Good chefs can only rely on recipes, but they can only do that. Chef Daniel Patterson has studied the pitfalls of written instructions and urged you to return to a riskier approach and ultimately get a greater return.
I've never been passionate about technology, so when I recently bought a car that came with GPS, I thought the device would be largely unused. But a few months later, on my way to visit friends from my new home in Oakland, California, I decided to give it a try. The voice of a patient and determined woman easily guided me to the exact position, and to my surprise, I fell in love with the feature. One night, when I drove to see my friend for the fourth or fifth time, I realized I didn't know where to go. I have been blindly following the instructions of unreal voices without paying attention to where I am going.
This haunts me endlessly. I want to think that I will not automatically take the path of least resistance, but here, I am in a full surrender mode. As I moved forward, I considered the possibility that our national obsession with convenience could also adversely affect other areas of our lives. Just like we cook.
I always think of recipes as a cooking roadmap, which delineates the route from the ingredient list to the finished dish-not so strict rules, but a set of guidelines that guide the work. Not all factors are included in the formula. Things like ingredients, pans, ovens and even humidity all play a role in the end result. Just as there are no tips such as "Stop the Red Light" and "Don't drive into the oncoming traffic" in the driving directions, the recipe must have some basic knowledge. But by carefully reading the variety of recipes posted these days, it is clear that the baseline has fallen to a dangerous level. It seems that people have started using recipes in a way that uses GPS-something will go from one place to another in an unthinking way without noticing the route.
Good cooks rely on recipes to some extent. In a professional kitchen, recipes are critical to creating consistent food, so everyone can reach the same place in the same way. But chefs who rely on strictly codified formulas will miss what really matters. Are carrots more or less sweet, or more or less tender? Is ginger very strong and should be used sparingly, or too weak to the specified amount? Or the trickiest question: How long does it take to cook in a specific oven with specific ingredients on a specific day?
When I write my recipe, how long should this question take to get mentioned early and often. My publisher seems to think that recipes will be followed by those who are attentive and easily confused. I try my best to be accurate, but telling someone to cook a fish for 5 minutes is like saying "drive 5 minutes and turn right". Sometimes you are on the road, other times you are on the side of a building.
It wasn't until the past year that I spent in the restaurant kitchen and cooked at home with friends that I didn't start to understand what was happening. Those chefs who cook comfortably (usually half-trained (one year's mealtime, etc.) or learn cooking from family) start with the ingredients at hand and weave them into sticky dishes. When conditions don't exactly match the recipe creator's kitchen, the literal meaning is even more confusing, and the results are often shocking. Then they will tell me "the recipe is not valid" or more often "I am not a good cook" and I will answer "meaningless". Anyone who can raise children, pay bills, or otherwise participate in society's operations can learn how to cook good food. It's all in the method.
Take kale as an example. When I brought something to a friend's house in Auckland for dinner one night, I was stopped. I don't remember the exact time of communication, but the words "tough and chewy" are obvious. Therefore, I showed them a simple and easy way to prepare stews: in a covered pot, slice the onions in olive oil over low heat, and cook with a little salt until tender. Add washed kale, cut into two-inch pieces, add a little water and more salt. Cover the pot and cook over medium heat, stirring once in a while, until it becomes soft. Still not tender? carry on. Has the water evaporated? Add more. Before serving, you can season with olive oil, lemon, and pepper flakes, and then season at will. I refuse to answer their repeated inquiries about how long it takes to cook rice, just say it again, and continue tasting: when the taste is good. This was a revelation for them, that cooked vegetables became the staple of their meals, and they were easily and perfectly cooked every time because they understood the reason behind it.
Everyone says that baking is different; it all depends on the accuracy of the recipe and how closely it is followed. But this is not entirely true. Last year, I made a moist, delightful, on-demand chocolate cake at a party in Park City, Utah. I followed the recipe exactly and forgot I was at the ski resort. As I found out, altitude affects moisture content, which causes moisture to dry out without creating a pleasant baked food.
When I returned to San Francisco, I decided to make up for my baking flaws. I first recreated the recipes from Rose Levy Beranbaum's Cake Bible and then used these basics as a starting point for creating new recipes. There are some notable disasters, such as my first attempt at cornmeal butter cake. I started with the yellow cake recipe from this book and then guessed the amount to add or subtract to accommodate the new ingredients. On the first attempt, the ratio of corn flour to flour was too high, and corn flour captured more than the liquid it deserved, causing yellow brick events to go directly into the trash. But I have been trying to adjust the measured values every time, and in the process I learned how sugar affects moisture and how salt changes structure. With every subsequent attempt, the recipe was improved until I finally got delicious results. I have performed similar experiments on other recipes and now when something goes wrong with my baked goods, it can usually be fixed.
Part of the problem with recipes today is that they seem to be based on the idea that good recipes should eliminate the possibility of errors. But this is a secret: good chefs always make mistakes. They went the wrong way and ended up in a strange place. When they try to figure out where they are and how to get there, their attention becomes more intense. In the end, they either reached their original destination or found that the place they stumbled upon was indeed the best place. Sometimes getting lost is important.
I know I know. Who has time to get lost? A family with two incomes, children and commuters-today's pace of life can no longer be as luxurious as our generations ago. As a person who eats too much PowerBar, I am well aware of this phenomenon. The weird thing is that even if we cook less, we read more recipes. Cooking has become an entertainment that can be watched on TV while having dinner on the sofa for hungry people. As our interest in cooking becomes more voyeuristic than pragmatism, the recipes we follow have become simpler and easier to understand, and largely a way to go from one place to another as quickly and effortlessly as possible . By pursuing our destination wholeheartedly, we lost our love for the journey.
But the journey is all about the recipe. Recipes should teach us how to cook, not just follow instructions. By paying attention, chefs should be able to internalize the process and make written recipes obsolete. The focus of the recipe should be to help us find our way.
When visiting friends a few weeks ago, I decided to turn off GPS. At first everything seemed strange and I was not sure where to turn or merge. I am of course lost, but only a little lost. I started to recognize the streets here, the houses there. When I finally arrived, they were ready for dinner. roast chicken. And kale
I've never been passionate about technology, so when I recently bought a car that came with GPS, I thought the device would be largely unused. But a few months later, on my way to visit friends from my new home in Oakland, California, I decided to give it a try. The voice of a patient and determined woman easily guided me to the exact position, and to my surprise, I fell in love with the feature. One night, when I drove to see my friend for the fourth or fifth time, I realized I didn't know where to go. I have been blindly following the instructions of unreal voices without paying attention to where I am going.
This haunts me endlessly. I want to think that I will not automatically take the path of least resistance, but here, I am in a full surrender mode. As I moved forward, I considered the possibility that our national obsession with convenience could also adversely affect other areas of our lives. Just like we cook.
I always think of recipes as a cooking roadmap, which delineates the route from the ingredient list to the finished dish-not so strict rules, but a set of guidelines that guide the work. Not all factors are included in the formula. Things like ingredients, pans, ovens and even humidity all play a role in the end result. Just as there are no tips such as "Stop the Red Light" and "Don't drive into the oncoming traffic" in the driving directions, the recipe must have some basic knowledge. But by carefully reading the variety of recipes posted these days, it is clear that the baseline has fallen to a dangerous level. It seems that people have started using recipes in a way that uses GPS-something will go from one place to another in an unthinking way without noticing the route.
Good cooks rely on recipes to some extent. In a professional kitchen, recipes are critical to creating consistent food, so everyone can reach the same place in the same way. But chefs who rely on strictly codified formulas will miss what really matters. Are carrots more or less sweet, or more or less tender? Is ginger very strong and should be used sparingly, or too weak to the specified amount? Or the trickiest question: How long does it take to cook in a specific oven with specific ingredients on a specific day?
When I write my recipe, how long should this question take to get mentioned early and often. My publisher seems to think that recipes will be followed by those who are attentive and easily confused. I try my best to be accurate, but telling someone to cook a fish for 5 minutes is like saying "drive 5 minutes and turn right". Sometimes you are on the road, other times you are on the side of a building.
It wasn't until the past year that I spent in the restaurant kitchen and cooked at home with friends that I didn't start to understand what was happening. Those chefs who cook comfortably (usually half-trained (one year's mealtime, etc.) or learn cooking from family) start with the ingredients at hand and weave them into sticky dishes. When conditions don't exactly match the recipe creator's kitchen, the literal meaning is even more confusing, and the results are often shocking. Then they will tell me "the recipe is not valid" or more often "I am not a good cook" and I will answer "meaningless". Anyone who can raise children, pay bills, or otherwise participate in society's operations can learn how to cook good food. It's all in the method.
Take kale as an example. When I brought something to a friend's house in Auckland for dinner one night, I was stopped. I don't remember the exact time of communication, but the words "tough and chewy" are obvious. Therefore, I showed them a simple and easy way to prepare stews: in a covered pot, slice the onions in olive oil over low heat, and cook with a little salt until tender. Add washed kale, cut into two-inch pieces, add a little water and more salt. Cover the pot and cook over medium heat, stirring once in a while, until it becomes soft. Still not tender? carry on. Has the water evaporated? Add more. Before serving, you can season with olive oil, lemon, and pepper flakes, and then season at will. I refuse to answer their repeated inquiries about how long it takes to cook rice, just say it again, and continue tasting: when the taste is good. This was a revelation for them, that cooked vegetables became the staple of their meals, and they were easily and perfectly cooked every time because they understood the reason behind it.
Everyone says that baking is different; it all depends on the accuracy of the recipe and how closely it is followed. But this is not entirely true. Last year, I made a moist, delightful, on-demand chocolate cake at a party in Park City, Utah. I followed the recipe exactly and forgot I was at the ski resort. As I found out, altitude affects moisture content, which causes moisture to dry out without creating a pleasant baked food.
When I returned to San Francisco, I decided to make up for my baking flaws. I first recreated the recipes from Rose Levy Beranbaum's Cake Bible and then used these basics as a starting point for creating new recipes. There are some notable disasters, such as my first attempt at cornmeal butter cake. I started with the yellow cake recipe from this book and then guessed the amount to add or subtract to accommodate the new ingredients. On the first attempt, the ratio of corn flour to flour was too high, and corn flour captured more than the liquid it deserved, causing yellow brick events to go directly into the trash. But I have been trying to adjust the measured values every time, and in the process I learned how sugar affects moisture and how salt changes structure. With every subsequent attempt, the recipe was improved until I finally got delicious results. I have performed similar experiments on other recipes and now when something goes wrong with my baked goods, it can usually be fixed.
Part of the problem with recipes today is that they seem to be based on the idea that good recipes should eliminate the possibility of errors. But this is a secret: good chefs always make mistakes. They went the wrong way and ended up in a strange place. When they try to figure out where they are and how to get there, their attention becomes more intense. In the end, they either reached their original destination or found that the place they stumbled upon was indeed the best place. Sometimes getting lost is important.
I know I know. Who has time to get lost? A family with two incomes, children and commuters-today's pace of life can no longer be as luxurious as our generations ago. As a person who eats too much PowerBar, I am well aware of this phenomenon. The weird thing is that even if we cook less, we read more recipes. Cooking has become an entertainment that can be watched on TV while having dinner on the sofa for hungry people. As our interest in cooking becomes more voyeuristic than pragmatism, the recipes we follow have become simpler and easier to understand, and largely a way to go from one place to another as quickly and effortlessly as possible . By pursuing our destination wholeheartedly, we lost our love for the journey.
But the journey is all about the recipe. Recipes should teach us how to cook, not just follow instructions. By paying attention, chefs should be able to internalize the process and make written recipes obsolete. The focus of the recipe should be to help us find our way.
When visiting friends a few weeks ago, I decided to turn off GPS. At first everything seemed strange and I was not sure where to turn or merge. I am of course lost, but only a little lost. I started to recognize the streets here, the houses there. When I finally arrived, they were ready for dinner. roast chicken. And kale