Three cheers for cooks!

      Cooking is not chef-ing, although it seems that chefs are everywhere. Chefs run kitchens, create signature dishes, host television programs, sign their cookbooks and generally live the life of the adulated few. Cooks, on the other hand, may or may not aspire to that high wire upon which a chef balances, where a lapse may be career-ending and not just an unsuccessful stutter. It is true that all chefs were cooks at one time, laboring for long hours in the hot sweaty line of pressured production for little money and no recognition. A chef's life isn't for everyone and not everyone aspires to it, although some cooks may admire the apparent rewards lavished on the most successful chefs. This doesn't deny that chefs have attendant headaches behind all the glamor and they might say “Oy, you have no idea” to that. But today's American food culture places an extraordinary value on the accomplishments of chefs and by doing so hints that the contribution of the cook is of lesser value. How wrong-headed is that? Many cooks have undergone extensive and exquisite training in particular specialties, and have served ably with loyalty and distinction on the battle line in the kitchen. They have been responsible for the presentation of countless tables of richness and worth that have pleased customers of the most, and of the least, discriminating taste. These are the professional cooks of whom I speak, whether their work tables are barbeque or blue ribbon.

     Then there are the dedicated and superior amateurs who not only serve their families on a daily basis but also their friends and guests in an unselfish effort to entertain, amuse and beguile in addition to satisfying them. To be good at that requires dedication among other qualities including creativity if not artistry, technical skill, improvisational deftness, concentrated organization and, not least of all, a caring nature. For someone to cook a meal with the particular desires and preferences of the recipient in mind is a process that involves time and effort both in and outside the kitchen. The menu planning, the ingredient gathering and the recipe selections are not a small part of this performance and can require as much attention to detail as time spent in the kitchen. To do this with excellence on a daily basis is an exhibition of remarkable love and caring, no doubt about it. You may know what I mean. To create these little essential artworks of tribute regularly is a sign of great devotion. It doesn't matter whether the dish is potage or pheasant, as any cook will tell you. Cooks undertake these tasks willingly with the hopeful attitude of aiming to please. Just the accommodation for varied dietary preferences, let alone requirements, at a single table can be daunting. There is nothing easy or simple about it and a lack of appreciation for this can sting terribly. Praise is not expected at forkful but an acknowledgment of the effort that goes into the entire presentation is always gratefully received in my experience. The simplest sincere expression by a guest or a family member can make all the difference to the cook's assessment of achievement.

     To those cooks who identify with this description, I say thank you and can only say that I trust that your loving care does not go unnoticed, nor should it ever.

   Biggest Smooches, Celeste

Family guests - it can happen anytime!

          Guests are one thing but family guests are another. They require special consideration and rules mainly due to the delicacy of the familial bonds that dare not be broken, except in cases of distant incarceration, in which instance the best policy would be to send holiday cards only without any personal notes, thereby maintaining the thinnest connectivity. When there is a disturbance in the family fabric it has a tendency to propel vibrations far and wide and to engender tremors in faraway and unexpected places. One of the consequences of which is that the original actors in the drama are misunderstood, misquoted and generally maligned by persons who hardly know them and can’t be bothered to find out the facts. In order to preserve the status quo of cherished family values and character, some precepts ought to be observed by the host and hostess when sheltering family:

         1. Never loan them money as a house guest. Its corollary: never ask for repayment by a guest, lest it be misunderstood as “rent”. 2. Do not encourage the family guest to give up a cherished vice, such as drinking, smoking or gambling while in your home as this is likely to exacerbate violent mood swings. 3. Limit sharp objects around the house, especially within easy reach on kitchen counters. 4. If a family guest makes an inane and offensive remark at table such as, “Not all slave owners were really bad people,” ask them to help in the kitchen with some menial task in order to defuse any ill-will, especially if it happens to be Martin Luther King Day. 5. Placate dietary requirements as best you can but do not be vexed by unanticipated and unexpressed needs. Meet them with casual nonchalance such as, “I don’t believe you mentioned that to me” or “Help me find a substitute in your food pyramid.” 6. Provide ample brochures for local activity in rooms and meet requests for things to do with a slightly bewildered deflection to them. 7. Plainly express your day’s plan ahead of time and let the family guests work around your schedule. Leave explanatory notes with diagrams on the kitchen counter when you must be away. 8. Inform the family that your pet has a delicate nature and that territorial displays are to be expected, the consequences for which you will not be responsible, no matter the provocation. Stock in stain remover. 9. The second phrase after welcome must be, “Remind me how long you said you will be with us?” A direct declaration is important for clarity. Much sorrow and ill-will has arisen from over-staying, Benjamin Franklin’s quotation notwithstanding. Remind your guest how thin your walls are. Blame the builder. 10. Your goal is to make it all look easy. Even those who exploit your kindness with unexpressed appreciation can sense the effort you have made. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of self the rewards of kinship will be felt. Offer to reciprocate with a visit of your own in the near future.

Kisses,

Celeste

Best summer ever

    Oldsters love nostalgia, if one is to judge from the shameless non-profit funding appeals featuring music groups from 60 years ago. Nostalgia is not a bad thing although it sounds vaguely like a medical condition. I think what we mean by nostalgia is the reflection on a period, a day, even an instant when things were going our way. Never mind that the actual experiences of the era of the music appeals may have been fraught with insecurities, broken hearts and teenage or coed angst. Taken to this extreme, we can concoct a sappy sentimentalism totally unmoored from reality; yet the upwelling of images, feelings and impressions can be calming and reassuring if they are of an affirmative nature. Let’s not dwell on unpleasantness, I say, past or present. Taken in its literal sense, nostalgia is a form of homesickness; that undefinable yearning for things as they were when one had a comfort, security and predictability in one’s home life, no matter at what age. I don’t think growing up in a chaotic, noisy, competitive and uncertain home can engender nostalgia but then that was not the childhood I experienced. For me dangers were at least at arm’s length and a caring embrace was as close as a casual glance around.

      For me the sweet anchor of at least one summer was associated with our Tastee-Freez ice cream stand, located along the road between my home and downtown Euphoria. It really was a stand, four-sided with a slanting modernist roof and a great glass front soaring up and into the heavenly future. Mr. Goober, the manager was a little round man who wore very wide ties clipped to his always white shirt and who had a weakness for ice cream and pretty young girls, with whom he flirted constantly and hired exclusively. I was lucky enough to make the grade as counter help and the summer was passing with delightful regularity as I observed more extended tongues than a sore throat clinic and spent considerable time cooling myself over the open chest freezer.

      It happened that our supervisor, Miss Emily, of the dimpled smile and cheerleading enthusiasm found herself in some biological difficulty in July, well before the end of the season. Mr. G. turned to me as the next in line. Was I ever flattered! The importance of the “TF”, as everyone in the know called it, cannot be exagerrated. For my age group it was the galactic hub around which everything revolved. This wasn’t just because we had the best dip-top cones with sprinkles or not. After dark it might be a deserted neon yellow beacon but only because the gangs, groups and cliques had already met there and moved on to wherever summer’s distilled essence (whether liquid or not) was to be quaffed. The “TF” allowed me an entré into a rarified popularity I might not have enjoyed otherwise. People wanted to be my friend, wanted to know what I thought, wanted to invite me to pool parties, wanted be around me and in short sought me out and included me in every teenage social ritual. It was a dream and the best summer ever.

     Even my coworkers over whom I held complete sway treated me with respect and I daresay some affection. By the end of the season as we closed for the last time they all came by to say goodbye. They presented me with a stuffed polar bear with a card attached. “You’ve got a Brrrrright future!”, it said. I remember.

Kisses,

Celeste

A fine mountebank

Forgive me if I swerve from the track for a moment.

I adore old words, even the archaic ones that are out of place in current usage, which, when they pop up, can sound like a fog horn in a love song or look like a desperate attempt at smug scholarship. When you look up their etymology sometimes there are surprises about their origins. I always enjoy the rich diversity that underlies the English language, from roots that derive from Arabia to Scandinavia and from every linguistic group in between: French to Finno-Ugric. In America there are often direct connections to our immigrant forebears. Not a lot of people see the Dutch as having enriched our vocabulary, but then they may not be yacht owners, the boss being the captain. See also frolic, Yankee, and snoop among many others. On the other hand, testamentary to our tradition of xenophobia is the long list of pejorative terms attached to the word Dutch-: treat, door, oven, prince, rub, uncle, courage and on and on.

Anyhoo, there are some old-fashioned not exactly archaic words which deserve more pointed usage today. The 16th century word mountebank is a good one found in Shakespeare's work and fits nicely into current conversation without any effort. I name no names. The descriptor blow-hard is not heard enough these days, neither is windbag for that matter. The former describes a loud braggart (from unrelated nautical origins) and the other a tediously self-extending speaker (from the term for an organ bellows). These under-appreciated terms carry the weight of time with them and are reassuring in their apt currency to describe some notorious characters at work these days. The connotations and disapproving associations ought to travel with them.

Without too much mental exertion the old word charlatan springs to mind in the rich vocabulary of scoundrels, cheats and tricksters. The modernized version is the well known snake oil salesman, who has a cure for whatever ails you, coming from the Italian or French language and mixes chatterbox tendencies with a medicinal sales pitch. A carnival barker sounds about in the same vein.

Depending on the damage inflicted, a person may be a scallywag or scalawag but that denomination is far too moderate for someone whose power is enormous and able to do great harm with so little effort, such as a few keystrokes. As a side note it is interesting that the Scalawags as a group actually had a political and practical role in the life of the South after the Civil War but that is another topic.

Recognizing the appropriate word and its origin clearly does not prevent some people from being taken in and swindled. For the victim, the admission of this fact and recognition as a “stooge” is far too painful to admit, let alone embrace. Therefore the cautious and discerning individuals can only stand to the side and cluck tongues. At least we have a long history of naming these destructive rogues who damage our faith in humanity and continually affirm the willful gullibility of some.

There. I feel better.

For a gracious tomorrow with abundant kisses,

Celeste

Pillow talk

Cheries;

Girls, let’s talk. Excuse the informality but this is simply too important not to mention. It is about pillows. The current trend is a tidal wave and beginning to crest for goodness sake. We are being swamped with them. I have actually seen bed arrangements that literally engulf more than half the space available. Stop before it is too late!

It is no less inviting to prepare a bed with two pillows per person and a nice bolster for support if needed than it is to establish a beach-head of fluffy obstructions to wade through. Where on earth do you put them all when you sleep? I hope not on the floor but I suspect as much. Spend your effort on economy in the bedroom and do it tastefully with a sleeping pillow and a nicely covered display pillow for accent. If you can, have the display pillowcase monogrammed or use very fine material to make a special presentation. Many heirloom fabrics are still available in the better linen stores. Let the hotels exaggerate the pillow-mania and reserve a signature style for your home. Please don’t make it look like a hotel. Your guests are there for you.

Then there are the sofas. Call them davenports, couches, lounges or what you will they are usually quite comfortable as they are made, usually with abundant cushioning. Use pillows as accents and not as an excuse to slouch and slump in dreadful postures. Is it any wonder that the advertisements for back pain remedies and even for surgeries are more and more commonly displayed everywhere? The modern American back muscles have been softened to a frightful degree and excessive pillofication is the culprit. Pillows are accents. Use them accordingly. They are not to hide behind or wrestle with unless you are under ten years old. Choose contrasting colors, patterns or fabrics to make your points. A fine bargello needlepoint offers a touch of refinement and plenty of support. Don’t be stampeded into over-doing it just because you see them cascading in catalogues. Remember that their purpose there is to sell you more pillows. A tsunami of pillows is an obstacle and not an accompaniment to conversation or to rest. And you really don’t have to crease them in that sort of artificial manner seen in hotel lobbies across the land.

Girls, my advice is that if you want to make a fashion statement, do it with subtlety and an artful choice of restraint. One is not impressed with piling on. It is easy to avoid this fault of common-ness. Your home ought to exemplify your personal standards in every way. Make your style stand out with an exercise of moderation when it comes to pillows, the accents that display a warm welcome and solid comfort.

As ever, Celeste

Party chatter

Some people can tell a joke at parties. I can't. I suppose that is one reason I am not a professional comedian. My daddy was a sociable funny person in his own reserved way, and he had a kind of country wit that everyone around him appreciated. He had lots of stories, some of them gathered from his legal practice either from his own cases or those of his associates. His stories were about the foibles of human nature at all levels of society, education or wealth. Lawyer stories are usually didactic and are not received as outright comic gems at parties.

Anecdotes are a joke variation which can be funny and are supposedly reality-based. We get an earful of those at many social functions throughout the year. Often the degree of pleasantry is directly proportional to the quantity of alcohol consumed. This humor quotient or ratio is practically a rule of nature. Alcohol as a social lubricant has become essential nowadays to sustain a level of jollity which current world events can easily diminish in a dull moment. Both the listener and speaker are involved in this delicate choreography of distraction. The storyteller is usually relating something that happened to him or that he witnessed, and with a hilarious fillip at the end, sends every nearby listener into paroxysms of explosive laughter. But what do you do when the effort falls flat? If you are carrying a fan you can hide behind it, rustle it vigorously and titter amiably before moving on to the next topic. Sadly, personal fans are not carried often except on certain Asian occasions.

In many cases the suspension of reality during the failed anecdote has been so complete that the shocking return to the present is met with dumb silence and shifting postures. Be prepared. During the recounting of the awful tale, let your mind wander to some clever associative remark, “My brother is just like that!” or “I've never heard of anything quite like it!” or “Where do you come up with these stories?” or “Oh well, what can you do?” Avoid putting the raconteur in an awkward position at all costs as this will only accentuate any discomfort occasioned by the defective effort. Make no reference to over consumption of beverages as this tends to broadly insult the speaker's social capabilities even though it may be an accurate observation. Make no general observations such as “Insurance sales is a racket like that” or “All car mechanics are crooked,” since one of their number in that field may be present. “Have you tried the paté?” is a reliable dodge with the specific plate (cheese board, kale salad or vichysoisse, etc.) substituted where appropriate. Everyone in the circle of hearing will be relieved that someone has taken the lead to extricate the group from awkwardness, no matter that it may seem to be an abrupt segue. I say any life saver is fine in an emergency.

Parties are not meant for introspection. They are meant for convivial sharing and by making allowances for human frailty your part can only be enhanced. If you don't want to participate, find the host's library and open a book, but you and everyone else are best served if you march with good will in this occasional parade as a healthy deflection from ordinary reality.

Many more kisses, Celeste

More food memories.

It happens that the topic of food memory is a rich though non-caloric one. I prefer the digestible length of one page notes but some subjects require more commentary than others. Broadly, there are the holiday food memories, ordinary food memories, the memories evoked by aroma or by taste and the memories prompted by sight and occasion. Most of these in my experience are good memories although the complex nature of human biology does allow for unpleasant and unsavory reflexes when confronted by certain foods. Sadly, my dear Wallace couldn’t eat onions for years due to an untoward experience with them during silly college fraternity hazing.

Anyhoo, in my experience a food memory can be extraordinarily intense, sometimes in a literary way, provoking floridly descriptive passages of less than novel length. It casts me back to the entirety of the circumstances at the time of my experience. I may be 5 years old or I may be 25 and the reminder of the time, place and feeling can be overwhelming. Often when I drink a certain sweet tea in a certain glass with a certain sprig of mint I am fully transported to the front steps of my childhood home, on a warm June day, a soft breeze ruffling the leaves of the great pecan tree in front, the aromas of mown hay sweeping across the road and up our little sloping yard, to enfold me in a safe and happy embrace. It is pure calming pleasure and contentment. This complete feeling is total and really does begin at the top of my head and travels to my toes in a sort of force field of emotion. It is fleeting but I can see and hear and sense all the things as richly as I did at that prior moment. From the mossy green step I see the slouched figure of the farmer across the way, one hand on his tractor wheel, one adjusting his hat, stirring the field and its creatures like the pilot of a ship traversing the waves. He glances at me and raises his hand in recognition and I do the same in shared approval. It captured serenity and the promise of glorious summer all in one gesture.

On the other hand a birthday cake of the white kind with yellow, red and blue icing reminds me too well of the party where the guest of honor got so over-excited and ate so much that he threw up in multicolor hues across the table from his youthful guests. I haven’t felt the same about birthday cake since, favors notwithstanding.

Distinct from that, those special ‘dining out’ experiences with one’s parents can have a strange and powerful hold. The appearance of shrimp cocktail in a little dish of shaved ice centered on an ampoule of unbearably hot tomato sauce always reminds me of my parents’ delight in treating us to utter extravagance from time to time and to my high school graduation in particular when their mood was so genuinely gleeful that I cried the entire time, for what I am still not quite sure, but you know what I mean.

Fond hugs,

Celeste