A few years ago, my grandmother gave me a garlic press for Christmas. At that time in my life, I didn't own a garlic press, and I didn't think a serious cook would even consider it. A garlic press? Everyone knows that being a good cook requires suffering. And peeling and mincing garlic is a pain in the ass. Using a garlic press would really change the way my friends thought of me as a cook. I would never. So when this garlic press arrived in the mail from Minnesota, where milk is a spice, I had to chuckle. Silly Gramma, I thought. I tossed it in the utensil drawer and I thanked her for it, but I knew that as kind and thoughtful as my Gramma was, she really didn't know what kind of cook I had become. I'm the kind of cook that doesn't use recipes. When people ask me how much of an ingredient a dish calls for, my stock reply is: some. I have cooked for so long and for so many, due to my long career in restaurant work, that I know how things are going to work in food. Unless it is Indian food or Thai food. I love cookbooks, I read foodie rags, I read the foodie internets. But rarely will I use a recipe. And rarely will I cut a corner. This whole garlic press thing was clearly not my kind of gift. I make my own hollandaise. And it. Is. Good. I'm talking high horse here, people.
My Gramma died early this year. I still haven't taken her phone number out of my phone. Sometimes I catch myself thinking Oh! I'll call up Gramma and tell her I did this or that. Or I'll get an urge to talk to her and then remember she is gone. This is the first holiday season without her sweet mail in the mailbox and I have to say it feels lonely in here without her. And I have a confession to make.
Some time last spring I was making something in the kitchen--I can't recall what. It must have called for a ton of garlic. What I do remember is eyeing that garlic press in the drawer. Oh no, you can't use that. Why not? I thought. What about the suffering and the cooking and the peeling every clove and the sticking of the papery skin to your fingers and the martyrdom of the WORK of this garlic peeling??!!
Well, I thought, maybe I should try this garlic press. I glanced around. Nobody was looking. I was the only one in the house. I pulled it from the drawer and hefted it. The ergonomic handle felt solid and perfect in my cheating little hand. I tried it. And lo, it was GOOD, people. Perfectly crushed garlic WITHOUT the peeling. I've used it every day since. I even handed it to Jimmysam, who was sous-cheffing for me at a party I had volunteered to do the food for. He was suspicious. "This," he declared, turning it in his hands, "is so not cool." I told him to cram it and try it, just once. Moments later, he was merrily pressing the garlic with it. He too was amazed at the not peeling of the garlic.
Silly Gramma. I think of you every time I press a clove through that thing, and thank you for saving me a little hassle I didn't even know I had.
3 comments:
I had the nicest sized ladle from my grandma. It was aluminum and just the perfect size for everything. I had bought nice shiny stainless steel ones, but they just didn't have the right balance and were too big. Once day that little ladle actually wore through and the perfect ladle was no more. A few years later, my mom found an exact duplicate at an auction sale in a box of "junk" she bought. It is still my most used, most favorite ladle - and it is not in the least bit pretty, but I won't have it any other way. My grandma has been gone for many years, but the memories remain.
Geez, Here I was feel embarrassed for NOT having a garlic press. But then again, I don't have that whole suffering for your (food) art thing.
You must have the Pampered Chef one. I'm in love with mine, too. PC also makes the best grapefruit slicer ever. If you're not attached to slicing your grapefruit with your bare hands, I highly recommend getting one. ;-)
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