I like to cook. My job revolves around cooking, my vacations are built around restaurants I want to visit, and my family knows I’ll always bring food for special occasions.
And yet, I don’t own a food processor, a mixer with stand, or several other “essentials” of a fully stocked kitchen. You see, it’s the process of cooking that I enjoy. I like chopping the onions. I enjoy the rhythm as the knife cuts through the nuts. There is pleasure in using a hand mixer—or even a sturdy spatula—to combine ingredients.
To me, using major appliances to cook is like taking a short cut to get there faster. You risk missing the best scenery, the interesting sunset, the great conversation of the ride.
Today, I made a cake, using a recipe handed down from my mother. It calls for oatmeal, and I’ve modified it slightly by making it with a European dark chocolate—I can at least pretend to be making concessions to good health.
As I measured and mixed, I thought about the many times I watched Mom make it. I thought about my sister and how it had always been her favorite. I took satisfaction in the smell of the batter, and in the knowledge that I hadn’t wasted the leftover morning coffee (can’t throw that illy away!). I took the long way home, and it was good.
To the last bite.
Recipe link: Mocha Oatmeal Cake
