Relish Cooking

As a self-proclaimed foodie dedicated to sharing exceptional ingredients and techniques in my cooking classes, I am, consequentially, committed to R&D in order to preserve the integrity of my name and business. For example, one would not expect me to stand behind the pairing of Smoked Pepper Trout and a generous pour of ‘Papapietro Perry’ ‘04 Pinot Noir without, of course, trying it! Nor would you dream I’d suggest a BBQ sauce comprised of maple syrup, mango and habeñero chili basted over grilled skewered figs before a thorough taste-test! Believe me, people - I do it for you!

Based on this constant meal quest in the name of “research,” one may venture to compare the number of memorable meals I’ve enjoyed with the number of calories in a Big Mac. There is, however, a far less impressive number than 560 associated with my personal experience of what I refer to as “culinary brilliance.” I can honestly count these precious moments on one hand (making a peace sign).

I’m not talking about great or even phenomenal meals…not genius-on-a-plate episodes prepared by world-class chefs (although nonchalantly inhaling the Pear Almondine prepared by Julia Child in ‘93 may be worthy of its own article someday).

I am, in fact, referring to the type of moment that is to never again be relived other than by accidental daydreaming or onset by the occasional waft of a familiar scent or song. This is the kind of experience that brings a trace of sadness at the mere effort of trying to recapture it…you know you were there…you know what you ate and who you were with, but the instant is gone. It is but a fairytale in your mind that no author can ever capture and the experience is best described as ‘tragically fabulous.’

A couple of years ago, I landed in New York City with a dear friend of mine, who also happens to be a great and passionate cook, where we prepared for a road trip from Manhattan to Poughkeepsie to attend a week-long bootcamp at the Culinary Institute of America. We were both thrilled to go on this several-hour-long drive up the Hudson River in the middle of fall, as neither of us had ever experienced the ‘turning of the leaves’ – something that words cannot describe.

Just before heading out of the city, hungry and unfamiliar with our surroundings, we discovered an amazing underground market in Grand Central Station, bustling with vendors and shoppers exchanging coin for brown sacks of cheeses, wines, hand-carved meats, fresh baked breads and a pluthera of produce, not to mention cured olives, chocolates, pastry, salts, oils, herbs and so much more! We packed a $300 lunch, complete with a rare bottle of cabernet and made plans to stop along the river on the way up.

Hungry as we were, we drove for hours, breathing the sweet country air, enamored by the beautiful gold, orange and red canopy that loomed above. Then the early afternoon sun began sprinkling diamonds on the meandering river and soon our reserved appetites began to grow. As we intensified our efforts to find “the perfect spot” to pull over and enjoy our gourmet picnic, “something” seemed to stand in the way for at least another 50 miles until we finally pulled off at a numbered exit that looked unpromising, at best – but with growling groin and Camembert “ripening” in the trunk, it was time to eat, even if in the parking lot of a 7-11.

As it turned out, however, fate led us to a storybook ending. We decidedly pulled off the next exit and came upon an old mansion-turned-museum where 3 Amish volunteers from the Historical Society were getting ready to close the doors for the weekend. We paid for a quick tour and asked if we could stay on the grounds for just a bit longer so we could eat and rest before the last leg of our trip. One of the lovely bonnet-laden ladies not only obliged us 30 extra minutes, but sweetly pointed out the window to a picturesque lake surrounded by willows and maples, complete with a picnic table and - get this – swans! So, to the imaginary tune of “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes” (Cinderella) we gathered our provisions from the trunk of the rental and raced to the edge of the lake where our dream awaited us.

Out came the stinky cheese, the $100 bottle of wine, the sweets, the savories and the warm bread. We drank from the bottle, piled layers of flavor together with a twig, and licked every last bit of sticky brown sugar from our dessert, saying nothing, then the unexpected grand finale…it began to rain!! Gentle sheets glistening over the lake, highlighted with the sun’s last warm rays…what words could we have said to each other? It was a very moving moment, a joyous gift that we’ll never forget.

A few months ago, I wrote of an Indian feast our family enjoyed with a beautiful woman before she passed, and memories like that are exactly what puts a smile on my face as I remember her – my mom. I share this with you, not to be a storyteller or suggest you mimic these events, but more so that you can relate to the beauty and importance of a precious, solitary moment when it happens to you. Perhaps it already has – and what do you do when its over? You could write about it or share it with your loved ones, but I think it best to simply savor it, relish it and be grateful for it, happily ever after.