Bread and Wine: Basic Vinaigrette and Go-To Risotto
If you don't love to cook, I think the word "Vinaigrette" must be one of the most off-putting terms; like it's not really gonna make you want to get in the kitchen because, c'mon, let's not be so fancy-- just say "oil and vinegar" like normal people.
Maybe you don't think in the judgey way I do. I've pretty much always been a fan of calling things what they are, and getting fancy when it seems unnecessary tends to make me irritable. And I like to eat, so I really hate it when I'm being served something that sounds fancy but in reality is oil, vinegar and corn syrup glooped together, and tastes like it.
But then. There came that day I had vinaigrette made with real Balsalmic vinegar. Like, really real. Like from Italy real. And I got excited. I felt like, "Oh! That fake stuff I've been having? There's a really real version of it I just haven't tasted yet? And this is it? Oh, it's amaaaazing!"
Yes, really.
This is why I cook. Because these kinds of discoveries teach me so much about life in general and my attitudes about it. That there is so much to taste and see in this world, and some of it's fake, but then you find the really real stuff and you can't get over it and suddenly you have this little burst of epiphany about how vast and amazing and delicious God made the word and you want some more of it.
And wonder of wonders, you get to go.get.it.
So I cook.
I'm going to blog on two of Shauna Niequist's recipes from Bread and Wine in this post, "Start Where You Are," and "Go-To Risotto", partly because they go together, both in actual taste and the chapters' theme, and partly because I'm trying to bump up my pace in cooking through the book. I'm excited though because if you've followed me up to this point and haven't quite caught the "I wanna get in the kitchen" spirit, that's okay, because these chapters talk less about the food on the table, and more of a raison d'etre FOR the table, and it's a reminder I myself need all the time.
So, let's dig in.
Basic Vinaigrette
Given that the recipe is so simple, I won't belabor my process of shaking six ingredients together for this recipe. But it is delicious. It calls for that Dijon Mustard again, and it's now a family staple. My three year old loves it on her fresh fruit and vegetables, and....well, I don't think I have to say anything else about what an accomplishment THAT is.
I don't usually put Niequist's recipes in my blog since that seems a little dishonoring to the book. This recipe, though is so easy and as common-knowledge as you can get in the culinary world, so here it is:
1/4 cup Balsalmic vinegar. 1/2 cup Olive oil. 1 Tblsp Dijon mustard. 1/4 tsp salt. 1/8 tsp pepper.
ShAAAAaaaaAAAaaaAAAaaaAAAAAAke it all together, covered, in a mason jar. You're DONE.
(Other options that I like-- 1 crushed Garlic clove (or a little bit of garlic powder), and a generous tablespoon of sugar. Niequists lists a myriad of other ideas).
This recipe, like the book, is elemental to the idea of cooking. Here I feel Niequist gets to the gut of the question, "Why cook?" And for heaven's sake, why salad dressing? Our meals can come in a can or a bottle or a tray now. Why should we even bother?
Niequist's answer to this isn't really classifiable in economic or strictly utilitarian terms, but rather it appeals to our humanity:
"Each one of us should be able to nourish ourselves in the most basic way and to create meals and traditions around the table that tell the story of who we are to the people we care about."
This is heavier than simply should or should we not call out for pizza tonight. Rather it's a consideration of our lifeblood, our families and immediate culture. It's about offering ourselves to others and inviting them into our lives in a more personal way--maybe without so many layers of cardboard and plastic wrap.
Regardless, if cooking still seems awkward to you, Niequist puts the focus back on the REASON for table--people, nourishing and ministering to people. This is the first goal and priority:
"Focus on making people comfortable, on creating a space protected from the rush and chaos of daily life, a space full of laughter and safety and soul," she says.
Soul. Safety. You do not necessarily have to have a scratch-made gourmet meal to make this happen.
And yet there is something about a hand-made dish that's a tangible offering of ourselves to others.
So. Start where you are. Start with salad dressing, start simple. Let your imagination, your home, your heart, build from there.
Risotto
Like the simplest of recipes--salad dressing--Niequist counts Risotto as another elemental dish. It's simple, warm, comforting (like we might wish our homes could be). Risotto--Creamy rice in wine and chicken broth, flavored with a bit of cheese. Okay, it is a recipe that takes a little bit of work, but embodies what Niequist is communicating--offering that balance of pretty and nourishing to those at our table. Listen to the goal she describes:
"But our goal, remember, is to feed around our table the people we love. We're not chefs or restauranteurs or culinary school graduates, and we shouldn't try to be. Make it the way the people you love want to eat it. Make it the way you love it. Try it a million ways and cross a few off the list because they were terrible, but celebrate the fact that you found a few new ways too--ways that are fresh and possibly unconventional for your family. That's the goal."
That is the goal. And one I frequently mess up.
See, I'm a dancer--I spent 10 years on a stage, performing. I know how to perform in everyday life, too. I know how to take a recipe and make it fancy, showy, a conversation piece, and maybe that's what most of us expect in a Martha Stewart-saturated world. To my shame I have had times I elevated the food over any fellowship that was supposed to happen in my home. I've lost sight of the real goal many times, to the detriment of relationships and the identity of the home I want to have.
This chapter also brought to mind something C.S. Lewis says in his work The Four Loves about a metaphorical Mrs. Fidget--the woman who does everything for her family, even when they wish she would not. And yet she WILL go on making them hot lunches when they prefer cold. It is a self-centered affection, and not truly FOR others.
When it comes to meals, I have often "lovingly" created meals for my family they did not love or enjoy. I have cooked myself to the point of exhaustion for people who really prefer takeout. I have made my offerings about me rather than those it is offered to.
Considering those I love and cooking nourishment--both physical sustenance and soul comfort-- is a kind of spiritual exercise for me. I cook to offer nutrition and whole foods (something that is important to me, my story, and my family) but also to connect with others--do they like salad? They'll enjoy this one. Do they like plain food? This risotto is yummy and easy to eat. In considering others, I'm learning to both come outside myself and share myself, and hopefully giving others a safe place and permission to do the same. This is the stuff of community. Of table.
,
Maybe you don't think in the judgey way I do. I've pretty much always been a fan of calling things what they are, and getting fancy when it seems unnecessary tends to make me irritable. And I like to eat, so I really hate it when I'm being served something that sounds fancy but in reality is oil, vinegar and corn syrup glooped together, and tastes like it.
But then. There came that day I had vinaigrette made with real Balsalmic vinegar. Like, really real. Like from Italy real. And I got excited. I felt like, "Oh! That fake stuff I've been having? There's a really real version of it I just haven't tasted yet? And this is it? Oh, it's amaaaazing!"
Yes, really.
This is why I cook. Because these kinds of discoveries teach me so much about life in general and my attitudes about it. That there is so much to taste and see in this world, and some of it's fake, but then you find the really real stuff and you can't get over it and suddenly you have this little burst of epiphany about how vast and amazing and delicious God made the word and you want some more of it.
And wonder of wonders, you get to go.get.it.
So I cook.
I'm going to blog on two of Shauna Niequist's recipes from Bread and Wine in this post, "Start Where You Are," and "Go-To Risotto", partly because they go together, both in actual taste and the chapters' theme, and partly because I'm trying to bump up my pace in cooking through the book. I'm excited though because if you've followed me up to this point and haven't quite caught the "I wanna get in the kitchen" spirit, that's okay, because these chapters talk less about the food on the table, and more of a raison d'etre FOR the table, and it's a reminder I myself need all the time.
So, let's dig in.
Basic Vinaigrette
Given that the recipe is so simple, I won't belabor my process of shaking six ingredients together for this recipe. But it is delicious. It calls for that Dijon Mustard again, and it's now a family staple. My three year old loves it on her fresh fruit and vegetables, and....well, I don't think I have to say anything else about what an accomplishment THAT is.
I don't usually put Niequist's recipes in my blog since that seems a little dishonoring to the book. This recipe, though is so easy and as common-knowledge as you can get in the culinary world, so here it is:
1/4 cup Balsalmic vinegar. 1/2 cup Olive oil. 1 Tblsp Dijon mustard. 1/4 tsp salt. 1/8 tsp pepper.
ShAAAAaaaaAAAaaaAAAaaaAAAAAAke it all together, covered, in a mason jar. You're DONE.
(Other options that I like-- 1 crushed Garlic clove (or a little bit of garlic powder), and a generous tablespoon of sugar. Niequists lists a myriad of other ideas).
This recipe, like the book, is elemental to the idea of cooking. Here I feel Niequist gets to the gut of the question, "Why cook?" And for heaven's sake, why salad dressing? Our meals can come in a can or a bottle or a tray now. Why should we even bother?
Niequist's answer to this isn't really classifiable in economic or strictly utilitarian terms, but rather it appeals to our humanity:
"Each one of us should be able to nourish ourselves in the most basic way and to create meals and traditions around the table that tell the story of who we are to the people we care about."
This is heavier than simply should or should we not call out for pizza tonight. Rather it's a consideration of our lifeblood, our families and immediate culture. It's about offering ourselves to others and inviting them into our lives in a more personal way--maybe without so many layers of cardboard and plastic wrap.
Regardless, if cooking still seems awkward to you, Niequist puts the focus back on the REASON for table--people, nourishing and ministering to people. This is the first goal and priority:
"Focus on making people comfortable, on creating a space protected from the rush and chaos of daily life, a space full of laughter and safety and soul," she says.
Soul. Safety. You do not necessarily have to have a scratch-made gourmet meal to make this happen.
And yet there is something about a hand-made dish that's a tangible offering of ourselves to others.
So. Start where you are. Start with salad dressing, start simple. Let your imagination, your home, your heart, build from there.
Risotto
Like the simplest of recipes--salad dressing--Niequist counts Risotto as another elemental dish. It's simple, warm, comforting (like we might wish our homes could be). Risotto--Creamy rice in wine and chicken broth, flavored with a bit of cheese. Okay, it is a recipe that takes a little bit of work, but embodies what Niequist is communicating--offering that balance of pretty and nourishing to those at our table. Listen to the goal she describes:
"But our goal, remember, is to feed around our table the people we love. We're not chefs or restauranteurs or culinary school graduates, and we shouldn't try to be. Make it the way the people you love want to eat it. Make it the way you love it. Try it a million ways and cross a few off the list because they were terrible, but celebrate the fact that you found a few new ways too--ways that are fresh and possibly unconventional for your family. That's the goal."
That is the goal. And one I frequently mess up.
See, I'm a dancer--I spent 10 years on a stage, performing. I know how to perform in everyday life, too. I know how to take a recipe and make it fancy, showy, a conversation piece, and maybe that's what most of us expect in a Martha Stewart-saturated world. To my shame I have had times I elevated the food over any fellowship that was supposed to happen in my home. I've lost sight of the real goal many times, to the detriment of relationships and the identity of the home I want to have.
This chapter also brought to mind something C.S. Lewis says in his work The Four Loves about a metaphorical Mrs. Fidget--the woman who does everything for her family, even when they wish she would not. And yet she WILL go on making them hot lunches when they prefer cold. It is a self-centered affection, and not truly FOR others.
When it comes to meals, I have often "lovingly" created meals for my family they did not love or enjoy. I have cooked myself to the point of exhaustion for people who really prefer takeout. I have made my offerings about me rather than those it is offered to.
Considering those I love and cooking nourishment--both physical sustenance and soul comfort-- is a kind of spiritual exercise for me. I cook to offer nutrition and whole foods (something that is important to me, my story, and my family) but also to connect with others--do they like salad? They'll enjoy this one. Do they like plain food? This risotto is yummy and easy to eat. In considering others, I'm learning to both come outside myself and share myself, and hopefully giving others a safe place and permission to do the same. This is the stuff of community. Of table.
,
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