|make your stomach happy||.||
In all other matters, I swear I'm pretty easy to get along with. But when it comes to the kitchen, I cannot lie: I do not share well with others.
My boy's always accusing me of being a kitchen-hog, refusing to let him help out when the blue moon hits and he makes an attempt to cook. And while I remain less than convinced that this is the sole reason he's rarely the one in charge of dinner -- the fact that the highlights of his repertoire are scrambled eggs, franks and beans, and a ramen-black-bean-creamed-corn concoction that he's actually proud to have invented seems to me a far more compelling rationale for me being the primary cook -- there's no denying that I have a tendency to get awful antsy watching someone else try to cook for me. Especially when that someone looks pretty clueless in the kitchen. And particularly when that someone is holding a knife.
Yes, I feel a near-physical pain watching someone ineptly wielding a chef's knife, bringing the blade up and down in a slow, deliberate guillotine motion, or hacking away at the poor veggie like a woodchopper trying to split a log. It's the same uncontrollable reflex that makes me cringe when I see some poor schlub banging away at a keyboard with just his two index fingers. It's all so terribly inefficient, and looks ugly to boot.
Still, I recognize that nobody's born knowing the proper method for mincing garlic, or julienning carrots, or dicing onions. And for those willing to listen, I'm always happy to offer a bit of friendly advice. Whether your culinary aspirations are strictly down-home simple or exotic gourmet, I'm of the firm opinion that every quasi-adult should learn a few basics of veggie prep technique. And not just because it'll keep me from wincing should the opportunity every arise for you and I to share kitchen space.
general note on technique