Jolanda learns to cook! A self-experiment, part 1
I can't cook. What I can do: Chop tasty ingredients into a pan, put the lid on, switch on the hob and wait. Something edible comes out at the end. What I can't do: Cook properly. Using different preparation methods. Putting together a menu. Set a pretty table.
For me, it actually works quite well without high-level cooking - I usually eat salad anyway, and fortunately I don't have to cook it. It becomes more difficult to hide my cooking deficiency when guests come into the picture. Fortunately for me, the "let's meet at the Coop, buy something to eat, cook together and open a bottle of wine" approach lasted a relatively long time among my circle of friends.
In addition, until recently I was able to hide my lack of kitchen skills behind a two-square-metre kitchen with below-average equipment. And luckily there are still the good old winter classics: raclette! Everyone cooks for themselves! Fondue? You can't go far wrong with that either. In summer, I cheated my way through with summer parties along the lines of "bring your own barbecue food and the last one will be put on the barbecue".
However, this doesn't really fit in with my kitchen negligence and prompted me to finally tackle the topic:
- I enjoy having guests over very often. But I'm slowly seeing through the tricks, my friends are tired of the cheese and I can no longer bring the winter dishes. Besides, I now live in a flat with a proper kitchen. I no longer have to crawl into the oven with a match to bake a pizza. The washing up is now done by a machine. New kitchen, new vigour: it's high time I took to the pots and pans!
- I actually quite like eating. As long as I don't have to cook myself, I like different cuisines, enjoy trying out new things and only dislike a few foods with all my heart. But grandma's rule also applies to the kitchen: no pain, no gain. If you want to eat, you should also be able to cook. After all, I teach myself everything else I want to do.
- The surprise effect. After years of cheese overkill and barbecues well into late autumn, I want to really surprise my friends. Who expects to be served a proper meal at my house without having to cook it themselves first? I want to see those faces!
And so the decision is made: It's finally time to learn how to cook! Enough with the cheese compulsion! No more lax salads on the kitchen table while everyone has to fry their own food! And: aren't we ultimately doing food an injustice if we throw it into the pan without any love, passion or concept?
So that the good intentions are not thrown overboard after the first successful tinned ravioli, a real challenge is needed.
By the end of the year, I will be able to cook a classic menu that
- includes different types of preparation
- I put it together myself from A to Z
- obeys the rules of French cuisine
- presenting the different courses in the right way
The advantage of being the first to try the cuisine of our western neighbours is that the order and content of the courses are relatively clear. This gives the newbie cook a safe framework to let off steam. It's supposed to be a classic French menu with eight courses.
So there's plenty for me to do! First of all, do some research: What does a menu like this consist of? How do I put it together? And then the practical work: cooking, frying, simmering, steaming and all the other preparation methods I still have to learn! This is where I document my learning process, my highs and lows, and of course the merciless judgements of my test eaters. By December at the latest, I'll be serving my friends an eight-course meal.
The bet is on!
I like to get to the bottom of things, sometimes even with diving goggles and snorkel. Nature is my home, regardless of rain, temperature or time of day. I like to be on the road, sometimes even deliberately off track.
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