Teachers

First and foremost, the apparent professor of cooking would be the directions on the back of the box. Those step-by-step instructions were key to my mac n’ cheese success. The basic teachings of measurements and time could almost surpass those teachings from my elementary teachers. Bless those easy to follow instructions, without them I would have had dry, tough to chew macaroni and cheese dishes, and you can’t have that as a child. I’m your basic prodigy of mother/daughter cooking. There is no one more that I have learned from than my mom, obviously. It’s not like I had any interest in the matter of cooking, I was just there to prep, maybe cut the lettuce and serve the salad. If I felt like any cooking task is to be accomplished it would be the husking of corn and peeling of potatoes. So in that sense, being the sous chef of the Vesper kitchen has taught me the bare basics of cooking. 

But the teacher behind making something actually worth making, really making something that surprises yourself that it was you who cooked this semi-masterpiece, was my inherent need to improvise and cook in whimsical, almost careless manners. I see that an unexperienced cooker like me, should experiment with random shit not being used in the fridge. That was my real “teacher,” my curiosity to make something odd, yet delicious tasting at the sake of sacrificing the entire dish. 

Powell/Shapiro Response

The differences in Powell’s memoir and Shapiro’s biography are extremely evident. Shapiro writes for Julia Child to make her seemingly serious and intelligent by mentioning things like “Even the other stations in what was called educational TV would have been unlikely to take a chance on a plain-faced, middle-aged woman who did difficult cooking with a lot of foreign words in it.” Then going on to mentioning how her show picked up pace in Boston due to the city’s teeming educated population. Shapiro writes as Child being a professional, one who can get things done. Whereas Powell’s memoir illustrated Julia’s cooking in terms of comedy and struggle vs. cooking in terms of importance and triumph. Shapiro gives power to Child’s. She makes the chef seem like a born natural television personality, mentioning how Child’s squirmed as she watched the filmed version of herself, though went on to convince the viewing audience of her natural, disorganized stage presence. I’d say that Shapiro brought about the humorous side of Julia by explaining how even though the chef was a good performer, she couldn’t manage to muster up on-air gimmicks to keep her show moving slowly. So when Shapiro shares how once Childs went on to share the piece of raw meat that was laying out was actually from the shoulder of the animal, as while demonstrating the location on herself as she pointed out her shoulder. This for me entails a bit of awkwardness, which entails a bit of humor. 

I enjoyed Powell’s writing for it was most definitely the more authentic persona. I say this because the memoir never took Julia in all seriousness like Shapiro did. It made Childs seem modest and easy-going with her laid back jokes and apathetic approach to difficult life situations. 

Family Food Culture Response

A family recipe that represents my family is simple: chicken on the grill. Not a lot is needed for this. Good weather, chicken, (legs being my favorite) perhaps some lemon juice to add a hint of citrus, or even barbecue sauce if you so please. Sides can include anything that goes well with chicken, which includes almost everything. So here we have my family’s staple food, staple in that it represents my family. My family being one of modest means, equipped with a modest home and modest livings. As I mentioned modest home, it’s just your typical two story with a two-car garage, but what I see as the houses redeeming quality is the deck. Through the glass sliding door we have our deck, the deck constructed thanks to my father. He who usually initiated the grilling, so he the master of not only the grill, but master of the deck on which this fantastic meal was prepared. Whether we chose to enjoy the meal outdoors, or we took it inside for the sake of the hovering bees invading our mealtime because they couldn’t resist the Vesper cooking, we savored this meal as a family. Giving that a properly prepared meal of grilled chicken must happen outdoors on the grill, which usually meant we could only have this middle-class delicacy seasonally, preferably during the summer months. As a child, nothing food-wise excited me more than peeling into the gravel driveway on my bike to be greeted by the smell of grilling chicken breast. And then to be assured this wasn’t some cruel joke my neighbors were playing on my young taste buds, I looked to the back of the house, where signs of smoke billowing from the grill secured my knowledge the dinner menu. 

To sweeten the idea of this meal, my best friend Jacque, who happens to be the pickiest eater I've ever had to deal with, was a fan of thee grilled chicken. So the excitement of it multiplied when her bike tires peeled into the driveway with me. For she was there to enjoy this meal with me and my family. 

Remembering Home Response

As of recently I have came to realize that my mother is actually quite the cook. It could have been the years of preparing meals for her family, it must have been because I never considered her a good cook while eating her meatloaf at age six. Though when I think of home, meatloaf comes to mind. Her specialty: mashed potatoes and that meatloaf coated in ketchup that you could cut with a fork. About a week ago I found myself at one of the fine dining halls here at Ohio University, and to my luck I see meatloaf and could that be mashed potatoes being served right next to this mighty meat dish? Why yes, it was. Immediately, without much consideration at all, I grabbed myself a serving of  nostalgia in meat form. Alas, my expectations were not met. For mothers cooking far surpasses the university's. 

Would this be a source of pride? Absolutely. This certain dish represents simple living. It represents my middle-class upbringing. It’s no lobster dinner, but it most certainly can satisfy my appetite, anytime. Hell, I’d even go as far as saying that my excitement reaches that of the excitement that would arise from hearing I’ll be having that fanciful lobster dinner. But I must mention that the side dishes are vital with serving meatloaf, side dishes like wax green beans and creamy mashed potatoes are extremely flattering for this glistening in ketchup, blob of meat. Meatloaf is what I call home, so call this an ode to the almighty meatloaf, for I love everything you’re about.