Bull on Cooking

Hair back? Check. Hands washed? Check. Here we go.

Measuring, slicing, dicing, peeling, grating, sauteeing, deglazing. Roasting, basting, simmering, baking, boiling.

The feel of bread dough clinging to your hands while you knead, cathartic. The wooosh! as the oven takes the flame from a lit match. Watching the dough rise, punch it down, form, slide it into the pans. Ah that SMELL in the house.

Cinnamon rolls sliced and rising, pillowy soft with their swirls of sweetness nestled inside. Dough so tender it almost falls apart on the tongue.

Stews, soups, braises, fricassees. Mind a whirling dervish as I pour over cookbooks from the 1800s to present. Looking at and rejecting a dish if doesn't seem just right. Who needs a romance novel when I have before me the 1933 edition of "Economical Cooking?" All these gorgeous old pictures of tidy homes, clean lines and all the alchemy you need lined up in the bakers rack.

Herbs snipped, potatoes sliced, a bit of this and a pinch of that. Magic. The internal roar of success when all the eyes at the table light up with that first bite. From the "mmmmms" from the young to the "You're a damned fine cook" from the elders, it's all delightful.

Cat snoozing under the oven as another concoction bakes. Lasagnas, spaghetti, homemade pies. Cookies, cakes and all the wondrous things that make your mouth sing. The zing of lemon as it hits tongue, the slide of butter. Pillows of meringue, minced meat loaves, barbeque, rice pilaf, racks of ribs.

The tremendous swell of rapture when the children come home and scent the air: "COOKIES!" The mad scrabble for a glass of ice cold milk to wash it down.

The hope on the faces of visitors and wreaths of delight when I tuck something into a bag for them to take home. Spreading joy, like some mad fae on the loose with mixing bowl and spoon.

To be able to break down something into simple elements. To not only prepare something that is nutritious, but delicious as well. To scoff at pre-done packets of gravy, sneer at boxed macaroni and cheese. To make someones day, to rock their world. To sing and dance around the kitchen doing what makes me thrum with pleasure, knowing it's pleasing to others. Making memories to go forward, to know that I will never be forgotten. That my recipes and heart will get passed down to some other kitchen sorceress. A beacon in the dark tunnel of take-away and pre-done.

Oh yeah, I got the power alright. And if you w

want to throw down with me, then BRING IT BABY!

thats hot

🙂

Pure poetry VB 🙂

On that note I'm off to make myself a big stew with dumplings and apple sauce. It's meal time here in England!

That sounds delicious VM. 🙂 I've a roast of pork simmering in the slow cooker with root veg.

god im in lov if I hooked up with this woman I would have to work out 12 Hr per day instead of 6ft 4in 16 stone I would be 6ft 4 in 40 stone.

I'm sure there are myriads of ways to keep the weight off. 6'4'', oh my. I'm 5'5'', deep conversations with your collarbone.