Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, November 11, 1993 TAG: 9311100112
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: EXTRA-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: beth macy
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
I like to imagine the aroma of Chicken Dijonnaise from "The Silver Palate Cookbook." I like to recall the mouth-watering effects of Baked Olive and Mozzarella Orzo from "The Best of Gourmet, Volume VI."
I tend to shudder at the memory of strawberry-rhubarb pie from the bible of all cookbooks, "The Joy of Cooking":
The timer had just gone off, the guests were in the next room. When I opened the oven door and saw my simmering strawberry-rhubarb SOUP running over the sides of the pie plate - sans cornstarch - I had a classic case of Pie Anxiety.
I learned that night that a scoop of Breyer's ice cream can salvage pretty much anything, especially when plopped on top of the most colossal dessert.
Fall weather brings out my food fetishes. It's the one time of year when I like talking and reading about food almost as much as I like eating it. I don't actually like to follow up on Marcella Hazan's three-page recipe for homemade ravioli, but I like to visualize it, to think about the possibility.
A Realtor I know swears she can get four meals out of a single chicken for her family of three: baked chicken, fajitas, barbecue and soup. She's one of those Supermoms who can plan and execute an entire week's meals in a single day - and do it on the cheap. She makes me sick.
By the time I get around to actually making that new Lemon Pasta with Asparagus recipe - for which I've bought shallots, even though plain-old onions would probably do the trick - the asparagus looks like someone who's soaked too long in the bathtub.
My approach to recreational cooking has been a lot like my approach to gardening, mountain biking and other hobbies.
First I accumulate as much equipment as possible. Then I read up on my subject - but not enough to actually know what I'm doing. Before I have all the information I need, I plunge into the project . . . and then eventually putter out.
In my beginning years of cooking, I almost always invited people for meals that featured food I'd never before eaten, let alone attempted to cook.
This is a particularly bad idea if you're trying to impress your in-laws. Same goes for bosses, potential marriage partners, mortgage lenders - anyone who may play a key role in your future. I would give you some examples of such culinary disasters, but - honest to God - I've blocked them out.
I started writing about food and collecting cookbooks in Savannah, Ga., which is a great eating town. I never realized how much I equated food and Savannah until friends getting ready to vacation there started asking me for lists of places to visit.
I would send them to Tybee Island, but mainly to sample the eggs Florentine and pecan waffles at The Breakfast Club. River Street is always high on my list, too - the ships floating by are so huge and close-up that it feels like you could touch them . . . especially from a brunch table at Huey's, where the eggs sardou is tops.
Forsythe Park is a beautiful place to view the azaleas from a park bench. But before you sit down, be sure to grab a fried cheese sandwich at Brighter Day Natural Foods across the street. I've burnt five pounds of cheese trying to duplicate that uniquely wonderful sandwich at home; I've even interviewed the cook. But mine still turn out like grilled Frisbees on burnt toast.
Eating out is as much a guilty pleasure as reading cookbooks in bed. But when it comes down to it, they're both just substitutes for the real thing - for the satisfaction that comes from planning and executing a meal that delights both you and your guests.
While I've gotten some good ideas from books and restaurants, the best dishes are the ones handed down by friends and family. I have a killer Christmas punch recipe a friend gave me, known simply as "Joe Kirby's Punch." I have no idea who Joe Kirby is, but trust me - he makes a wickedly good, wickedly lethal punch.
My best friend Margaret taught me the basics of a no-fail chicken soup. And my mother-in-law - who had six kids to feed - is the queen of crowd-pleasers like lasagna, beef brisket and sticky buns by the four-dozen batch.
I've accumulated enough good recipes now that I no longer try out untested recipes on poor, unsuspecting guests. This goes a long way toward explaining why people hardly ever turn me down for dinner any more.
The old "I can't make dinner because I'm sick" excuse no longer works, either. As I said, Margaret's chicken soup recipe is virtually foolproof, and I do deliver.
In fact, eating my soup is a lot like being doted on by your mom. If it doesn't make you feel better, it'll at least make you feel guilty.
tagline: Beth Macy, a features department staff writer, once served strawberries dipped in burnt chocolate to actual friends. Her column runs Thursdays.
by CNB