Why Women Can't Cook and How Stinging Nettles Can Help That

I should probably subtitle this "Why Men Can't Cook Either," because the flip side of saying that (most) women can't cook is NOT that (most) men can. The sad fact is that most people can't cook to save their lives.

Now, I know some optimistic sorts who say, "well, if they can heat up a hotdog, why, they are cooking!"

Nope.

Cooking, to mean anything, must involve the transformation of raw ingredients into satisfactory edibles.

Cooking prowess can be divided into stages:

1. Following exact directions with a basic command of culinary technique.

2. Modifying existing recipes based on experience with a variety of ingredients.

3. Creating brand new recipes.

4. Improvising brand new recipes.

5. Total culinary virtuosity: improvising brand new recipes with improbable ingredients (if you have read Tony Bourdain, foie gras with a Starburst candy reduction should immediately come to mind).

Now, the reason that most people cannot cook is that they have no interest in it. Fair enough. I have little interest in matters of cloth. It was a milestone for me to be able to sew on a button. Therefore I don't do it. I don't have to do it. Melanie is much more skilled at this stuff, and if the project baffles her, her Grandma Helen can fix just about anything. And, as those who know me can testify, I am not above wearing clothing that should have been given burial at sea years ago.

So, I have never really had a need to learn to wield needle and thread, and, until I do, I will never get to step one.

However, all men must eat, and few men can afford (or should want to) eat at restaurants three times a day. Women often get the job of cooking out of default, and they do the best they can, which is about as good as a sewing project of mine is.

Men will simply not bother, figuring that if the Chinese can live off of Chinese food, why, so can they. And at $1.50 for a good tub of chow mein, who can blame them? But women will try to do it, even if they are not good at it.

Which brings us to the problem of armies of bad cooks in dresses.

But you press on, you read recipes, you learn to fold and dice and so on, and you get about seven dishes down, and, with one day a week eating out and one day a week getting someone else to make one meal, the family can eat reasonably well.

This is a recipe for getting more and more bored with cooking, and starting to resent the whole thing (unless you can cultivate a proper sense of duty, which can overcome a lot of boredom).

However, in cooking, duty is second best. The best is to learn to love the adventure of combining ingredients, to get to step four (let's face it, few will ever become virtuosi, and how often do you find yourself with only foie gras and Starburst Fruit Chews anyway?).

I have been thinking about how to instill the love of raw ingredients in people who are not by nature foodies, but would like to see cooking as something other than a chore. My first inclination is to suggest shopping at farmers' markets, but there is a problem with that. First, it does not take long to run into the initiated elite at the farmers' markets, especially in areas like the Bay Area, and that is intimidating. You don't want to cheerfully explain a modest discovery you have made to a co-patron only to find that you have been instructing the head buyer for Chez Panisse how to make a turnip puree.

It is not that the initiated elite foodie will be necessarily rude, but often foodies are on a mission and may be short (I generally try to be as helpful as possible when encountering the weekly, "what is that and what are you going to do with it?" which is a question that can be a lot of fun to answer, unless I see said Chez Panisse buyer moving towards a favorite vendor, knowing full well that we will be after the same ingredient).

Also, farmers' markets can attract hippies, and hippies smell of patchouli, which is definitely off-putting.

So, my advice to those wanting to move to the next level of cooking (and to have some fun at it, too) is to forage. First, you get to learn some botany, which is a blast. Second, nothing is quite as satisfying as miners' lettuce salad that you picked yourself in the woods. Third, it is free. And I like free.

So, with that in mind, and having been in the woods recently, let me introduce the theme for the week: stinging nettles.

Stinging nettles, as their name implies, sting on contact. They have little micro-thorns (that are more like hairs) that are armed with formic acid. The micro-thorn gets under the skin and delivers a nasty, albeit short-lived sting. The good thing is that the sting goes away when the nettles are plunged into boiling water. Just a minute and the sting is gone.

So, don some gloves, bring a bag and some clippers and head to the woods!

Plunge those babies in boiling water and start to get a feel for their taste, their texture, their smell.

Then, make a simple risotto:

1. Heat 2 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil with 2 Tbls butter and 2 Tbls goose fat (or just do 3 and 3 with the butter and olive oil).

2. Gently fry 3 oz of pancetta and two peeled garlic cloves.

3. Fry a finely diced onion (or large shallot) for a minute or two.

4. Add a finely diced carrot and a finely diced stalk of celery. Fry gently for a couple of minutes.

5. Add two cups of arborio rice and stir until the grains look pearlized.

6. Add a cup of dry white vermouth and cook down until the moisture is out.

7. Add ladlesful of hot broth, keeping the level of the liquid above the rice, until the rice is al dente.

8. Just before the rice is done, add the nettles. Warm them through.

9. Finish with 2 or 3 more tablespoons of butter, salt, pepper, and pecorino romano cheese.

10. Serve with fresh shavings of pecorino romano and a light young red wine.

Next up: nettle frittata!

Posted by erik at March 8, 2005 12:37 AM | TrackBack