Today is my day to shut off the world. I put on some music and then I start the process of what I’ll cook for the week.
I do this for more reasons than to feed myself. In fact, I see this as life saving.
I suppose I do this to keep sane or to forget what’s happening. I do this to lose myself in something helpful and nurturing, which means that I allow myself to replace thoughts with action.
And be advised . . .
I start from scratch.
However, and in all fairness, and to be upfront and transparent, I am not a chef.
Not by any means.
I have no idea what I’m doing in the kitchen. At the same time, I have a few dishes in my arsenal which I am proud to say that I have made them very well. However, not everything goes as planned.
But that’s a good thing.
Some of my dishes are good and just okay. Some are above fair. And some are more memorable than others.
But regardless of the dish, I can say that food is love—and therefore, the main ingredient is always the same.
You have to add love.
I suppose this is why I spend much of the day preparing something that takes a long time to cook.
I never follow a recipe.
At least, not really.
I just go with what I like or think or feel, and as I go, I add some flavor. I let the music play and let my apartment take on the smell of my own cooking.
I might dance around and I might not be wearing much more than boxer shorts which, of course, I had to learn the hard way . . you have to be careful when you cook naked!
My meals for the week are already underway. I started off this morning, early, of course. I took some boneless chicken thighs and figured—fuck it, I’ll make a stew.
I always start the pan with hot oil and some onions. This time, it was not much different—except, of course, for the chopped tomatoes, garlic and some white wine, since I’m out of red.
I like spice and heat in my food, which does not mean that my dishes are too hot, at least not to me.
At the same time, I take scissors and cut dried ghost peppers into tiny slivers, and then I started by browning the chicken and letting the poultry take on the flavor of the sauce.
The sauce tastes great, which is important because the stew will sit in the sauce for hours, and all of this is cooked on a low and slow heat.
I added some chicken broth. I peeled a few potatoes and cut them into healthy little chunks. I put in some sliced carrots and for this time, and perhaps this might be the time only, I tried my luck with some red curry—just to see if I like it this way.
The flavor says “extra hot,” but it’s not extra by any means.
As I prepare this, I find that I am not thinking. I am not angry or alone.
No, I am singing along with the music that’s playing in the background, which works best when I am alone because I’m not much of a singer or dancer. But hey, I pay the bills here, so it’s my place and I’ll sing and dance whenever and wherever I please.
This is something helpful to me.
The broth and the flavor of the sauce will be nice, and the heat and spice from the stew will be more to my liking than anyone else. At the same time, I’m not feeding anyone else, and if I am, anyone I feed likes spicy foods too.
At least, I hope so
Not everything needs to be spicy—
For example, I have a plan for another dish which I will cook later today. I like to have choices when it comes to my meals. I might do a soup at the same time, but that’s a call that I will make later on.
Either way, my next dish will be sausage and peppers with chunks of veal and some Iberico pork, which comes from the Iberian Peninsula in Spain.
They feed the pigs acorns and that’s all the pigs eat.
This gives the meat a beautiful nutty flavor. So, at some point, later on I am going to cube the meat and sear the veal and the pork. I’m going to quarter some tomatoes and add balsamic glaze, olive oil and, of course, I’ll add full cloves of garlic, some portobello mushrooms, not to mention the chopped broccoli rabe, which I think will add more to the fullness of the flavor.
And maybe I’ll clean my apartment later.
Or maybe I’ll write.
Maybe I’ll do something or maybe I’ll do nothing at all.
Who knows?
But I can promise that I will enjoy the smell of a good, cooked meal, even if I am the only one who’ll smell or eat it.
Food is love.
And sometimes, you have to love yourself perfectly.
But, I’ll be sure to save you a plate.
I promise . . . just in case you’re hungry, or you need some love because above all, love always has to be the main ingredient with any dish we make.
No matter what.
(Am I right?)
I have lived a life with ups and downs. I have lived in big houses and I have lived in small places. I have lived around others and had family gatherings and I’ve had company to come for dinner.
My life is not like that—at least not at the moment.
There are no coincidences.
And if I’m being honest, I’m not too sure that accidents are not intentional moments that happen with the intention to either bring us one step closer, or one step further from where we thought we would be.
Either way, I know that today brings me closer to something.
I don’t know what that means—but at least, I will be well-fed as I wait to find out.
I’m going to need some bread for later—like, as in a good semolina bread, or maybe a good Pan Cubano—or some Cuban bread, nice and crusty, flaky and tasty as ever. Perfect for mopping up the sauce!
I’m open to suggestions, but for now
Buen Provecho!
Enjoy your meal.
The Written Addiction 