Ratatouille

Posted by Maralise | January 4, 2008 | 9 Comments

I’m forced to close my eyes, they’re stinging. Is it just the hot steam or is there something toxic in there? Oh yes, the exploded potato from earlier in the week. It’s now black and charred to the bottom of the oven, I make a conscious decision to think about cleaning that later, much later. I carefully pull the pyrex out, its contents are ugly but edible. With a fork, I grab each starchy vegetable and plate them, the heat of the oven warms the kitchen and flushes my cheeks. I check for utensils, napkins.

The colander? Still wet from the too-late cleanup of the last meal. I put the lettuce in, rinse each leaf and wonder how much of the dirt is actually coming off. I hate this part, lying the pieces out on a clean towel, pretending to get them dry, ringing the towel in the sink before throwing it in the to-be-taken-to-laundry-room-eventually pile on the floor.

I wonder what kind of dirt is on the lettuce, the wonderful worm-smelling dirt of the garden or the kind where diseases fester. It’s probably the same kind of dirt anyway. Two kinds of lettuce, a cucumber and tomato, an onion, a wish for good health.

Sunflower oil, cider vinegar, the last of the ketchup comes out with a squirt, salt, vollkorn sugar, more salt, lots of pepper, a quick whisk. Water. More sugar. More sugar. Crystal pitcher.

Wait. What else? Sour Cream, pour the dressing, serving spoon, hot pad. I’m sure something is missing. “Come and eat! Now!” Two prayers, a heated discussion about using utensils and napkins.

A peasant’s meal, meatloaf and potatoes, salad. Served for four, eaten by three. Almost burned, warm and whole, simple sacrifice. Holy Offering.

Category: Daily Special

Comments

9 Responses to “Ratatouille”

Claudia
January 4th, 2008 @ 9:34 am

I like the last paragraph. It is a wonderful way to say that taking care of a family has a spiritual as well as temporal dimension.

I wasn’t able to identify with the uncleanness of the preparation though. Its not that my kitchen is spotless. I just don’t contemplate it, if I did I would have to clean up before I could cook.

Still, the last paragraph is wonderful.
Ahna
January 4th, 2008 @ 11:17 am

My favorite phrase is “I grab each starchy vegetable and plate them.” So many things to do all at once…cooks are ultimate multitaskers. You captured the frenzied last moments of meal preparation beautifully. And I too like the last paragraph. The frenzied pace of the writing slowed, just as I could imagine you finally sitting and taking a long, slow breath.
Todd Wood
January 4th, 2008 @ 12:08 pm

I know I am the outsider. But Maralise, I really enjoy your posts. Thanks. I am smiling this morning. I have enjoyed many a meals with LDS friends.
jeans
January 4th, 2008 @ 3:45 pm

I’m curious about the two prayers.
Dalene
January 4th, 2008 @ 3:47 pm

Peasant;s meal? In this day and age I believe anything that doesn’t come of a can or out through the drive-thru window is a meal fit for kings and queens.

Great post. Thanks for reminding me that even in the simplest matters, the service I render in my home is a holy offering.
Rebecca
January 4th, 2008 @ 4:07 pm

Jeans- I think that she had two prayers because she has two kids and they both want to offer one. Just a guess.

Mara- I love this post. I’ve wondered about the whole lettuce thing too. John swears that lettuce tastes better if I spin it in the salad spinner AFTER I pat it dry with a paper towel.
Carrie
January 4th, 2008 @ 5:17 pm

I love this post, Mar. And you KNOW I identify with a laundry pile on the floor. A few days ago, after gathering up the laundry from the bathroom floor, I thought, “Man, this floor needs to be cleaned.” Maybe that’s why I covered it up with laundry.

When I read, “Served for four, eaten by three,” I was filled with love for you guys even though I’m not even sure which of your three boys didn’t eat!

This might be my favorite post you’ve ever written. No pressure.
maralise
January 5th, 2008 @ 3:48 am

Claudia–As a recovering perfectionist, I think my therapist (who I miss dearly) would call being able to cook amongst the dirt of life, progress for me (and for me alone). But, on another level, it seems there is always an undercurrent of messiness when life is lived and lived fully. Not actual dirt under your fingernails messiness (although isn’t that a great feeling?), but a certain untidy commotion, the evidence that life is moving onward and not just staying static. Just don’t think about it? That works too of course….

Ahna–the last five minutes before I sit down for dinner (and usually the first five after I sit down) are the most stressful ones of the day for me. I try to place myself in the corner of the dinner table so other people (like my hubby) have to get up and get the things that are inevitably forgotten. Waaahahaha.

Todd–You’re not an outsider in my book. It’s so nice to have people from different backgrounds (did a man just comment on our blog?) stop by and hang out. You’re welcome here.

Jeans–Rebecca was right, two kids, two prayers (upon their insistence). I guess families that have more children have to teach their kids to take turns. It’s much easier to give in when there are only two kids.

Dalene–I just finished the most fantastic book called “Gluten Free Girl” (www.glutenfreegirl.com). In the book, she talks about the most delicious sounding, simple, quasi-gourmet meals that made me think seriously about cooking MORE (if you knew me, you would know that is a unique form of torture for me) and not less. So, was the meal homemade? Yes. Was it tasty? Yes. Was it gourmet? Nope. I called it a peasant’s meal because it was easy, fast, cheap, comfort food. (And I admit, that sometimes, that’s the best kind).

Rebecca–I need to get a salad spinner. Although I’ve heard that you pump those things until your arm is tired and then the lettuce is STILL wet. Is that true?

Carrie–As usual, it was the little one (although hubby has been an absent figure at the dinner table lately as well). Bam Bam (3yo) is a gourmet eater–only. Mushrooms? Yes. Sushi? Yes. Meatloaf? No. Bummer.
Jennifer B.
January 8th, 2008 @ 1:02 am

Oh Maralise–I absolutely love this. Thanks for this poetic slice of your life.