By way of response to Christopher Kimball's Op-Ed (
"Gourmet to All That") in the Oct. 8, 2009 New York Times:
Oh dear! I had always wanted to meet Julia Child. But alas, she has passed away, as Christopher Kimball has noticed. I always loved her charm, as did many millions of other people. And the fact that she never took herself too seriously (unlike Mr. Kimball). So it is with a sense of relief that I realized, just a few short moments ago after reading Kimball's tome to epicurial snobbery, that I never actually got to meet Ms. Child - lest she ask me, " .... where did you train, dear?"
I, for one, respect all sources of cooking lore, advice, and expertise. Keeping my mouth shut and watching my grandfather, Giovanni Napoleone, cook his meatballs and sauce (he who probably never ate much of this dish often as a young kid being a starving immigrant who came here alone at age twelve) until he could afford to buy enough meat to actually form a ball. And so he treated his ingredients with respect and love - both of which crept into the flavors of his food. Gosh! I should have asked him where he trained. But he's dead now. I'll never know.
Mr. Kimball warns us that we must earn our chops through a lifetime of good breeding and experience so that we can stand at the cultural helm. Do I feel admonished? Jeez - I'm not sure. People have always told me I'm a great cook - a "gourmet"! "No", I say, "I just like to cook." Maybe I shoulda trained somewhere. Maybe all those poor folks from countless cultures who had to invent (improvise) cuisine from what they had, that formed the basis for all gourmet cooking, weren't worthy to stand at the helm. No, I guess not. It took kings and queens and Escoffier to meld millions of hummingbird tongues into something exquisite.
But maybe I misinterpret Mr. Kimball. Maybe not. I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt here. I'll bet that if I Googled "broccoli casserole" and cooked the first recipe I found, I might be disappointed - but I may also have discovered a person who just loved to cook and was trying something out. Maybe I would have stumbled on to someone who didn't eat out every night, or meekly follow a prescription for a dish in "Mastering the Art of French Cooking".
What is this thing that Mr. Kimball calls "real experience", the lack of which condemns all who don't have it to a land where "inexperience rarely leads to wisdom ... this ship of fools."
Seems that dinosaurs die a long, hard death. Must have been an awfully big meteor that killed of the first batch millions of years ago.
For me, I take the lowfalutin' approach. Every now and then I whip up a great meal. And taking Julia's advice, I never apologize for the rest.
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