Pleasure and perfection
When you acknowledge, as you must, that there is no such
thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, the real purpose of striving toward
perfection becomes clear: to make people happy. That’s what cooking is all about.
But to give pleasure, you have to take pleasure
yourself. For me, it’s the
satisfaction of cooking every day: tourneing a carrot, or cutting salmon, or
portioning foie gras – the mechanical jobs I do daily, year after year. This is the great challenge: to
maintain passion for the everyday routine and the endlessly repeated act, to
derive deep satisfaction from the mundane.
Say, for instance, you intend to make a barigoule, a stew of
artichoke hearts, braised with carrots and onions, fresh herbs, oil and
wine. You may look at your
artichokes and think, “Look at all those artichokes I’ve got to cut and
clean.” But turning them – pulling
off the leaves, trimming their stems, scooping out the chokes, pulling your
knife around its edge – that is cooking.
It is one of my favorite things to do.
Another source of pleasure in cooking is respect for the
food. To undercook a lobster and
serve it to a customer, and have him send it back, is not only a waste of the
lobster and all those involved in its life, it’s a waste of the potential of
pleasing that customer. Respect
for food is a respect for life, for who we are and what we do.
When you’ve pulled your pot from the oven to regard your
braise, to really see it, to smell it, you’ve connected yourself to generations
and generations of people who have done the same thing for hundreds of years,
in exactly the same way. Cooking
is not about convenience and it’s not about shortcuts. Cooking is about wanting to take time
to do something that is priceless.
Our hunger for the twenty-minute gourmet meal, for one-pot ease and
pre-washed, pre-cut ingredients has severed our lifeline to the satisfactions
of cooking. Take your time. Take a long time. Move slowly and deliberately and with
great attention.
A recipe has no soul.
You, as the cook, must bring soul to the recipe. I can tell you the mechanics – how to
make a custard, for instance. But
you won’t have a perfect one if you merely follow my instructions. If you don’t feel it, it’s not a
perfect custard, no matter how well you’ve executed the mechanics. On the other hand, if it’s not
literally a perfect custard, but you have not maintained a great feeling for
it, then you’ve created a recipe perfectly because there was no passion behind
what you did.
Thomas Keller
No comments:
Post a Comment