I Have Always Been Expensive

When I was 10 years old, we lived on the outskirts of Dawson City, Yukon.  Land of the Goldrush, ice, snow, traplines and general lawlessness.  Myself, my brother and sister were home schooled so our winter days consisted of a short school day.  Once released we would ice skate for hours on a rink my Dad had made for us on the Klondike river that was steps from the back of our house. We would only come in when it was too dark to play anymore, our feet frozen and tingly.  My Dad would hold my feet and rub them to get the blood flowing and I would cry and say I would come in earlier next time.  Then we would all have hot chocolate and repeat the next day.   We had a tree house that was full of posters we had ripped from our Owl magazines. Our summers were full of exploring, going on long hikes and treks, our backpacks stuffed with essential survival gear like books, a recorder (to serenade the birds of course), snacks, rocks, twigs, pinecones and various other collected things.  During the spring thaw you had to stick closer to home as there was a constant threat of flooding from the aforementioned river in our backyard.  We had to evacuate many times when ice jams occurred.  There are some great stories about our evacuations but that is another post.  This story is about a budding epicure.

My mother made everything for us.  Homemade bread every day.  Homemade preserves for that bread. Everything was fresh and from scratch.  We did not have a lot of money but we really didn't notice. I had plenty of books and our imaginations were always going full force.  My mother mail ordered a recipe collection from McCall.  The recipes were itemized by category; soups, appetizers etc.  Full picture of the food on the front, recipe on the back.  I spent hours and hours looking through this trying to imagine what all this food would taste like and what would go best with what and what part of the world it was from.  One fateful day I decided to have a dinner party.  I would plan it, decorate, and cook.  I was 10 and had never cooked a thing before, maybe toast.  The only assistance I needed was for my Mom to get the groceries and bring them to me.  I wrote her out a list; she swallowed hard and smiled encouragingly.  I found out much much later that the ingredients I wanted were very difficult to procure in Dawson city in the early eighties and the monetary amount needed for my party was worth approx a week and half worth of groceries.  I love my Mom for that.
I wish I had a record of the entire menu as I am sure it was meticulously drawn out for each person.  I do remember a few things.  There was a toast with smoked salmon.  A composed salad of something.  The main piece around which all else revolved was a Beef roulade.

Note the very retro looking photo, circa 1983.  This is the actual recipe I tried to re create. I pounded the meat, diced all the filling, wrapping and tying.  It was god awful.  Really really chewy, strange tasting but everyone especially my Dad choked it down, proclaiming it great and really tasty.  I love them all for that.  I would love to say that this was the launching point to my career with many other childhood endeavours, but in actuality I think the next time I cooked I was in my teens.
Here is my question; does my ability to cook well now,  have to do with many little things that are undefinable and therefore unteachable?  For example,  I am quite sure that if I made this recipe following the instructions just as faithfully as I did 30 years ago it would be much better.  I would not deviate from the instruction or the ingredients at all, but the result would be different.  Is cooking a lifetime of accumulated tastes, knowing how to combine them with the expectation of how it will taste already in your head?

(All photos retaken by me on my shaky Iphone)

I decided to see how different the outcome would be.  To start with, I realized that this is not a recipe I would normally choose to make today.  In my mind, beef stuffed with onion, parsley and capers and then braised in sherry,beef stock and wine does not sound awesome.   At 10 I was totally taken with the promise of "Sophisticated and flavourful one dish meal".  The roulades require tenderizing/pounding of the meat.  The wrapped meat is dredged in seasoned flour and browned.  Then braised in wine and beef stock until tender.  My ten year old self would not know how thin to pound the meat in order for it to be tender and braised was likely "boiled", hence the very chewy part.  The outcome today was not chewy.  Sahara said it "smelled great" and loved the potatoes, not a part of the original recipe.  Hamid proposed a cheers to my 10 year old self and said "I would be happy to eat that again in another 30 years or so". As I was preparing this, I could not help but reflect back in time.  I remembered our small red house we lived in with the old fashioned wood stove that always had proofing bread on the top.  I remembered our formica topped countertops and the cheerful curtains covering the cupboards.  Most of all, I remembered the feeling of my life at that time.  I was secure, adventurous and loved.  I looked around my kitchen and home that I live in now and apart from a few added skill sets I possess and better hair, the feeling is the same.  I am secure, adventurous and loved.   I just needed to exercise my roulade demons and I can now put that to rest.  Maybe try again when I am 71 years old and see what the outcome is then.

(Photo by Hamid Attie Photography)