Let's Feast!

I tend to see magic, spirituality, and love as the essence of all essential things. Perhaps you remember this excerpt from an earlier entry?

I’m grateful for all living things. The souls that sacrificed their own potential so that I may live. The nuts and seeds that never grew so that I might; the lamb that stretched its neck to Heaven and the blade; the birds that gave up flight so that I may someday fly. I am grateful for all the souls, every one as worthy as my own, that filled my gut that made the blood that fueled my heart and filled my brain that gave me the sense, the wonder and the awe to praise the souls that sacrificed so much.

Preparing food…and breaking bread with others is, at its finest, a spiritual experience.

I am an unrepentant omnivore. I relish sampling the bounty of the earth. We humans (through a great deal of trial and error, no doubt) have identified all that is edible. I want to sample all before I die. I don’t have prejudices when it comes to food. If it’s edible, I’ll eat it (assuming it’s prepared well or, at the very least, passably...and the creature was not someone’s pet). I’m the sort who will invariably order something from the menu that I’ve never tasted before. I want to taste everything! I want to surprise my taste buds whenever I can. I relish the cuisines of all cultures. I enjoy the aromas, textures, spice and exquisite serendipities of flavors.

Life is a banquet. I enjoy feasting.

I love fresh foods…farmers’ markets. I envy the Asians and Europeans, all those who can buy fresh meats, fish, breads, cheeses, fruit and produce in open air markets on their walk home from work.

Oh, how I wish I could live like that!

I have been both a hunter and a fisherman. It’s not that I relish blood sports but, if I am to eat the flesh of another living being, I’d rather do honor to the creature, myself, rather than have my sustenance prepared by machines or faceless laborers and then swaddled in plastic. It’s a matter of respect.

I’m quite adept at feeding myself. When cooking solely for myself, I eat sparingly. I do not use recipes, preferring to experiment with my food (playing, if you will). I love unlikely pairings of ingredients, the magic of spices and, most of all, simplicity. (Give me a succulent peach and I’m happy!)

True joy may be found in cooking for others. On such occasions, I pore over recipes trying to find something that my guest(s) might savor. I don’t mind complex recipes, then. I kinda groove on testing my meager culinary skills for the benefit of my guests. I’ll confess, though, that sharp knives and whirling blades, mandolins and graters scare me. My culinary (ahem) masterpieces often come tinged with a bit of my blood (I dream of, someday, participating in a culinary class in Tuscany or Provence).

Confession: I can’t bake. I don’t have a “feel” for it.

I envy chefs who have an almost a mystical reverence for food. I regard master chefs with absolute awe. Their awareness, creativity and encyclopedic knowledge of foods and food preparation inspire me. I enjoy dining at truly fine restaurants, on select occasions, in order to taste foods and food combinations I could never create on my own.

I’ve had incredible, memorable meals (sometimes in the unlikeliest of places). I will forever savor those memories.

I believe families come to be bound together at the dinner table. The evening dinners in my childhood home melded hearts and sated hungers.

I believe love can blossom over a shared dessert.

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If, perchance, this entry has left you hungering for more, I suggest you run out and rent any one, or (better yet) all of these films:

Babette’s Feast
Like Water for Chocolate
Chocolat
Eat Drink Man Woman
Tortilla Soup
Big Night (thanks, Anna!)

They’ll leave you feeling satisfied. Trust me.

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Please, don’t get me started on the subject of wine…or cheese.