Absence: Measurements

“Cookery is not chemistry. It is an art. It requires instinct and taste rather than exact measurements.” - Marcel Boulestin 


Intending to blog at least once a week, the level of my frustration with certain cooking quirks deflated my sense of purpose in blogging about food. Namely, that I don't measure. I can't follow recipes so I no longer bother.  I crave accuracy, so my lack of measuring seems a bit of a deviation. But to me, measuring ingredients often muddles the accuracy of the flavor of the dish. We are trying to capture a certain sentiment, often a memory, often creation of a new memory that feels familiar. 


Measurements are good--they allow us to accurately reproduce a certain flavor. They allow us to transfer that flavor, that dish from one to another, and the passing and revisions reflect the giver and receiver and on the dish goes until it becomes iconic. But it is the revisions and modifications and personalizations that make it iconic. It is the lack of measurements, not the presence of measurements. It is like music--the structure is needed but it must be dressed with something that cannot be taught or quantified--with soul and passion and that natural "it"ness. 


A friend, who was teasing me for my inability to measure when I cook, said that if it's not repeatable it's only a whim.


Which made me realize. I can measure. Just not by standardized measurements. I measure by feel, sight, and taste. I eyeball, taste, smell, EVERYTHING. I can't follow a written recipe because as I'm reading I'm anticipating the color, texture, temperature, flavor, and I always know what I want to add, remove, increase or decrease. I know if I want to change a technique.


But when I make a dish, I remember how. And I can recreate the flavor. So it is repeatable, just maybe not transferable in the traditional sense. I say traditional sense because I have been able to show friends and they've been able to repeat the same dish. And folks will give me their ideas and ask for help, and we can walk through it together. 


I will try to learn how to measure. And when you ask me questions, I will even go and get flour or water and eyeball and dump into a measuring device if we need to go that far. 


So....starting today, I'm going to post the "recipes" I have--without measurements. Hopefully, they will inspire you to stretch and reach for flavors, techniques, styles that are yet to be yours. And hopefully, you will help me learn and grow and understand your own, too. 


Happy eating!

Birthday Love: Coffee

"No one can understand the truth until he drinks of coffee's frothy goodness."  ~Sheik Abd-al-Kadir


Last night, my birthday night, was a chill evening with a few friends at one of my favorite restaurants in DC, Zaytinya followed by more friends at 18th Street Lounge. 


In the wee hours, I settled in my little room with the windows open. I love sleeping with the windows open. It's so brisk and fresh, and I always wake up feeling rested and somehow clean. Even in the middle of a city like Washington, D.C. The sirens, noise, etc. becomes lulling, like urban waves rocking me to sleep.


What is beautiful, is waking up to birds chirping overhead. And I don't mean helos, i mean real birds. Singing and chirping and tweeting because today is the first day of spring. 


As the church bells nearby sounded off the Christian call to prayer, it faintly reminded me of the adhan's I used to hear the imams lyrically cry from the tops of the minarets. Their voices would pierce the sky, filling it up with the Sehadet, static replacing vocals in between each line of their calls. 


Unlike the impassioned cries incomprehensible to me, I understood this call of the faithful, the vibration of the tones resonating in chest, the delicate high notes raising my thoughts to God. And with that I made coffee. It has been said that our lives are acts of worship, our actions are manifestations of the larger Glory. Excellence should be pursued, not because it is good to excel, but because it reminds us of something unattainable, something better. Passion should be fed and nurtured, not stifled and repressed. 


As I ground the coffee, I considered the technology, time, and passion devoted by many to have me where I am--standing at my kitchen counter, grinding coffee to press into the well of my espresso maker. After tamping it, I placed the well into the machine, depressed the handle. The heavy whirring of the professional-grade Italian espresso maker sprung to life, and the black liquid poured into my coffee cup until the tan froth let me know it was finished. Steaming the soymilk, I had a surreal moment of being acutely aware of and savoring the rare gift that I am experiencing the pleasure of God in my simple act of self-indulgence.


So I tried to make a little design in my coffee cup. I was going to make it a heart, but I LOVE thistles. I think because I loved Eeyore as a kid. He was so melancholic and misunderstood. But he loved him some thistles! Instead, as soon as I saw that it could be transformed to a thistle, I changed the design, which is what you see.


Savor the Flavor!