Cooking

The television in my living room hasn’t stopped playing Bon Appétit youtube videos for the past fortnight – and I’m kind of falling in love with it.

Image result for bonappetit cast
(bonappetit.com)

The cast share a generous, wholesome chemistry and somehow balance a constant stream of dorky humour with genuinely brilliant recipes and cooking insights.

Each member of the cast is a chef in their own right, with each bringing a distinct style and skillset to the kitchen.

Bon Appétit itself is a culinary magazine (which the cast all write recipes for), so the whole show has a ‘behind the scenes’ vibe to it despite the fact that the content is all very well planned, curated and edited.

As a wood-fired pizza snob (who used to make hundreds of pizzas a week for a living), I adored this mini series, and think it’s a great way to get introduced.

If they didn’t call pizzas ‘pies’, I’d give it 5 stars.

I made pasta from scratch for some friends today, and remembered why I love to cook.

As I was kneading the dough, turning eggs and flour into a warm, stretchy ball, I thought about how many people had done this before me. I thought about my Nonna, about her Nonna before her, about all the hours of kneading dough accumulated in my DNA.

How many hours have human beings accumulated stretching dough with their hands?

How many meals have we kneaded?

How many satisfied bellies have we filled with the fruits of our labour?

Taking ingredients and spending your time and energy transforming them into something which brings joy into the world is one of the fundamental pleasures of being human.

I forget this sometimes.

Many of us get lost in our heads too often. It has become possible to live a completely online existence, separated from the most basic of physical enjoyments. Some of us work, order food, and do our shopping from a computer screen.

This is convenient, but not necessarily worthwhile.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot since starting to write with a fountain pen; there is a character which my handwriting possesses that my typed work will never have.

We take our hands for granted. They need practice to maintain their capacity to create, so don’t lose touch with them; work dough, work clay, work wood, work whatever it is they like to touch.

Just let them work something. It’s what they’re built for. Allow them to craft joy; for you, and for those you love.

Make something.