Half of it is the experience, isn’t it? I’m talking about the dining experience of course. Everybody enjoys sitting down to a well-orchestrated, pleasant dinner, rimmed with the tinkle of conversation and clink of utensils. Or it could be something a bit more on the wild side. Perhaps a bon-fire on a beach, with roasted meats and marshmallows on sticks being consumed while people party. I am not sure where you could legally light a bonfire, but it happens in movies doesn’t it?. The meals we remember are the ones where there was something special, or just really pleasant, about the experience. You could have lobster or a nice pizza, and if people fight over the pieces, or if people are in the midst of an argument while eating; it can really damage the actual taste and enjoyment of the meal. Your mind will be focused elsewhere, or perhaps you will digest too quickly.
I imagine situations in history where people had scarce food, perhaps an Antarctic expedition, or starving Jews in Nazi Germany, hiding in an attic. I bet lunch and dinner were memorable experiences for them, people forgetting about their common fears and reinvigorating themselves with the meal, even if it was just bread, cheese and dried meat. There is a technique common amongst certain tribes, where they bury food in the ground, wrapped in leaves and hot coals. Then a few hours later they return to consume the tasty, steamed food. People in cities have copied this method, in our age of gas heaters. Perhaps the natives appreciated the benefits of patience and anticipation in bringing people together. Maybe this is why the act of BBQing has so much anchor with me. It is deciding that you and your friends will prepare for one enjoyable, memorable meal, instead of just having sandwiches or getting Maccas.
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The interior is clean-cut, yet has a reassuring aesthetic. Conversations happen in whispers and quite voices, people admiring their food or glancing at other peoples’ tables. It is both the food and the mutual feeling that people are admiring. Fragile pieces of sushi, slim seaweed ring with insightfully prepared cucumbers, pickles, tofu or fish among other things. Seasoned with soy sauce and wasabi, the veterans know how much to splay on the pieces. Perhaps the sushi is large, heaping, loaded with fish eggs, but as carefully constructed as a tower. The delicate flavours sink into your taste buds just after the vague aromas waft to you. Salt and sweetness combine with the savoury, mushy rice; is cleared out by the sting of wasabi. Perhaps you prefer the meaty taste of sashimi, as clear and light as the fish itself.
But it’s not just the food. You can swing in to a Japanese place from your chaotic day, sitting down to ordered comfort. Clean tables, efficient service. The food is precise and painstakingly created. Tea pouring, the cups as quaint as Russian dolls. There is time for more cerebral conversation, the kind you may not be able to have in sweaty, packed restaurants. The glance at other tables is perhaps to confirm that you and your company were indeed lucky enough to have made it to a nice place. Like nobility, you inspect the pieces to choose which vittles are to your liking. Taking your time preparing each piece before you bite half of it, or perhaps you eat it whole and take your time chewing. These restaurants truly do meet the criteria of ‘going out for dinner’.
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Stress and health concerns are a problem for many modern families, and cooking at home may be a way to enhance your health while spending time with loved ones. Of course it is easier said than done, but when the idea works, it can be a nice habit. I am talking about cooking as a family. Mum and Dad can work the pots and pans, cut and fry the meat. The kids can cut the veges (be careful) and mix the sauce for stirring. All you need is some meat, a dash of ingredients, and rice or pasta; and you have a nice stir fry or a simple plate of chicken and rice. These dishes can be heavy, but are simple and healthy compared to ordering out. For those singles, cooking with friends (or your date) can also be a rewarding experience. If everyone in your household can be home in time for dinner, gathering them all up to cook together can be a good way to propagate communication and forge cohesiveness. It can be surprisingly relaxing to cook food that you will consume yourself, and it is most likely bound to be healthier and more chemical-free than foods you will buy outside. Enterprising individuals can find dishes that can be cooked hastily for those in a hurry. Just don’t think of it as a task, who wants to do more work when you’ve come home from work?
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A rough wooden table with a comfortable, though motley group of chairs splayed around; perhaps a quick walk down a wooden hallway to get to the restaurant proper. Maybe pop music plays softly as the chef bounces to and fro discretely, or maybe the clatter and commotion of the kitchen suffices for the background ambience. The food is a gamble, but more often than not, if one chooses wisely; it comes out a flavourful treat. These are the places: the places we talk about with our friends, bragging about our local knowledge and alleged friendship with the chefs. I can think of a local Thai place in my area, plain, slightly greasy interior. But the chef is a bowling ball of energy, a short man usually clad in a blue apron. Bobbing up and down in the behind-the-counter kitchen, he mixed prepared pots of sauces, throws in the right vegetables; never wasting time searching for anything. Some of the best Thai food I’ve had. I’m sure all of you know such places, it might be a small store on a large strip of restaurants. Maybe it is surrounded by dozens of similar looking restaurants, but none with its own culinary achievements. Underappreciated and work-worn, the local chefs flip pizzas and stir woks with a smile, happy to serve the loyal set and perhaps a few stragglers who wander in.
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For a while now, I’ve had a desire to partake of mounds of roasted meat, pig on a spit, crackling pork and roast lamb that slithers off the bone. Not just the eating of, but cooking of, such grand greasy things. Together with a friend of mine we have bought a bbq pot with what our budget would allow (for $100 we got an inverted helmet), and quested forward in our culinary adventure. The first weeks saw lamb chops and t-bones cooking slowly on our charcoal-burner. There was talk of rotating pig and rabbit, and where we could buy such things, of how easy it would be to emulate the feats of gastronomic excellence we saw on TV. But it never came to. Each week as we bought our supplies it was the same supermarket plastic-wrapped chops, which weren’t bad; mind you. I began to wonder why I desired these impractical dishes. When I thought of cooking these things, images of medieval tables laden with suckling pig and freshly caught birds rotating, sprung to mind. Grapes and cheese draped inbetween. Was it a desire to make mundane life grand one day a week? Or was it the primitive desire to make your meal with your own hands? I don’t know. But we’ll probably put off that spit roast we were planning. Maybe next time.
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