My “perfect meal,” as it turned out, was more of a series of
challenges I had to overcome in order to make this dinner work, but in the end I
found parts I could laugh at and I was satisfied with it. In the beginning I
was imagining things going along the same lines as when my mom cooks dinner, where
everything goes smoothly and all the dishes arrive on the table at exactly the
right time, piping hot and ready to eat. But, as I was about to discover, this
was going to be a learning experience.
I gave myself two rules for this
dinner:
1. For once don’t worry about
where the food came from; because in the time frame I had I couldn’t waste time
finding better ingredients that cost more, I had to stay under a $100.00 spending
limit.
2. Try to stay as close to my
mom’s recipe as possible, but I could to change things if I needed to.
It began with a simple plan:
chicken tetrazzini as the main dish. Chicken tetrazzini is my favorite food
ever in the history of the universe because of the many happy memories attached
to it and how it makes me feel every time it eat it. The first time I ever had
it was in sixth grade at a friend’s house on Halloween because that was what
her mom cooked for dinner before we went out trick-or-treating. It was cold, I
was hungry, and I was on cloud nine because I was with my best friend for the
first time in months. After fifth grade we ended up at different schools, so I
no longer saw her every day. I don’t remember my costume that year, but I
remember we had chicken tetrazzini for dinner. It was one of those magic
moments when you taste something and go “What is this stuff? I want to eat it every day for the rest of my life!” After I split from that friend,
my mom put her own twist on the recipe, which changed it from being the dish
I’d eaten with the girl I wasn’t friends with anymore to being something my mom
cooked when it was just going to be the two of us home for dinner or when she
wanted to make me very, very happy. It became my special dish because no one
else in my family liked it. And, of course, because of the fact that it’s my favorite
dish and my mom makes it especially for me, it is the king of all comfort
foods.
I already knew the basics of what
I’d need—pasta, chicken, cooking sherry, parmesan, milk, garlic, mushroom, and
onion. But other than that, I had no idea what I was doing, especially not when
I was cooking for five other people besides myself. So I did what any smart
chef would do when they’re out of their depth, and I called upon a better chef
than myself. In other words, I asked my mom. She emailed me the recipe she
based hers off of and then told me what changes to make. I already had a
vegetable, since my mom had given me some squash to bring back with me after
midterm break. I hadn’t gotten around to eating it yet, so I decided that would
probably agree with everyone. And if my friends didn’t like squash, well, that
just meant there would be more left over for me. Once I knew what I was going
to serve, I thought I was all set. But my adventure as chef-for-a-day was only
just beginning.
First I had to get my ingredients,
a chain of events which involved a lot of text messaging and finally an
out-of-the-blue offer from my friend Caitlin, who said she would chauffeur me to
the store and back when I mentioned I was making a meal. I couldn’t invite her
because she had something important going on the night I was planning on having
the meal, not because she isn’t a wonderful person. She took me the day before I
was planning on making dinner. I knew I had to get everything for under $100,
so I decided that Meijer was my best shot. We got to Meijer and I found almost
everything I needed—except the cooking sherry. That was bad. The cooking sherry is what has made this dish
amazing in the past. It gives the creamy sauce that’s similar to alfredo an
extra twist of flavor that goes extremely well with chicken, parmesan,
mushrooms, and pasta.
Thus began the frustrating but amusing
Great Sherry Hunt. I looked on the shelf where it was marked “COOKING SHERRY,”
but alas, there was no cooking sherry. Caitlin and I walked around, trying to
think of other places Meijer might put cooking sherry, because sometimes Meijer
has the same things at two different places in the store, but no such luck. So
I asked one of the salespeople to help us. When he saw that there wasn’t any on
the shelf, he offered to go back into the stock room and see if they had any
there. Strike two. There wasn’t any in the back. So he thought maybe there
might be some down the liquor aisle, which I guess makes sense, but Caitlin and
I kept getting weird looks from adults because were both too young to be buying
any alcohol. We looked at each other and had to bite our lips to keep from
laughing.
There wasn’t any cooking sherry in
the liquor aisle either.
I thanked the man for his time and then
Caitlin and I went to check out. By that time, it was past six. I was getting a
little bit cranky and very hungry, plus Caitlin needed to get back because she
was late for a practice, but in a last-ditch effort, I asked her to stop in at
Target to see if Target had any cooking sherry. Voila, Target had exactly…three
bottles. Fortunately, I only needed one.
When it finally got around to the
night I was planning on making dinner, I quickly learned that cooking enough
for six people in a college dorm is an immense amount of work. First I had to
transfer my ingredients and cooking utensils from my room to the kitchen before
I could do anything else, which in itself took fifteen minutes. What did I
learn from this? Start earlier. I had planned for dinner at 6:30 or 7 in the
evening, since that’s when my family usually eats dinner, but it was quickly
becoming obvious that everything was going to take longer—or at least seem like it would take longer to
accomplish—because I was on a time constraint. It also didn’t help any that I
was doing this all on my own. I’d told my friends that I was cooking dinner, so they took me at my word, but I was used to
having several family members at my disposal to do things like chop onions and
garlic and mushrooms, so it was harder than I was expecting.
The kitchen itself wasn’t all that
welcoming. The cupboards were empty and the fridge was mostly empty as well.
The microwave and the oven were brand new, so that was nice, but then I noticed
the stove. The stove was electric, and I hate
electric stoves. They’re like an evil younger sibling: annoying and difficult. Trying
to control the temperature of them is next to impossible unless the person
trying to cook something knows the quirks of the particular stove they’re
trying to work on. I did not know this stove, which immediately told me I would
have to watch things extra carefully so they didn’t burn. Added to that was the
fact that I was tripping myself up over how long different things were taking
to do—the onions didn’t get soft fast enough, the mushrooms took longer than
the recipe said to get brown—and the abrupt arrival of two Chinese girls,
chattering away in Mandarin and looking around at the mess I’d successfully
managed to make within ten minutes of beginning to cook. I’d bet money on the
fact that they probably thought I was a little bit nuts. They then proceeded to
take over two of the four burners on the stove, but fortunately that was no
problem to me because I was only using one.
Now, I’m used to smelling the
progress of dishes as they are prepared. In mine I had started with sautéing onion
and then adding garlic and chicken, and the smells kept combining into
something delicious. Until the other girls started cooking. To be honest, their
soup clashed horribly with the beginnings of my sauce on the stove. There was a
sharp, almost fermented smell that I didn’t recognize, plus raw tofu and fish.
None of those go particularly well with chicken tetrazzini. And all the while
they were talking in Chinese. Since I was excluded for the most part from their
conversation, I felt a little bit like I was invading someone else’s space
without permission, which was odd because it was a public kitchen.
Trying to share the kitchen was like
a circus clown act, or a movie scene where everything goes hilariously wrong
but comes out okay, because I was getting in their way just as much as they
were getting in mine. There wasn’t enough counter space for the both of us, so
we kept having to dodge each other on our way back and forth from the counter to
the stove. At least one of them could speak English, because a couple of times
she had to ask me to move so she could get to one of the cupboards. Then the stove
itself began causing problems. One of their pots would boil over, or I would
accidentally spill some of the tetrazzini sauce because my frying pan was too
small. That added a layer of burnt smells to the kitchen. Eventually they left,
which gave me some room to breathe while I finished cooking the pasta that
would be the base of the dish. I had to make two boxes, because I knew that one
of my friends—Marquise—would eat three times as much as everyone else. He’s a weightlifter,
so he always eats a lot. My friend Stephanie showed up early, so I employed her
help making sure the second batch of pasta didn’t boil over while I warmed up
the squash my mom had given me in the microwave. It took slightly longer than I
was expecting, but I eventually got everything onto the table in the third
floor lounge of the dorm. As my friends and I all sat down, I apologized for
the horrendous smell, and said it wasn’t my fault. They laughed and Andrea said:
“It’s fine, Rachel, the food will taste good anyway.”
At first I didn’t believe her. I
was really nervous but also excited to see what my friends would think. I had
invited everyone was closest to here at college, which added up to all of five people:
Stephanie, Sara, Andrea, Ashley, and Marquise. But because they were my closest
friends, I started worrying about things that could go wrong. What if they
weren’t hungry? What if they didn’t like what I’d made? Then I told myself to
stop it; they were my friends and they loved me. So I sat them all down and
started serving. Marquise was late because I’d sent him to go get milk, but
everyone seemed genuinely impressed with the food. Andrea, Sara, and Ashley
each said it was delicious at some point during the meal. I scarfed down a
first serving and then I just let them talk amongst themselves while I dashed
in and out checking on the brownies I was baking for dessert. I don't actually remember tasting the food all that much, because my brain was so occupied with everything else. Later I realized
that while it hadn't tasted as good as my mom's—nothing ever could—I'd given it my best shot, and though I had been nervous in the back of my mind, I had enjoyed myself. I
was probably nervous because I’m a perfectionist and very little involved in
getting this meal together had been perfect, but it had been fun. Not as relaxing
as I had hoped, but fun. After we finished eating, we talked about Ebonics and
code switching between when we went home and when we were at school. We kept
trying to get Marquise to speak Ebonics, but he couldn’t. He kept laughing and protesting,
saying “it’s difficult to do when I’m not among other people who speak it too!”
Though it was fun, it didn’t feel
the same as sitting down to a dinner with family. This meal was an assignment
for a class, so I somehow felt that my friends were going to be judging my
cooking skills. I was cooking not because I needed food or because I wanted to,
but because I was supposed to cook something “perfect” and this really hadn’t
been perfect. I can see how professional chefs would end up yelling things if
their kitchens didn’t work like clockwork, because having to do things within a
certain time period where people are expecting a certain level of proficiency
from you definitely adds a stress that wouldn’t be there if, for example, I was
baking bread at home on a Saturday morning during the summer. If I had to deal with that stress all day
every day as my job that people were paying me to do, it would make me want to
yell and throw things too. I guess I see it as kind of like someone asking me
to read them every single poem I’ve ever written, whether I like it or not. I
see cooking as an art form, one that apparently I’m decent at, because my
friends finished everything except the squash, and that was only because my mom
sent me a heck of a lot of squash. Three of them asked for the tetrazzini
recipe.
Sara and Ashley offered to stay
behind and help with dishes, so that was nice. That’s what I’ve always hated
about cooking: I have to clean up my own messes. But I didn’t drop anything and
break it, and nothing else went wrong. It was actually rather enjoyable,
because we gossiped about boys while we cleaned up together.
When I got into bed that night I
felt the same kind of tired as I do after I’ve finished six hours of work
editing, proofreading, and expanding a story or poem: an accomplished tired. I had done what I set out to do successfully,
despite the problems that arose. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that getting
everything on the table at the same time hot and ready to eat was either much
harder than my mother made it look, or I just wasn’t quite proficient at it
yet. Next quarter I’ll try again, and because of my experience with this meal, it
will work better and be less stressful for me. It won’t be the same as if I was
at home, but I am determined, so maybe next time I will be more successful at
bringing a little bit of home to college.