March 14 is Pi Day, as in the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter. This is not to be confused with National Pie Day which is January 23, but it is a good occasion on either day to make, or at least talk about pie! I don't know about you but when I think of pie, I think of sweet pie, but to be honest we cook far more savoury pies than we ever make sweet ones. One of our favourites is this Green Curry Chicken Pie and another is making a pie out of this Steak and Pepper casserole . I have decided that this is the perfect opportunity to share a quote I have been saving for a while now. Last year I read The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles. Whilst this wasn't necessarily a foodie book there were several passages in this book that I wanted to share as I did enjoy the way that Towles wrote about food, and other things too, but for the purpose of this post let's concentrate on the food. I do have another quote saved somewhere. There was another passage that lovingly described eating Fettucine Mio Amore at Leonello's, an Italian restaurant. This dish isn't an option on the menu so you have to be in the know to ask for it, and another passage was about cooking this same recipe, but I don't know what I did with that quote. I might have to reborrow the book! This week though, I am going to share a passage about why we spend time and effort cooking for the people we love. I hope you enjoy the quote too! The character speaking here is Sally, a young woman in 1950s country America. From a man's point of view, the one thing that's needful is that you sit at
his feet and listen to what he has to say, no matter how long it takes for him
to say it, or how often he's said it before. By his figuring, you have plenty
of time for sitting and listening because a meal is something that makes
itself. The manna, it falls from heaven, and with a snap of the fingers, the
water can be turned into wine. Any woman who's gone to the trouble of baking an
apple pie can tell you that's how a man sees the world.
To bake an apple pie, you've first got to make the dough. You've got to cut
the butter into the flour, gather it with a beaten egg and a few tablespoons of
ice water, let it bind overnight. The next day, you've got to peel and core the
apples, cut them into wedges, and toss them with cinnamon sugar. You've got to
roll out the crust and assemble the pie. Then you bake it at 425 for fifteen
minutes and 350 for another forty-five. Finally, when supper's over, you
carefully plate a slice and set it on the table where, in midsentence, a man
will fork half of it into his mouth and swallow without chewing, so that he can
get right back to saying what he was saying without the chance of being interrupted.
And strawberry preserves? Don't get me started on strawberry preserves!
As young Billy pointed out so rightly, making preserves is a time-consuming
venture. Just picking the berries takes you half a day. Then you have to wash
and stem the fruit. You have to sterilize the lids and jars. Once you
combine the ingredients, you have to set them on simmer and watch them like a
hawk, never letting yourself stray more than a few feet from the stove to make
sure they don't overcook. When they’re ready, you pour the preserves, seal the
jars, and lug them into the pantry one tray at a time. Only then can you start
the process of cleaning up, which is a job in itself.
And yes, as Duchess pointed out, the canning of preserves is a little
old-fashioned , hearkening back to the era of root cellars and wagon
trains. I suppose the word preserves is bygone when compared to the blunt
precision of jam .
And as Emmett pointed out, it is, above all, unnecessary. Thanks to Mr.
Smucker, at the grocer there are fifteen varieties of jam selling for nineteen cents
a jar, season in and season out. In fact, jam has become so readily available,
you can practically buy it at the hardware store.
So yes, the making of strawberry preserves is time-consuming, old-fashioned,
and unnecessary.
Then why, you might ask, do I bother to do it?
I do it because it's time-consuming.
Whoever said that something worthwhile shouldn't take time? It took months
for the Pilgrims to sail to Plymouth Rock. It took years for George Washington
to win the Revolutionary War. and it took decades for the pioneers to conquer
the West.
Time is that which God uses to separate the idle from the industrious. For time
is a mountain and upon seeing its steep incline, the idle will lie down among
the lilies of the field and hope that someone passes by with a pitcher of
lemonade. What the worthy endeavor requires is planning, effort, attentiveness,
and the willingness to clean up.
I do it because it's old-fashioned.
Just because something's new doesn't mean it's better; and often enough, it
means it's worse.
Saying please and thank you is plenty old-fashioned. Getting married and
raising children is old-fashioned. Traditions, the very means by which we come
to know who we are, are nothing if not old-fashioned.
I make preserves in the manner that was taught to me by my mother, God rest
her soul. She made preserves in the manner that was taught to her by her
mother, and Grandma made preserves in the manner that was taught to her by
hers. And so on, and so forth, back through the ages all the way to Eve. Or, at
least as far as Martha.
And I do it because it's unnecessary.
For what is kindness but the performance of an act that is both beneficial
to another and unrequired? There is no kindness in paying a bill. There is no
kindness in getting up at down to slop the pigs, or milk the cows, or gather
the eggs from the henhouse. For that matter, there is no kindness in making
dinner, or in cleaning the kitchen after your father heads upstairs without so
much as a word of thanks.
There is no kindness in latching the doors and turning out the lights, or in
picking up the clothes from the bathroom floor in order to put them in the
hamper. There is no kindness in taking care of a household because your only
sister has the good sense to get herself married and move to Pensacola.
Nope, I said to myself while climbing into bed and switching off the light,
there is no kindness in any of that.
For kindness begins where necessity ends.
Weekly meals Saturday - Zucchini, Parmesan and Tomato Rissotto Sunday - Roast chicken, rolls and potato salad Monday - Warm steak salad Tuesday - pork sausages, chips and gravy Wednesday - Pressure cooker spaghetti bolognaise Thursday - Mexican chicken parma, mash and beans Friday - Takeaway Weekend Cooking is open to anyone who has any kind of food-related post to share: Book reviews (novel, nonfiction), cookbook reviews, movie reviews, recipes, random thoughts, gadgets, quotations, photographs, restaurant reviews, travel information, or fun food facts. If your post is even vaguely foodie, feel free to grab the button and link up anytime over the weekend. You do not have to post on the weekend. Please link to your specific post, not your blog's home page
This post was originally posted by Marg from The Adventures of an Intrepid Reader . It should not be reproduced without express written permission.
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