Finding a Routine
April 27, 2011 § 1 Comment
I’m not the best at keeping up with blogging. I cook, snap photos, and dutifully bookmark the websites of my recipes with earnest enthusiasm. And then: nothing. Worse, there’s not even a good excuse. Oh, I could go on and on about how life and work march on with little regard to my pastimes or good intentions, but it certainly wouldn’t be a honest.
I had that little post on soft-shell crabs sitting patiently in my “drafts” folder for months until I finally got around to inserting another photo, adding a few sentences, and publishing. What is it that’s holding me back? Well, it’s the recipe. I hate amending original recipes and racking my brain with questions like, “Well, how much cumin did I add in exactly? Did I decide on adding some adobo? And how do I describe the weird off-brand tomato-lime juice-green chili medley in a can that Dad bought?” I just sort of, well, move with it. If the curry seems dry I’ll add a little liquid of whatever seems to be closest to my hands at the time. I taste, decide whether my soup would benefit from a little liquid smoke (no, it would not) and move on.
So, in the spirit of keeping my little food blogging dream alive, I’m gonna hold off on the detailed recipes and stick with the meandering and pointless ruminations that no one probably reads anyway (or do you?). Maybe one day I’ll feel so inspired that I’ll go ahead and throw some exact measurements in there. Until that day comes, I’ll add in what I can about changes that I make. But hey! Recipes aren’t set in stone and changing them to reach your own mouthgasmic peak of satisfaction is all part of the fun. So, go ahead and ignore me! Add those fire-roasted tomatoes and dribble that liquid smoke into your chowder! Cast your cares to the wind and accept that it is but a meal, not a marriage–which is the real beauty of it. It doesn’t always have to work, and you certainly don’t have to forgive that pork butt for burning to a crisp while you were chopping away. Once dishes are cleaned, pots scrubbed, and knives laid to rest, a meal can be forgotten–purged from our culinary memories–or remembered, changed, and repeated. Over, and over, and over.