foreplay. no, wait, foodplay. no, wait.

[reposted from... I don't know. a few years ago, a few jobs ago. just trying to get everything in one place. bear with.]



I appear to be back on the road to skinny.

So far, it’s all happened by accident. I was a slightly chunky little kid who became a depressed, moderately overweight teen who became a more depressed, almost-skinny young adult who became a happier (read: medicated) good lord, I gained it all back and then some? older young adult who is now an I’m too busy and tired to eat and I work with food so I hate the smell of it why are my pants falling off? thirty-mergh-year-old.

I think my love for food is changing from “food tastes like this ooh yummy I love cheese” to “food as medium.”

I giggle to write that, because I, by no means, am skilled enough to be the kind of artist with food that I’d like to be. I’m a straight-up wannabe, still wearing my pillowcase pants and puffy hat to school, occasionally bumbling around the kitchen like a puppy, and ogling the work of the more advanced. I’m on my way, but I’m not there yet – just enjoying the shift in perspective.

As with most things lately, I think this shift is related to my job. There’s such emphasis on plating and appearance; I’ve never appreciated a beautifully-plated dish as much as I do now that I’m responsible for creating them. I view pictures of plated dishes differently; instead of taking in the whole beautiful picture, my eye is drawn to the details: a tiny pile of chopped capers playing off the same pickled berries in steak tartare, a graceful arc of olive oil against white, the dark-green exterior of steamed asparagus graduating inward to the most perfect, calming moss; the bright corals and greens of sushi; flecks of black truffle suspended in cream; the vibrant, fluffy frill of microgreens in any setting. Oh, yes – I am a total microgreens addict. I don’t care if it’s trendy and on its way out. I’m a goner.

I feel so lucky sometimes. I have this fantastic foundation from which to make fantastic food, and now I’m treated to an education in architecture using the building blocks I’ve learned to make. It’s amazing to me, sometimes, how multi-layered this education can be.

And besides all that, learning to plate beautifully just woos me more deeply into this love affair. Food is about so much more than just eating, with palate or eyes. Whether cooking for friends or family, or plating dishes in what can seem like such an impersonal restaurant setting, it’s all the same: Eat at my table with me. Let me treat you to everything about this experience. Let me feed your eyes and soul.

Food is a diverse medium. And for the chef (or maybe for this chef) – food is, among other things, a medium by which to communicate love. I’m tempted to relegate this belief to the neurosis of the chunky little girl, but I really don’t think that’s the case. In what more profound way can you love someone than to nurture them at the most elementary physical level? Eating a meal together is an intimate, primal experience – before there was love in language, there were groups of people crouching around the firepot together in skins, sharing. The forethought and effort of a beautiful meal, set before a likeminded person, can captivate, loosen cares while focusing the senses. In what way can you most vividly paint your love on a plate than to do just that?

If I were to associate the effort of a beautifully-plated dish with foreplay, would that be too much? to quote Pat Conroy, who was most certainly not discussing food - to talk about how "we set down feasts for each other and treated our love with tongues of fire?"

Probably. But I’m leaving it there.

My pants keep falling off anyway.