For some time now, I haven’t been into recipes that much. I mean food recipes, but maybe it’s been a metaphor for the other recipes in my life. Cooking from a recipe is like letting yourself be guided by someone else’s hands, trusting him (or her) that he will not let you fall, that he will take care of you and is capable of doing that.
Finding your author to cook from, therefore, is a bit like finding the right doctor, there needs to be some kind of chemistry between the two of you. The doctor needs to trust you, like you trust him (or her). And, very importantly, you need to trust your gut feeling about what’s right and wrong for you, about what you need, what you want, what you’re in for. You need to be able to follow your appetite and trust it too. You need to feel it, know it, be okay with it, appreciate it even.
I’ve cooked from recipes before. For some time, I used to watch a lot of chefs on tv and it improved my techniques and knowledge of ingredients. It also taught me some nonsense that I was able to debunk later (No, mixing olive oil and butter does not combine the higher frying temperature of the oil while adding the creamy flavour of the butter. The butter particles will simply burn in the oil if you do that. Regardless of whether combining the two fats might be desirable for other purposes apart from frying temperature.)
I’ve also enjoyed my family’s cooking and baking, collected the names of the chefs they were cooking from, asked for copies of the recipes they had cut out of newspapers and put into one of these large folders, fat with scraps and handwritten indications collected over the years.
And yet, the last years, I mostly bought what seemed good at the market or shop, what I could afford and what I felt in for. I just followed my own intuition as to what to do with it, building on the basis of knowledge, skills and experience I had gained over the years. As if I had the need to follow my own senses, where they led me, to get to know them better, to feel I wouldn’t go anywhere that felt unsafe.
I believe it helped me, to get to know myself better, to learn what exactly about my output was appreciated by others. For a long time, I had tried to emulate others, a chef’s recipe, a traditional dish. “Is this truly how a Greek would make it?” I would ask my friend. She didn’t really seem to care, as she scrumptiously ate her meatballs and beetroot salad, while over the years she kept asking for my food. “Oh, you do your magic,” she would say, as I was improvising to mix some herbs and spices from my cupboard for her tea. And I learned that maybe all that people wanted, was to see me through the food, what I would bring to it. As it would be something they would find nowhere else. And it was good too.
And so from emulating, I went completely the other way, nestling myself into my own cocoon of my own flavours, what I would come up with, how I would combine things, how I would be able to enjoy it, easy on my digestion, taking care of myself.
Now, that I’ve come to master myself a bit more, the longing for discovering new worlds, the desire for checking out what other people seem to enjoy so much, is returning in a different way. This time, I’m starting from myself. I will be the touchstone of whatever I come across, if I want to try it or not. I will make sure I will be safe with it, handing myself over only to the people that I trust and feel trust from.
And so, recently, I wanted to cook a nice meal for my father. It was a hard day’s night, one of several that week. We were both dead tired and I was looking for something for us both to enjoy. In my parents’ cupboard, I stumbled upon one of Nigel Slater’s cookbooks, where I found the perfect recipe. For chickpeas and spiced tomato sauce, topped with sauteed onions and cashew nuts. Something in the direction my father enjoys making, something with ingredients I was going to stomach well, flavours I wanted to explore. I bought the ingredients, prepared everything before leaving. To finish the last bits when we would get home hungry.
The first bites I enjoyed, my father too. But as we continued eating, chatting and eating, our appetites seemed to increase. We couldn’t stop talking about how good the food was. I wanted more, more still. And I felt so grateful for this food, for Nigel Slater who had shared it with me, for the fact that it relieved me for a bit of my struggles to eat, to digest, to bring up an appetite. Because that was exactly what this recipe had given me in that moment, an appetite, for the food, for other food, for exploring, for life.
I would like to thank my father for sharing this meal with me and for being so generous to let me feature him in this story.
I would also like to thank Nigel Slater for bringing so much trust and warmth and peace to his recipes, for them to be unpretentious, yet exquisite, for encouraging you to do with them as you like, so that they become truly nourishing to you personally and a message of love and care.
I found this particular recipe in the Dutch translation of Nigel Slater’s Greenfeast: Spring and Summer. However, I discovered you can also access a different version of it online through The Guardian’s website. It has the same ingredients and only minor differences in the description of its preparation. You can find it here: https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2017/feb/21/nigel-slater-chickpeas-and-spiced-tomato-sauce.
And thank you, for reading with me and sharing your ideas with me. I love hearing from you.
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