I don’t know what it is but there is just something about French cooking that makes my spine tingle and my lips flutter.
I love cooking. And don’t take this too seriously but I think I have that natural flair where I can guess what’s in a dish and then cook the same thing (or at least 85% close to the real deal) when I get home. This is pretty much why I don’t have that many cookbooks because all I have to do is remember how the food taste like and voila, I can have it on the table in about 30 minutes. Or however long it takes to cook a particular dish, if you follow my drift.
For certain type of dish that require exact measurement or otherwise it will be a disaster, like a cake or… A cake is all I can think of. For those, I have recipe book because I want to get the batter at right consistency and wouldn’t want my cake to form a dome at the highest temperature and sink to a bottomless pit the moment it’s out of the oven. Other than that, I usually don’t have a recipe book. Once in long while, I jot down new things I come across (usually from the travel channel) and try it out.
Now, I am at the phase where I crave for French cooking. I mean, I am probably as French as Delifrance is but I like how complicated some of the recipes are or how sexy the name of a dish is. Like boeuf bourguignon (pronounced buf boreynong) is the your ol’ plain beef stew. Or how cute amuse-bouche (ahmush bush) sounds to fit those petite little appetizers.
The only thing is most of the ingredients needed are bloody expensive. I won’t even try to purchase escargot eggs or ris de veau, which is calf’s pancreas to us layman or boudin noir (blood sausage) because trust me, there are some pretty weird (not to mention almost nasty) ingredients used in French cooking.
The only reason I love French cooking is because it will be like a personal achievement for me if I can make French cuisine and decently serve it to my dinner guests. Other than love having a small dinner party every once in a while because I love playing hostess, I love to prepare something that you think you can only get at a fancy restaurant but in fact, I can cook up a storm right under your nose.
Therefore I will prevail.
I will master (or at least decently learn how to cook French food because after all, French cooking is an art and I don’t think it’s an art you can master in matter of months even if you are naturally talented like Remy) whatever it takes to perfect my French cooking so that my dinner guests can stomach and actually like French cooking.
It wouldn’t be easy what with the fancy ingredients, complicated cooking techniques and methods but I know I can do this.
Eros will be proud to have a mom who can cook gratin dauphinois. Which is the fancy way of telling his friends that I can make potatoes melt with cheese.