There is an REM song where Michael Stipe's lyrics go 'sometimes I feel that I can't even sing...' Clearly he can sing. Beautifully. But sometimes I feel that I can't cook and I get very frustrated with my own clumsiness and lack of creativity, the inability to handle flavour and make ingredients sing.
That's why, I guess, that I'm the amateur flailing round my kitchen and I'm so in awe of some of the truly great chefs whose restaurants I've eaten in. A great cook is like watching a great jazz player... it's instinctive, it comes from somewhere else. I'd settle to be just be able to be a decent cook.
Yesterday I made a traditional Sunday lunch. Roast beef, pink, with roast baby parsnips in butter, a little sugar and thyme, mash with fresh horseradish, roasted carrots and a gravy from the pan juices, red wine and stock. It was nice. My wife liked it. It looked good. But for some reason I wasn't happy. It felt clumsy, heavy and too rich. I suppose in cooking if you throw enough butter at something, some flavour will stick.
Maybe I'm just a little tired of the heavier, earhier, winter flavours and am looking forward to some spring lightness... maybe I'm just being a little grumpy... maybe 'sometimes I feel that I can't even cook.'
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