I speak often with friends (especially those asking about improving their cooking game) about the idea of listening to the ingredients you are cooking with, and so creating an opportunity to let them speak to you.
While this advice might seem a little odd at first, it simply acknowledges the fact that a little awareness and presence will serve you well when in front of a stove. When you start paying attention, everything starts to flow freely. You are more receptive to change, and more able to create the results you want.
It kind of all sounds a lot like life if you ask me, and maybe that’s why cooking can be such an enjoyable experience. With all of your senses engaged, it becomes a practice that feeds the soul as well as your belly.
But how do you listen to your ingredients? Well, maybe we can make a sauce together, and that might help.
A few reminders before we get cooking. Here are three simple secrets to become a better chef:
1. Always trust your senses. You are the chef in the kitchen. Forget about the recipe. If it smells burnt it probably is. There is no recipe more accurate than your tastebuds and no tool more useful than your hands. Turn mistakes
into strengths and never be afraid to change, experiment and create, guided
by your best tools.
2. Your dish will only be as good as your ingredients. If you buy poop, your food
will taste like poop. Simple as that.
3. Eat what is meant to be around you. (But what do I tell you this for? You
already do this better than I do.)
Ok, let’s do a little cooking.
I take a pan and I put it on the stove. The dial is set at six: a lively heat, I would say.
But each stove is different, so here you might have to adjust things slightly. And remember we are trying to listen.
I pour a generous amount of olive oil in the pan. Pour two quick circles, the bottle tilted at a 45-degree angle. I peel a beautifully purple clove of local garlic. It’s so fresh its skin relentlessly sticks to the flesh, making it challenging to peel. I am getting excited thinking about all the things it will do to my sauce.
Pay attention to your nose now. I can smell the olive oil. The pan is getting hot and the aroma quickly fills the room. I just move the pan off the heat; I don’t want the oil to get too hot. The ingredients just told me something, so I respond accordingly. I listen.
I turn my attention back to the garlic: I always crush the garlic. Sometimes I leave it whole, making it easier to remove afterwards, but at the very least I always crush it.
Today I also chop it. I am not too worried how big. Some chunks are big, some small. I pile it on the tip of my knife and throw it in the pan with a pinch of chili flakes.
I put the pan back on the heat and then I listen some more. I am looking for a gentle cooking. Not too much noise — just a gentle crackling.
The sound my pan is making seems a little too feisty. I take it off the heat for a quick rest and lower the temperature to a four before I put it back on. Just a few moments and the garlic is crisp and golden but not burnt.
Again I listen and again I let the ingredients guide me.
Now I reach for a thumb-worth of ginger, chop it finely and follow it with some cilantro stems that had been waiting for their moment in the back of the fridge.
The stems of cilantro and parsley are packed with flavour and should always be used. Because of the higher fibre content, they are more resistant to heat and can be added at the beginning of the cooking process.
Garlic, chili, cilantro stems, ginger, a gentle sizzling, everybody is happy, and a beautiful aroma fills the room. Listen to your nose, listen to your ears. Everything is flowing.
Just a few minutes have gone by — a few minutes filled with simple gestures. I grab a handful of tomatoes I picked up at the farmers market (we were lucky to spend the last little while in the B.C. Interior, enjoying some top-notch produce).
I cut them in half and then once more. I add them to my sauce with a generous pinch of salt and a crack of pepper. Give them 10 minutes only on a gentle heat to concentrate the flavours and evaporate some of the water.
Chicken, fish, seafood. Maybe yams and black beans. Or broccolini. Maybe toss pasta in it or poach some eggs in it for a Summery Shakshuka.
All you need sometimes is a beautiful sauce.