40-Clove Beef This Time
I always run into the theory of diminishing details when I try to remember how I cooked something.
A couple of weeks ago, Karen made “40-Clove Chicken.” It was very good, and my roots told me that “40-Clove Beef” would be even better. I went to Price Club and got a couple of big old chuck roasts, onions and garlic.
At home, I made it. It was very good. Karen remarked how good it was, the first night we had it. While I was making it, I thought I should write down the details. The technique, so to speak. But I didn’t, for the very good reason that I believed I wouldn’t forget. It was not a complicated technique, and it would be easy to visualize in the future.
Two weeks later, there is one more container of it left in the freezer. I want to make it again, but I am running into the theory of diminishing details. When you are cooking something new, particularly something simple, you think you should write it down, but you don’t because it’s so easy. Tomorrow, you could do it again exactly the same way. But then tomorrow becomes a couple days, then a week, then two weeks.
And now I can’t remember: did I use flour? I think I did, but I remember at about that same time I watched Ina Garten cook Boeuf Bourguignon, and I think she used flour. Maybe she did, and I didn’t. Maybe this time I will use flour. Maybe not. I guess “40-Clove Beef” will just come out different this time. That should be the title of my next cookbook: “Different the Next Time.” And the recipes will all have "This Time" in the title, like "40-Clove Beef This Time." A recipe is just a starting place anyway.
A couple of weeks ago, Karen made “40-Clove Chicken.” It was very good, and my roots told me that “40-Clove Beef” would be even better. I went to Price Club and got a couple of big old chuck roasts, onions and garlic.
At home, I made it. It was very good. Karen remarked how good it was, the first night we had it. While I was making it, I thought I should write down the details. The technique, so to speak. But I didn’t, for the very good reason that I believed I wouldn’t forget. It was not a complicated technique, and it would be easy to visualize in the future.
Two weeks later, there is one more container of it left in the freezer. I want to make it again, but I am running into the theory of diminishing details. When you are cooking something new, particularly something simple, you think you should write it down, but you don’t because it’s so easy. Tomorrow, you could do it again exactly the same way. But then tomorrow becomes a couple days, then a week, then two weeks.
And now I can’t remember: did I use flour? I think I did, but I remember at about that same time I watched Ina Garten cook Boeuf Bourguignon, and I think she used flour. Maybe she did, and I didn’t. Maybe this time I will use flour. Maybe not. I guess “40-Clove Beef” will just come out different this time. That should be the title of my next cookbook: “Different the Next Time.” And the recipes will all have "This Time" in the title, like "40-Clove Beef This Time." A recipe is just a starting place anyway.
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