I’ve acquired some sort of flu-ish, cold-ish thing that is apparently going around. Supposedly only lasts a couple of days, but gee. Since I left work yesterday, I’ve dragged my feverish self from the sunroom sofa, to bed, to the living room sofa and back to bed. In the few moments I’m not shivering, when the ibuprofen and decongestant are working, I read cookbooks. When I feel too sick, I stare at the TV. The body is sick, but the mind is bored.
I have a good sized stack of what I call “Seminal Cookbooks” –the ones that teach you about foods and techniques you’ve never tried, or have so many recipes you want to try, the pages bristle with post-it notes. The books in this pile of has changed over the years. I've plopped the stack right next to me with my glasses and water so I can read with out rising from the sofa. Back in the early 80’s when I first had a kitchen to myself, Fr. Robert Farrar Capon, in his book “Supper of the Lamb”, taught me how to cut up a whole chicken, and divide a whole pork shoulder into smaller roasts. Good thing for a budding cook on a limited budget. I’ve been flipping through it today, and there are recipes in there that take me back to my cooking roots. So many things in that little book that seemed so revolutionary in that time, but so common now.
While I’m not up to preparing a meal today, I’m going to eat whatever Chuck defrosts, I am going to venture back to where my preoccupation with food and cooking began. Thank you Fr. Capon, wherever you are, it’s all been good!