Dear friend,
I’m not sure if I should admit this or not, but I'm currently listening to Anthony Bourdain narrate his best-selling book “Kitchen Confidential” on audio. I’ve appreciated Anthony in many ways over the years — particularly when it comes to his philosophies on food and sharing time at the table with others. He recognized that food was a tool for unification, and as such, was important to the tapestry of being human. But he was also a crass man, quite rough on the edges, and the book (which chronicles his time spent as a chef in New York restaurants) is that as well.
I listen to the book while I wash dishes… wipe bits of food off the countertops… or scrub squished blueberries off the floor. I’ve felt a camaraderie to listen to the stories of chefs, line-cooks, and dishwashers in commercial kitchens where there’s always a plate to clean or a sauce to stir. It feels reflective of my labors in the kitchen, and as we all know, laboring with company is far more fun.
I can be bothered to make myself a simple, lovely breakfast. I’ll explain more below.
Tucked within Anthony’s graphic stories and shady undertakings, one does see a sincere delight for good food. He has opinions on shallots versus onions (don’t we all), sanitation (yikes), the perfect knife requirements, and why you should never order a hollandaise at brunch…
But the idea he presented next changed my small home kitchen… even how I speak to myself when it’s time to wash up, chop up, or stock up again. If you’ve been struggling with the demands of your own kitchen, you’ll find this particularly helpful…
Anthony also had opinions on our efforts in the kitchen, perhaps best reflected with his now famous quote on garlic:
“Garlic is divine. Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic.”
Too lazy to peel said garlic? Then you don’t deserve to eat it.
Do we actually believe this?
(Setting aside a more philosophical conversation on faith and Christianity being a religion of charity for those who deserve nothing, of course.)
I’m talking about in the kitchen.
Here, I think this outlook could do us some good. Sometimes we need the encouragement to stop complaining and moaning; a slap in the face, a splash of cold water to our heated cheeks, a reminder that good things take effort, a reason to roll up our sleeves.
I’ve morphed Anthony’s viewpoint slightly, reminding myself that to achieve good things, it’s okay to be bothered…
… to feed a sourdough starter a few times a week that provides our family with delicious bread.
… to tidy up the kitchen drawer so that all my tools are organized and accounted for.
… to transfer my salt into a beautiful container that gives me joy each time I pinch some out.
… to pull meat for the meals ahead.
I can be bothered to care for my lievito madre.
I can be bothered to time my foods as they bake, chill, and proof.
Golly, if it isn’t tempting to lust after convenience. Those tidy bags of instant microwave popcorn, cellophane wrapped meals, and perfectly balanced macro-bars seem a lot cleaner and tidier than sourcing and cooking my weekly roast, lugging out the meat slicer, and washing up the efforts afterwards. In such a moment this week, I spoke out loud: It’s okay. This is a good thing. I can be bothered to do it.
I asked my Italian tutor this morning how to express this idea in Italian but we came up a bit short. “To be bothered” only has a negative connotation in Italian, so “to be inconvenienced” was the next best option for translation. I suppose that works okay in English too: I can be inconvenienced to do this. But that doesn’t quite capture the spirit of it.
It’s not an inconvenience to do something, because convenience isn’t the goal of my kitchen. If convenience were my goal, I wouldn’t be interested in peeling the garlic in the first place (tracking with me?). In English, “to bother” can also mean “to make an effort.” For example, “Oh, don’t bother grabbing carrots from the market, I still have some.”
It’s in this sense that I, we, can open ourselves up to be “bothered” in the kitchen. To make an effort worthy of this grand work ahead of us.
I can be bothered to source good, seasonal ingredients — from my farm, or others.
I can be bothered to gather up the remains from my roast chicken and spend a few moments putting together a rich and roasted broth for meals to come. I can be bothered to get out the pink peppercorns, to decorate the deviled eggs with slices of purple onion and capers, to mix up a double batch of ciabatta rolls for morning breakfast sandwiches. To put it plainly: a productive, from-scratch, kitchen is not a convenient kitchen. It is a kitchen that wants your attention and effort, but also one that gives wonderfully in return.
Like peeling garlic. It’s a sticky, papery mess. (A good whack on the clove with the side of a chef’s knife helps exponentially, however.) But the garlic pays the cook back. They get their returns in full, and then some.
Love,
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