pot-roast pheasant, red cabbage and mash
In my newly co-habitating state, I have a renewed realisation of quite what a kitchen crusader (some might say kitchen bully) I really am. Certain little habits: from traits about how to cut up certain vegetables through to my general preference for being the cook rather than the bystander, reading or working while someone else takes control of the food department. The other night a risotto was on the cards, which was supposedly to be cooked by the boy (and he is capable of making a fine risotto, though taught to do so by me, I do believe). But even before any chopping began I had taken the whole affair right out of his hands.
I have an infallible sense of self-belief that I can cook virtually anything better than anyone else, and that other people will inevitably do something that they consider just fine but actually will ruin the dish to my refined tastes. I watch others 'disobey' my strict rules on certain things (how to make a pasta sauce being a particular fetish) and twitch uncomfortably, thinking to myself how they are ruining a perfectly lovely set of ingredients.
The only things I willingly delegate to the poor boy are roasts, and potatoes. I'm a rather useless cook of traditional roast potatoes for some reason - I can do a kind of Italian style roast new potatoes, in a tray with some jointed chicken and fennel for example, but not your real English ones, crispy outside, slightly caramelised around the edges, to go with a real roast joint or bird. He gets to make mashed potatoes a lot too - he's a better masher than me (more patient) as well as a more expert hand at all the other additives that go into making a fine mash. He's also carving out a niche for himself in the pudding department, as I generally can't be arsed to deal with that end of the meal.
But tonight was another classic kitchen crusader moment, as we got a pheasant out of the freezer for our Sunday supper. His suggestion about cooking it was kindly but firmly (and probably rather patronisingly) put down by me in favour of my much better idea - to pot-roast the bird nestled in a bed of braised red cabbage. And it was damn good, if you ask me. But I did let him make the mash.
I have an infallible sense of self-belief that I can cook virtually anything better than anyone else, and that other people will inevitably do something that they consider just fine but actually will ruin the dish to my refined tastes. I watch others 'disobey' my strict rules on certain things (how to make a pasta sauce being a particular fetish) and twitch uncomfortably, thinking to myself how they are ruining a perfectly lovely set of ingredients.
The only things I willingly delegate to the poor boy are roasts, and potatoes. I'm a rather useless cook of traditional roast potatoes for some reason - I can do a kind of Italian style roast new potatoes, in a tray with some jointed chicken and fennel for example, but not your real English ones, crispy outside, slightly caramelised around the edges, to go with a real roast joint or bird. He gets to make mashed potatoes a lot too - he's a better masher than me (more patient) as well as a more expert hand at all the other additives that go into making a fine mash. He's also carving out a niche for himself in the pudding department, as I generally can't be arsed to deal with that end of the meal.
But tonight was another classic kitchen crusader moment, as we got a pheasant out of the freezer for our Sunday supper. His suggestion about cooking it was kindly but firmly (and probably rather patronisingly) put down by me in favour of my much better idea - to pot-roast the bird nestled in a bed of braised red cabbage. And it was damn good, if you ask me. But I did let him make the mash.
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