Jes was born and raised on the West Coast, I on the East. We met each other on a computer game, swapped phone numbers, and the rest is history. When she moved out here in Oct '11, there was a lot for each of us to learn about food. For me, it was living outside our parents' homes for the first time and not having a meal plan which prompted my roommate and I to tackle the stove with hand-me-down cookware and secondhand experience. Needless to say, Jes's first memory of my roommate was hearing him scream, "Why do you hate me!?" as napalm rained down upon his white-collar hands while he attempted to stir fry in our wok. Afterward, we purchased a mesh, splatter-proof shield only to discover that improperly heated oil knows no bounds.
For Jes, it was opening up to new and different ingredients and meals. At the onset of our long-distance relationship, I did not know just how particular she was in her diet. Diet, in the sense of "the food you eat." Not vegan, pescetarian, paleo, or even Atkins. Just choosing to eat some foods and not others. Preferential eating, I might say. Like, how my brother didn't eat mushrooms when we were growing up; or how my half-Italian mother doesn't like pasta. Jes and I even survived the cross-country trek together before I realized how deep-rooted her distaste for certain foods was. I say now, in hindsight, how surprising it is that she ate beef carpaccio with our generous hosts in Chicago. Reminding her of that momentous occasion seems to have been the key to unlocking more common dishes to her palate.
After moving here, she's added "no-thank-you portion" to her vocabulary, which her landlord explained as taking a trial portion, but when asked about having seconds, you politely respond, "No, thank you." But until that point, first impressions were as difficult to stomach as the foods she "just didn't eat." Among them? Soup. We laugh about this now, because soup is a very broad term. Now, Jes would say her favorite soup is Riviera minestrone; back then, it was her only soup. This point might have proved integral to the conversion in that stores out here didn't stock that brand. The one can of it we still have in our cupboard was shipped here courtesy of her mother, and I begin to wonder if Jes is aware of its presence.
My endeavors in the kitchen started way back when Jes and I were only typing to each other, or calling each other late at night, or sky-rocketing through the limits of my family's texting plan. One of her many nicknames online—and probably the most applicable—was GP. It originally stood for the name she'd given herself, "getting pwned." After a while of relating, it came to also stand for "guinea pig." We effectively agreed to be each other's taste-testers for meals we would eventually cook for one another. Even to this day, she fears the consequences of that decision, because we are very different when it comes to cooking.
In my mind, Jes is like salt. Jes also likes salt, and that might be why I say this. Salt goes with EVERYTHING. And she doesn't like sweet dinners, so her culinary approach is more conventional, I would say. She likes casseroles, one-dish meals, and not often will she make something with the idea of a "side." She also prefers to follow recipes, which I'm thankful for because she likes to bake. After all, that's a science, where there's seldom room for error.
I, on the other hand, am like pepper. Usually, I tag along with salt wherever it goes, but sometimes I go my own route. Where salt is the foundation of flavor, ground pepper is the beginning of seasoning. Salt is never the star of a dish, but by the same measure you can tell when it's lacking. Salt is common; pepper is bold. And I admit, growing up I never used the pepper-shaker. It was a lost flavor to me. Now? I'm all about experimentation, exploring new combinations, new pairings, reinventing recipes. I rarely measure, and my mother hates it, especially when I create something she's interested in making herself. And I don't bake. I leave that to minds more methodical.
It's amazing that, as well as the two go together, they're still marketed in separate containers. Jes and I clearly have different styles, owing as much to our upbringing as to our tastes. She grew up within miles of San Francisco, with the best Mexican and the worst Asian. I grew up within miles of New York City, with the worst Mexican and the best Asian. Now, relationally speaking, we get along like salt and pepper. But in the kitchen? The age-old expression rings true: too many cooks spoil the broth. Salt wants one thing, and pepper the other. What we've learned? We don't interfere with each other's dish...unless asked. Many a bad memory, argument and fight have resulted from trying to cook together. As the heat goes up, somebody is bound to get out, and that's a painful reality.
Now, I wouldn't trade any part of our relationship to be that couple who takes on dinner like a debut performance of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. In reality, we're more like the premier showing of Stravinsky's Riot of Spring (kudos if you see what I did there); but if on all other counts we are perfect for each other, that is a worthy trade-off. As it stands, we are becoming less and less one another's guinea pig and are beginning to showcase our abilities to other mouths. And since Jes's cooking skills stem from tradition, my avant-garde tactics seem to hold a greater chance for disappointment.
There are some meals which come along, now and again, which I would never make again. Perhaps I messed with a good thing, or perhaps I really had no idea what I was doing. Such failures are inevitable and necessary for the learning process, and since this blog exists for the purpose of documenting our highs and lows in the kitchen, you can expect no mincing of words. If a meal was horrible, it will be flagged; if it was borderline divine, I'll probably break out into French. I'm not classically trained, but...I did graduate from a Cook College.
I've actually been in the business of chronicling my food creations since they arose, but blogging about them or even daring to assemble recipes for them was only first suggested by a friend ten months ago. You can see my enthusiasm in responding to the request. In actuality, the delay in showing any interest for such comes after settling much stress previously held. I am, after all, a married man now. So it is to you, JD, that I direct all fingers of blame regarding the success or failure of this site. May you one day be our guinea pig.
To the best of my ability, I hope to present Jes's and my experiences—both individual and collaborative—in fluid manner, for those interested in the educational side of things. It only took me four years to clue into how to stop burning oil. Don't expect me to go Alton Brown, but I do like to apply science when it's not the be-all and end-all to cooking. After all, pepper is an acquired taste, a piece of art; it needs the proper surroundings to really shine. So, without further ado:
