Every Monday night when I was a freshman in high school my father and I made dinner. My mother would leave us chicken breasts, but the rest was up to us. We liked to stir-fry a lot in those days and we loved to play in the spice cabinet, opening random bottles and sprinkling on a whim, dusting the countertops a mottled pattern of ochre, crimson and green. Often we added peanut butter. We could never duplicate a dish and, to be honest, there were plenty of times we didn’t want to. But every now and then we hit our stride and the flavors were fantastic. Sometimes we ordered pizza. Continue reading »

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Torrone

Cooking, for me, is generally a solitary task, a moment to meditate. Alone, peeling carrots or chopping fennel isn’t a mundane task, but standing Zazen meditation. It allows me a moment with my senses, captivated by the way an onion’s odor transforms in the pan with a little bit of olive oil, how it loosens its astringent veil to reveal a sweet, earthen core. Cooking alone is like solving a Sunday New York Times crossword or other puzzle—carefully strategizing when to start each component of a dish or meal so that everything finishes hot and perfectly cooked at the same time.

Cooking with friends and family is an entirely different animal. Full of laughter, bumping into one another, tasting and, occasionally, smoke alarms. It’s sharing a delightful secret with the people you’re cooking with. Continue reading »

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