot before I scarfed down my masterpiece. Oh well.

Next, the lovely souffle.....





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"+Food +Hot +Man +Cooking"

http://www.twitpic.com/191zn

Frombecca posted a photo of a marvelous-looking paella with the caption: "A man's job to cook paella?" (See URL above). Her tags, even more telling of the thought process, caught my attention:
Tags: +food +hot +man +rice +cooking +prawns +gas +paella +heat +cooking class.

I, for one, think these words stream so beautifully together. Starting with "+food +hot + man +cooking"....pick your word order. While I do Tweet with Becca, I can't speak to what intrigued her about paella and the tradition of men preparing the dish. Nonetheless, I am quite certain these ideas run together for many a female foodie and non-foodie alike. I know because I have been involved in numerous conversations in recent weeks exploring the simple concept of men and cooking. What intrigues us about an act so simple, so traditional, so unsurprising as men being personally and physically involved in food preparation?

I come bearing no answers, but do have an idea. We could pretend that the intrigue generates from the age-old conflict that gender roles have demarcated segments of our lives. Can we not move past the stereotypic "female in the kitchen" even at this point? You need not look past the kitchen door of pick-any-restaurant-in-your-city to find a number of males who are utterly food-savvy, yet when we peer through a home kitchen doorway we somehow still expect to see a woman standing there. While this does present a conflict, it is not what has my attention, or < I think, the attention of many women in my sphere.

Here is what I believe to be the real intrigue over men in the kitchen: I'd like to say it aloud (as loudly as one can on a blog page):
Women love to see men cooking.
Give me a man preparing paella and I'll show you a dozen voyeurs who'd gladly lean in to observe, giggling, oohing and ahhing, and not over the paella. Where the art and science of preparing food become alchemy in a man's hands, where he can be seen caressing ingredients, nurturing them, magically creating something delicious for a woman to taste, you've got a scenario more titillating than a paperback bodice-ripper.

Give me a man who loves to discuss how he culled radicchio from his garden and carefully incorporated it into a dish, or who had to rush to the herb sale for purple basil for a Thai dinner with his girlfriend that night, and I'll show you a swooning handful of ladies just drooling to meet said man. Regardless of looks or education or property or success in other areas, a man who can cook- better yet, a man who talks openly about cooking with a glint in his eye- comes very close to having any woman he wants. Let this be a lesson to my male readers: A man who cooks may cover a multitude of sins with his kitchen skills- provided that he exercises them often.

Forget whether it is a woman's job or a man's job to do the cooking. Do we really care any more? It's a relationship thing. Explore the pleasures of food through preparing it, talking about it, sharing it- and you'll find it can lead to a multitude of other pleasures. You can make your own list. Today, mine will simply be "+food +hot + man +cooking." Share

Spring in the Kitchen: Birthdays and Everydays

My friend Mike is celebrating his birthday by roasting succulent lamb and whipping up a handful of other delicacies for his family. In fact, he celebrates many days this way, with cookery, as do I. Lucky for Mike, his birthday is also accentuated as the first day of spring.

Some of us can't help being overcome by mental images of food on the first day of spring, from the green-purple lettuces being dropped into rich, dark garden soil to the tips of garlic just peeping out, to the hardy rosemary that withstood winter and is now looking fresher; I could go on and on. There's the obligatory strawberry shortcake, berry pies just oozing with fresh juice, pasta dotted with garden-fresh pesto, super-sweet canteloupe with a spoolful of yogurt and sprigs of mint... And, of course, the media won't let us forget that Easter is rapidly approaching, and so must Easter Dinner. So I'm thinking what a nice day for anyone to celebrate the day by taking hold of some fresh ingredients and creating something- anything- for the sheer enjoyment of artistry, tasting, and sharing with family and friends.

Personally, I'm impulsively driven this first day of spring by an urge to bake up a crumbly-crusty lemon tart, or a flaky, vanilla custardy milhojas like the one that practically took my legs out from under me and left me in a heap of ecstasy last summer in Puerto Rico. The taste of spring surely ranges from the obvious light, fruity springy flavors (berry trifle) to the more exotic (Orechietti with pea tendrils with a strawberry-basil mojito).

Regardless of what floats your "foodie" boat when you daydream of that first taste of sunshine and picnics and summery freedom each year, may I suggest you simply dig in? You need not consider yourself a chef, a cook, or a baker to gather up a basketful of freshness from your favorite market and let your heart lead you. Use your hands. Feel the textures. Revive your winter-dulled senses; taste as you go. Appreciate the flavors, one by one, and mix and match as you please. Take this as a challenge: As spring sun renews the world around you, let it inspire you. Go ahead; reinvent yourself in the kitchen. Enjoy! Share