but no, it is clear after reading this NYT article that I'm not. While I absolutely take pride in how and what I cook, even nightly for my family, I have never risen to the level of anxiety about serving the right cheese, or olives from a certain region. I really don't think that's what food should be about.
In fact I was just reading (yes, I'm still reading it) a chapter from Julia Child's My Life in France and she wrote about a horrible meal that she served but made no excuses for. She writes:
I don't believe in twisting yourself into knots of excises and explanations over the food you made. When one's hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as "Oh, I don't know how to cook . . .," or "Poor little me . . .," or "This may taste awful . . .," it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived short-comings), and make the other person think, "Yes, you're right, this really is an an awful meal!" Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew, or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake has collapsed--eh bien, tant pis!
Usually one's cooking is better than one thinks it is. And if the food is truly vile, as my ersatz eggs Florentine surely were, then the cook must simply grit her teeth and bear it with a smile--and learn from her mistakes.
As an aspiring foodie, I take great comfort from this passage. If Julia can be confident and not apologize for her mistakes, then so can I. It is better to learn and say, "Well, I'll just have to do better next time."
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1 comment:
I also love that story in the Julia book. I not only think about it often, but I tell the story of her egg disaster too. The other night, we were invited to a friend's house for dinner and before we got thru the door, my friend started apologizing for dinner. Of course, I told her about Julia.
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