kirk wallace
kirk wallace
A friend (OK, my partner of 30 years) on Facebook, where i am not, forwarded the below, from Victor Hazan on Marcella's FB page, to me this AM. A recent post on here made me think about it again. Maybe some of our confreres on this bored feel the same; maybe some do not, but after many years of cooking and dining, it says almost everything I look for these days:
"Yes, of course, Marcella and I were one, but we were also two. Marcella had an inexhaustible inquisitiveness toward the natural world, which is not surprising in someone with two graduate degrees in the sciences, but where cooking was concerned she didn’t need to check how others were doing it. She didn’t have to because Marcella didn’t have doubts, she knew, and out of that knowledge, whose mysterious creative source had always been a wonder to me, she produced the pure, expressive taste of her cooking. As for me however, I need to look around. I have to see what’s cooking in the blogs, in the digital newsletters, in the weekly food columns. I compare what I am reading with the memory of the food that, for nearly sixty years, Marcella put on our table. What I am finding is that food has entered a perplexing period, its roots have come loose, its identity is unfocused. Voices everywhere join in calling for simplicity, Marcella’s guiding principle, but how simple can a dish be when it comes with a list of ten ingredients, three of them herbs and spices? Its canvas of flavor is stippled with many hues, each clamoring for attention. Marcella used to say that when you cook, what you leave out is just as important as what you put in. Yet what I read yields images of cooks reaching for something to add on, something novel, something scented, something crunchy, something spiced. It doesn’t persuade me. It doesn’t because I have had those dishes, at other people’s homes, at restaurants, I have had them in my mind because I have learned to think taste. And that is what is missing. Not the impact, not the novelty, not the scents, there is plenty of all that. It’s the flavor that is missing. The truth of the dish. Victor."
"Yes, of course, Marcella and I were one, but we were also two. Marcella had an inexhaustible inquisitiveness toward the natural world, which is not surprising in someone with two graduate degrees in the sciences, but where cooking was concerned she didn’t need to check how others were doing it. She didn’t have to because Marcella didn’t have doubts, she knew, and out of that knowledge, whose mysterious creative source had always been a wonder to me, she produced the pure, expressive taste of her cooking. As for me however, I need to look around. I have to see what’s cooking in the blogs, in the digital newsletters, in the weekly food columns. I compare what I am reading with the memory of the food that, for nearly sixty years, Marcella put on our table. What I am finding is that food has entered a perplexing period, its roots have come loose, its identity is unfocused. Voices everywhere join in calling for simplicity, Marcella’s guiding principle, but how simple can a dish be when it comes with a list of ten ingredients, three of them herbs and spices? Its canvas of flavor is stippled with many hues, each clamoring for attention. Marcella used to say that when you cook, what you leave out is just as important as what you put in. Yet what I read yields images of cooks reaching for something to add on, something novel, something scented, something crunchy, something spiced. It doesn’t persuade me. It doesn’t because I have had those dishes, at other people’s homes, at restaurants, I have had them in my mind because I have learned to think taste. And that is what is missing. Not the impact, not the novelty, not the scents, there is plenty of all that. It’s the flavor that is missing. The truth of the dish. Victor."