My parents owned several restaurants all through my adolescence, and if I wasn't romping around outside, I was a poised spectator in their restaurant.
There was no fooling around once I was inside, it was a business after all. I remember watching food being flipped through the air and caught again; returning gracefully to its frying pan. I remember the flambe, the flames that shot high in the air were spectacular. I remember the chefs doing all of their cooking (even their tricks) with calmly stern faces, and how, unlike them, I couldn't help but to smile at the show.
|Creamy Chicken Vegetable Soup for a chilly January night (recipe to come...)|
What I did not smile about was the giant pile of dishes I had to wash while they created these masterpieces. I washed and washed and washed, sometimes into the night.
Although I was never formally taught how to cook, I picked up a lot about food, and the relationships between them, from my countless days of watching and listening in the restaurant.
I still unhappily wash dishes, but I now get to make masterpieces of my own too...and I cook with a smile on my face.
~ An Afterthought ~
My dad is the best soup maker there is, but being his daughter my soup is pretty darn delicious too :) The recipe for my Creamy Chicken Vegetable Soup is to come, stay tuned.