Some people love to cook for the sake of cooking. My husband is one of those cooks. He comes home from a long day at the clinic and happily dons an apron to help me finish whatever I’m fixing for dinner. And on weekends he actually cooks whole meals for fun. Cooking relaxes him, he says. But I’m a differend kind of cook. Cooking bores me if it’s not part of some bigger plant that motivates my imagination and my mind, giving what for me is otherwise a repetitive chore, some meaning, if you will.
So I’ve come up with this new idea to keep me interested in cooking for my voracious, gluten-intolerant, lactose-sensitive family at least for another year. My task is to leap from region to region of the world, begining with northern Europe, (chosen because I think it’s likely to be the easiest for me to cook since it’s so close to the foods I grew up with) and moving on to southern Europe, the Balkans, the Middle East, Africa and onward and eastward. I’ll find recipes on the web, in cookbooks, and from friends. I’ll adapt them when necessary, and then cook meals from that region for two weeks and approximately eight main meals. I’ll throw in a regional dessert for two weeks and maybe experiment with some lunches and breakfasts.
First stop, land of my ancestors: England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland — or as my half-Mexican sons would say, “Land of White People.” Tomorrow I will be cooking Scottish Broth with a nice fat hunk of leg of lamb!