The Village Idiot: I’ve been working on the food chain
Charlie and Beverly invited us over for a backyard barbecue. Hamburgers and hot dogs, potato salad and coleslaw — just the ticket for the end of summer. Well, for the end of my summer. The ticket for the end of Charlie and Beverly’s summer was rubbed salmon steak, sliced heirloom tomatoes, basil and goat cheese canap?s dashed with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and served with freshly baked wedges of focaccia. He had “discovered a charming little pinotage wine from South Africa,” which his wife Beverly was serving from a rolling cart on their patio. On the cart were eight kinds of exotic cheeses and six different kinds of olives she had brought up from the city. “Go ahead,” she said, “Try the green moldy Yak cheese. It’s from Uzbekistan.”
“Thanks, but I had some for lunch,” coughed out Mazzy Lewis, a dairy farmer who thought eating sharp cheddar was adventurous. “I didn’t know you could get cheese from a Yak,” he whispered to me. “And where is Uzbeka whatever? Don’t they have any beer?”
Charlie opened the grill lid and placed several sprigs of rosemary on top of the salmon. He explained that the fish had been laid top of a wooden plank that he had soaked in herb infused water for 24 hours. The entire plank with the fish on top was set on the grill in his back yard over low-burning coals.
“So,” I said, “You learned how to do this watching your Dad in his ‘I’m the Chef’ apron?” We started to laugh and talk about the kinds of food we all grew up on — tuna casseroles and creamed corn and grilled cheese sandwiches.
At dinner parties when I was growing up, the fanciest thing you could serve other people was chicken ala king. I haven’t seen it in 25 years. You say “casserole” now and you get a funny look. Unless you plan to cook it on a water-soaked plank over low-burning coals. When did we all turn into such foodies?
Charlie said he got into food after he moved to the city. His job allowed him to eat in fancy restaurants and then he’d try to make the same thing for himself at home. After he bought an apartment, his parents would stay with him when they came to visit. Sometimes he’d cook for them and sometimes they’d go to fancy restaurants. And after Charlie married Beverly, his parents would still come and Charlie would do all the cooking — sea bass on a bed of wilted arugula, veal in white wine sauce with capers, mussels cooked in the shell on a hot black skillet.
“That’s interesting,” his father would usually say. “That was different,” his mother would chime in.
One night Charlie and Beverly went to see a singer they both knew perform in a cabaret. After the show, they went backstage and Charlie told the woman how much he enjoyed her performance. Beverly told her it was so interesting, so different.
“So you liked her?” Charlie asked on the way home.
“She was horrible,” said Beverly.
“But you told her she was so interesting, so different!”
“Yes. That’s what you say when you don’t want to tell somebody to their face that you hated it.”
So the next time his parents visit, Charlie goes all out and makes wilted endive, leg of spring lamb with couscous made from mint scented water, followed by a Catalonian flan covered with white chocolate flakes with a dash of raspberry liqueur.
“That’s interesting,” said his father.
“It was very interesting,” said his mother. “Quite different.”
“You hated it,” said Charlie.
“Hate is such a strong word,” his mother said. “Your father and I aren’t really spring lamb people. You’re such a wonderful cook. Why don’t I give you my recipe for chicken ala king and tuna casserole? You could make it the next time we come.”
Jim Mullen contributes regularly to Entertainment Weekly, where he can be reached at [email protected].