Standing in the middle of the kitchen, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. A not quite sweet, yet ripe and fragrantly layered juicy scent teases my nose, pulling me toward the stove. I lean over a large pot, blissfully sucking in every possible odor nuance of the bubbling purple-red liquid. My daughter is simmering freshly picked chokecherries. Lovely scent memories from my childhood rise up, enveloping me in the magic of these wild shrub berries.
I seriously have this thing for rhubarb. Like, I wish I could eat the leaves, although the logical side of my brain, my internal Spock, tells me it would probably kill me. The stuff is that good. Same rules apply to tequila. It’s my catnip, my nectar of the gods, my kryptonite. So spring rolls around and I’m in the mood to shake off the long winter doldrums, craving something that smacks of warmer weather to come. Desperate for it, actually.
Although, I did have the Van Kemps fish sticks I had down pat! So my first few attempts I tried tilapia and cod on the George Foreman. Disaster. Then I tried ‘broiling’ which I put in quotations because I had no clue what the fuck a broiler was.
When I first started cooking I wanted to cook things that were fool proof; generally things that didn’t involve an oven or a stove. I’ve always been crazy about late spring and early summer, because there’s a plethora of fruits and veggies on sale that I haven’t even seen for the last six months. This is a ridiculously easy recipe, and the outcome is remarkable. It’s beautiful, light, cheap to make, and delicious!
So if you’ve heard of ratatouille it was probably preceded by ‘Disney presents’. I don’t know about you, but when I saw that mouse making that boy dance around the kitchen more graceful than Natalie Portman in a tutu, I said to myself “Damn, I need to cook that shit!”.
