Through a long and convoluted route of emails and packages and hand-offs I found myself with a baggie of coarse ground heirloom red flint corn.
Whoever ground it didn’t hull the corn first, and I could see the bits of hull in the mix that otherwise looked like polenta. Those bits simply never cooked and were clearly never going to cook. So we had a dish that had, at its core, an amazingly deep and provocative corn flavor, but which was cursed with bits of tough, obviously nonsoluble fiber littered throughout.
It was sort of a bummer, but we all ate our bowlfuls anyway. The quickly sauteed wild-caught Florida pink shrimp and spicy okra with tomatoes helped ease it all down nicely, I must say.
I will admit that I loved my dinner despite the corn hulls because while I was chopping the okra my son came into the kitchen and out of nowhere asked if he could help make dinner. I was almost done with everything but realized that the shrimp weren’t peeled. I was going to cook them with the peels on (they stay moist and more flavorful that way and none of us mind shelling them at the table, least of all my dashing husband who, I kid you not, just eats them peel and all, a habit I find distressing but that he relishes), but I’d rather risk slightly overcooked shrimp than kick a willing kid out of the kitchen. So he stood at the sink and expertly peeled the shrimp while I cooked the okra.
I saw two ways to read his offer of help. The bad news would be that I’m so inaccessible and inattentive that the one way he can get my attention is to offer to help me in the kitchen. The good news would be that he wants to hang with me, really enjoyed our recent episodes of dumpling making, loves being with me and loves cooking. I semi-tortured myself going between these two extreme readings as I stirred the okra and he peeled the shrimp.
Then we sat down to eat and I had my answer. His willing effort came from love. Every good cook knows food tastes better when you remember to add the love, and I could taste it in every bite.
K | 14-Sep-10 at 4:48 pm | Permalink
I love your website, cadence of prose, Ladycandor and cooking aesthetic.
I care for a 2 year old monkey all week long- I am a live-in nanny- and she is the best sous chef I have *ever* worked with. We put on music each afternoon and I slice and saute while she peels garlic and other tasks well-suited for the diminutive-ly digit-ed and it’s awesome. She kneads her own little loaves of bread we make every week and puts all the peels in the compost, pulls herbs off the stems and tastes the jalapeños every damn time I turn my back and then yells for ‘wahtah!’ and eats all the cheese once it’s grated.
Anyway.
Everything tastes better since I moved to San Francisco and invited her into “my” kitchen.
While my preliminary research wants to blame the palate-paradise on the 2 to 3 daily farmers markets and a city riddled with eater/reader/cooks/food fervorists– my experience tells me it’s a little something else about love, too.
Thanks for this website and these recipes: you’re totally the kind of lady we would invite to our table for champagne and nibblies when we’re out and about in the Sweet City.
We always enjoy ourselves with your dishes, thanks.
Molly Watson | 18-Sep-10 at 7:41 am | Permalink
The fact that you’d think to invite me over for champagne and nibbles makes me think I’d like you, too. Thanks for the very kind words – you’ve made my day.
Elanor Zapoticky | 23-Jun-12 at 8:08 am | Permalink
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