For a few weeks now I've been cooking every Sunday for my wife (a vegetarian since age 6), my 20 month old son (if it ain't koo-key, kwa-ku, a fruit, or chocolate he doesn't give a shit), my mother (who didn't know that she liked pizza until she was 48 and commented last week, "this is the worst you've ever made my eggs"), my father (who after I cooked up a favorite of his, sautéed squash and zucchini grown organically and picked fresh from my garden, commented snarkily that his mother didn't use garlic in hers), my brother (who gets diarrhea from a butterfly flapping its wings in Africa), and my future sister in law (my least harsh critic...at least until the marriage license in signed, just kidding Kristy...maybe).
Much to my family's dismay I lean towards the complicated and/or obscure when compiling the weekend family menu. They would be just as happy, if not happier, with spaghetti and meatballs every week but it's not about them dammit! Cooking is definitely therapy for me and the harder, the more therapeutic. With little to no professional training (I worked at a Japanese Steakhouse for five months) I will document each week's moderate to difficult menu and the talk around the table.
Oh, you think this is a Julie/Julie rip-off? Well, you may have a point. It centers around cooking and I am cooking Boeuf Bourguignon this weekend. Oscar Wilde said, "Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation." He might have a point too; on the other hand…screw it let's start cooking.
