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More books, more cooking
May. 4th, 2006 09:50 amI just (finally) started the copy of Julie & Julia that Beth lent me. Only a chapter and a half in, and I'm loving it. ONE OF US! ONE OF US!
It's brought up a dilemma I've been wrestling with on and off for ages. I love to cook (O RLY?). I especially love to experiment with new and interesting things. The problem being, of course, everyone in the house (and most of our usual adherents) are trying to lose weight--and frankly, I don't find any joy in diet cookery; it's like sitting a painter down and saying "OK, here's an easel and a set of brushes and perfect lighting, now go to town...but you can only use shades of yellow." It can be a worthwhile exercise but it's horribly constraining. I want to cook the glorious things in Nigella and Julia and Aubrey/Maturin and all my weird little random recipe sources (like the ones at the end of each chapter of Comfort Me With Apples--she has one she got from Danny Kaye!), but I look at the ingredients (Steve calls this the "Take Ye A Pound Of Lard" category) and I can feel my gut expanding on the spot.
Kathryn has pointed out that, in places where they actually eat like this there's no obesity epidemic; she's recommended a book to my attention called French Women Don't Get Fat, and I intend to check it out. I usually hear that the secret here is portion control, but I mean, take potatoes Anna: even if you eat just say a third of a cup, it's almost pure damn butter. Except for the bits that are pure starch. DOOM DOOM DOOM.
Desperately. Need. Food. Icon.
It's brought up a dilemma I've been wrestling with on and off for ages. I love to cook (O RLY?). I especially love to experiment with new and interesting things. The problem being, of course, everyone in the house (and most of our usual adherents) are trying to lose weight--and frankly, I don't find any joy in diet cookery; it's like sitting a painter down and saying "OK, here's an easel and a set of brushes and perfect lighting, now go to town...but you can only use shades of yellow." It can be a worthwhile exercise but it's horribly constraining. I want to cook the glorious things in Nigella and Julia and Aubrey/Maturin and all my weird little random recipe sources (like the ones at the end of each chapter of Comfort Me With Apples--she has one she got from Danny Kaye!), but I look at the ingredients (Steve calls this the "Take Ye A Pound Of Lard" category) and I can feel my gut expanding on the spot.
Kathryn has pointed out that, in places where they actually eat like this there's no obesity epidemic; she's recommended a book to my attention called French Women Don't Get Fat, and I intend to check it out. I usually hear that the secret here is portion control, but I mean, take potatoes Anna: even if you eat just say a third of a cup, it's almost pure damn butter. Except for the bits that are pure starch. DOOM DOOM DOOM.
Desperately. Need. Food. Icon.
