Saturday, 10 March, 2018
There are two kinds of people – those who eat to live (I was one of these until I was perhaps 19) and those who live to eat (this is me now).
My mother was a good-enough cook. There was nothing fancy in her repertoire. She made an amazing roast beef and yorkshire pudding, although looking back I imagine the beef would be too well-done for me now. There were old British favourites, such as pease pudding cooked with boiled gammon, meat pies, sausages (usually with liver and bacon) in a tomato onion gravy…and the Jewish favourites of chicken soup with lokshen (noodles) and cold things like pickled or salted herring.
When I was 14 I went with my sister on a holiday experience with a French family. Only French was spoken. I wasn’t keen on the food, which came in courses and was ridiculously formal. In my later teens I travelled alone a bit, in London and in Liverpool, and tried a bunch of things, now familiar but then exotic – pasta and pizza come to mind. Then when I was 19 I went back to France – to visit my cousin in Paris – at 19 she was already married with a baby – and really discovered food. I no longer remember what we ate but it intrigued me. There was such a mix of simple flavours but nothing was accidental.
That’s when I learned to cook.
In Toronto I found cooking classes that fulfilled everything on my wishlist. Each person with their own cooking station, each person preparing their own food, enough to taste, enough to take home for at least one amazing meal, a great chef-teacher, great back up and help from their assistant, a stool for when my legs got tired, interesting and varied menus… This was the Calphalon brand. I attended as many as I could afford. While the quality changed over the years, I kept going back. And then they closed. No class since has been as good.
In London I haven’t found the same but Atelier des Chefs isn’t bad. The main differences are: No individual cooking stations, much of the preparation done as a team, no guarantee you can eat your own food. All minuses in my opinion but I’m trying to enjoy this experience on its own merits.
I had the slowest bus in the East going to the class and thought I’d be extremely late. Just getting out of my neighbourhood took half an hour, whereas it usually takes five to ten minutes. We crept along but got there in the end.
