This week, I tried something new. I had an afternoon off, and i bought a head of cabbage. Cabbage is cheap, and I wanted to make an Asian Chicken Salad for supper that night. However, after I got home, it struck me just how ridiculous it is for someone with my last name to have a head of cabbage and not use it to make bierocks. I had never tried to make bierocks, and I am little ashamed that at the age of 42, I had not learned to do so. So, I made a slight alteration to the menu for the evening, and began my culinary quest.
For those of you who were neglected as children and never partook in the Bohemian delight that is the bierock, let me enlighten you. I actually looked up the recipe in what might serve as a form of kitchen scripture known as the Progressive Studies Club Bicentennial Cookbook. I now have it memorized. In short, bierocks are a mixture of ground beef, cabbage, and onions wrapped in dough and baked. It sounds so simple, and it is, but with the correct seasoning and the invocation of names of Grandma, Nana, and Aunt Lilly, something magical occurs. It is hard to explain, but you won't be disappointed. Some people add some sort of cheese. I am more of a purist, but to each his own. One act that I believe should be punished harshly is putting ketchup on a bierock. Ew. Those people would probably put ketchup on a ribeye too.
I must say that i was a little nervous. I made a small batch, which should tell you something, since i don't make a small batch of anything. I was not sure i could recreate the flavor stirred up by those masters of the past, and my family might not like it. I guess when the first response was Dylan asking, "So, how many of these can I eat?" I knew I had done a decent job. As tends to happen in my house, that meal led to either Emily or Heidi asking me the next night when I was going to make bierocks again. So this afternoon, I fried up some hamburger, threw in a whole lot of chopped cabbage and onions, and turned out three dozen doughy bundles of goodness. For me, it was a decent way to spend a humid and hot Saturday afternoon.
I have come to realize that I really love to cook. I really love food. I am not a fancy, technical chef or anything like that. I guess I am more of a rustic cook. I don't really know what a lot of the techniques they talk about on Foot Network even mean. I know what some of my pots and pans are call, such as my saucier pan. I know the different between a chef's knife, paring knife, and fillet knife. I know the difference between stirring and folding. Sort of. I can deglaze. Oh, and I know how to make a rue, as well as why I would want to. Beyond that, I just do what i think I am supposed to do to make things taste good. I a sure the judges on Chopped would destroy me and send me packing after the appetizer round, but I really do not care.
Cooking does something for me. I feel as if I have done something worthwhile that produces immediate feedback. I am able to literally enjoy the fruits of my labors, and I get to watch as my family enjoys them as well. I swelled a little with pride the other day when Emily told me that the experiment that was Kohlsbalaya was much better that the canned version she had picked out from the store. Whenever I try preparing something new, usually without a recipe, and am not sure it actually falls into a particular category, I just tack Kohls onto what I think is the closest know dish and make it my own. Chicken Caccikohlsi, for example. That one turned out pretty well. The kids ate it anyway. I liked it. Of course, I like a lot of food. And since I cook, if it is quite what I like, I change it so I do. That is how I roll. I cook on our trip with the seniors each August. Either most of them actually like it, or they are just too polite to say they don't. So yeah, they like it. One year, One year, a senior liked what we had so much he continued eating until he could do nothing else but crawl into his tent and fall asleep even before we made s'mores around the fire. I took that as a compliment.
Sometimes, I wish I did not get so much out of cooking. I like eating what I cook. That has literally made me the man I am today, at least physically. I cook, I eat, I grow. I think it is worth it though. I can always walk a little further or bike a little longer if it means I can take a couple more bites.
And with that, I believe I should do just that. Exercise I mean. The bierock is not what one might call "lighter fare". and I have eaten a little more than my share today. It was worth it.
No comments:
Post a Comment