It happened at lunch. My mother would make a peanut butter sandwich for my sister and me to accompany our soup. She’d slice the sandwich diagonally, give half to each of us, and we’d begin. We’d pinch off the corners, chomp half circles out of the cut side, spit on the excess and mold it into balls. Bread fortresses erected in front of us, we’d shoot dough missiles through the arches like marbles, aiming for soup bowls or open mouths.
“Eat it, don’t play with it!” my mother would shout.
Lunch would end soon after.
Did you conscript stalks of asparagus into armies, build mashed potato empires, launch dripping meatballs from forks? You don’t remember. You don’t play with food anymore. Or do you?
Even a practical eater finds it hard to resist the peculiar succulence of food remnants licked from fingers, a lover’s chin, or...well, you know where this could lead.
Ever been seduced by the colors and textures fanning around you in Produce, daydreaming about serving yellow peppers with maroon radicchio? Ever read a food label and realize it’s a list of ingredients for making a person? Adapting something you’ve disliked into something savory; tossing together nonentities and ending up with something delicious; wondering why you eat what you eat; that’s playing with food.
That’s what I’ll be doing here. Why me? I’ve always played with food. I can’t follow a recipe exactly. I often wonder about the magic that transforms the stuff out there into the stuff I am. My food frolics have inspired many to play with their food. I’d like to inspire you.
A few caveats:
My columns will include the play process that provoked them. I believe that if you “watch” someone play with food, you’ll want to join in. Let’s get started.
My first food game involves serendipity. A while ago, a well known spice company distributed packets of instant Alfredo sauce with selected editions of Sunday newspapers. Although I love parmesan, I don’t like Alfredo sauce. It looks bland. Its opacity camouflages any interesting additions. As I headed for the pantry to file the packet at the back for the impending Y2K disaster, I glanced at the instructions and noticed that a thickener was included. I could switch water for milk, I realized, leave out the butter, add spices and chunks of things, and make something I’d enjoy. Here’s how I did it:
| 1 medium Bermuda onion 1/2 red pepper 1/2 green pepper |
Chop and sauté over medium-high heat in a large, deep skillet coated with cooking spray. |
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1 10 oz. can chicken, drained (reserve broth) and chunked 1 packet Alfredo sauce mix, generic or “branded” 1 Tbl lemon juice 2 tsps curry powder 1 sprinkle cinnamon 21/2 handfuls egg noodles, cooked and drained |
Note how much liquid is required on the Alfredo sauce packet. Add lemon juice and broth to enough water to produce this amount. Dump liquid and all else in with the sautéed vegetables. Bring to boil, then stir at a simmer until sauce thickens. Stir in cooked egg noodles at the last minute. It’s ready! Yields 3-4 servings. |
Cook the noodles while you’re chopping, sautéing and stirring. Boil small amounts of noodles in just enough water to cover them. As long as you stir them occasionally to keep them from sticking to the pan, there’s no reason to waste water; after all, those packaged instant meals that include noodles don’t. Or, substitute cooked rice, couscous; whatever suits you.
Play some more. Substitute orange juice for lemon juice, instead of curry use rosemary, vary or jettison the vegetables: instant chicken a l’orange!
Use any cooked meat, fresh or canned, or just vegetables. To enhance flavor add bouillon or stock to the liquid.
Quick, easy, low fat, high flavor, serendipitous. Delicious!
| Text, Recipes & Graphics ©1999 by Gail Rae Hudson | Background Provided by
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