If there is one vegetable out there more maligned than poor cabbage (one of my favorite things to eat), it’s the cooked carrot. Somehow, raw carrots are something even the pickiest kid will eat with a scoop of hummus, but cooked carrots conjure images of the frozen vegetable medley on a particularly bad weeknight in your childhood.
I had an unplanned hiatus from the blog for the past couple of weeks for a number of reasons, including a big project at work, a stomach flu and unplanned technical difficulties. In a bizarre foreshadowing, about three weeks ago my colleague and friend remarked that my the laptop’s desktop was a real disaster (she may have used stronger language) and that if my computer were to crash, I’d be very sorry. Exactly one week later when my laptop crashed, I was indeed very sorry. After some initial panic, it all looks like it’s going to be okay, but I have learned my lesson. I think.
Happy New Year! I’d say 2019 is off to a pretty strong start. I woke up on Tuesday morning clear-headed and well-rested (I scored 100% on my sleep app) after having turned in at about 11pm on New Year’s Eve, just about sober. And then I got to cooking through the piles of vegetables in my refrigerator, because one of my low-key resolutions is to EAT MORE VEGGIES. Marcella Hazan’s carrots with capers (a new favorite), swiss chard with mustard and creme fraiche and a British homity pie (shortcrust filled with mashed potatoes, leeks, onions and cheddar) made the cut for January 1, and I know they’re recipes I’ll use again and again.
As much as I don’t like to admit it, my approach to cooking probably reflects my personality and general approach to life, which has always been a bit…all or nothing. I’m either standing in a hot kitchen for 10 consecutive hours combining a bunch of ingredients I’ve never seen before into a science experiment until I push myself to the limits of my emotional and physical bandwidth, or I’m barely reheating old rice in a pan and eating it with a fried egg on top (i.e., I was too lazy to poach one). This past weekend, I found myself creating packets of Thai prawn curry in banana leaves and cooking them on a charcoal grill in 90 degree heat and then churning my own ice cream, thickened the old fashioned way with gum mastic and flavored with rosewater and cardamom. At 8pm on Sunday, as I watched the ice cream going around and around in my mixer, my roommate heard me whisper, “I think I overcommitted again.”
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