The Joy of Cooking

If only I had started this experience by video documenting every meal I am served here, I could have made an unforgettable mini series and posted it on a food blog somewhere.  I suppose I would've entitled it Cooking with Auntie Phyllis, Pass Me the Butter or What Would Irma Rombauer Do?  But alas, the photographs will just have to suffice.  Keep in mind that upon moving to New York I had no expectations regarding my living arrangement - all I knew was that my professor's mom was willing to host me, she lived on the Upper West Side (UWS, we learned that, remember?) and she was currently researching a 19th century Norwegian explorer for a book contribution.  I didn't know what she looked like, how old she was, what might be required of me, what the apartment was like, but I walked into it with a blind faith and found that any expectation I could've had was promptly exceeded.

stuffed peppers, spanish rice and chicken soup

The first night I arrived in New York, Phyllis told me she loved to cook and she'd be happy to prepare dinner (supper, as she calls it) for the both of us every night unless she had other plans.  When she said this she may as well have been accompanied by a 12-person choir joyfully singing Hallelujah because I swear I was convinced she was sent straight from heaven.

baked fennel with mozzarella cheese (omg. yes please.)

Now I'm not going to say I've been deprived for the last year and a half, for goodness' sake I've been in Italy, but it's not like I was gorging on lasagna and ravioli every night.  In fact, you'd be surprised what my roommates in Italy and I have haphazardly thrown together and tentatively called a meal.  Groceries are expensive, produce can be cheap but you need a certain amount of motivation and inspiration to succeed in cooking.  I can say what I've missed most (other than family and friends) while abroad has been the food.  There's nothing like coming home for the holidays and appeasing your gluttonous side with comfort food.  But as a student, you're constantly aware that this too will come to an end.  That responsibility and adulthood await, in a land where no one does your laundry but you.  A sad, barren land where the iced tea pitcher doesn't magically replenish itself.

fish soup with potato and corn

That is, until I met Phyllis.  (Ok, she doesn't do my laundry - I am able to manage that.)  Living with Phyllis is like living with your Grandma, which I was never able to do, but I imagine it would've been just as fun.  The apartment is lived-in, like Granny's is, everything has its place, and it's had that place for over 30 years most likely.  Every night a new dish is served, often something I've never had and always something I discover I enjoy.  Some nights we host guests, small gatherings around the dining room table where Phyllis catches up with old friends.  So far I've met Carolyn, former director of the American Institute of Graphic Arts; Karen, a toy designer from Vermont; Bill, a retired artist and filmmaker; and Fred, a biographer and historian of 20th century France.  You can just imagine the kinds of conversations we've had over winter root veggie soups, roasted lamb shanks and manhattan brownstone chocolate cake.

gorgonzola tortellini and tiny asparagus

I. Love. This. Lady.  And I'm not just saying that because she cooks for me (though that does put many a point in her favor).  It's because she's a gracious, gentle, caring, clever individual - basically she reminds me of my Grandma.  She's endlessly fascinating; we've spent a lot of time chatting at the dinner table, long after the bowls are clean.  I get the scoop on New York in the '50s, what it was like to travel abroad in the early '60s, and sometimes what she remembers of her father before he died in WWII.  She's constantly reading several books at a time, working on writing projects, volunteering at the Natural History Museum, visiting friends who are poor in health, and somehow she finds time to make dinner for me almost every evening.

baked apples with raisins, blueberries and spiced wine

And you know what, she really likes me.  And why wouldn't she, I'm great company!  She's interested in my life, my interests and my thesis research.  She's put me in touch with a few of her friends around town and I've met them to talk about the art world in New York.  She's taken me out several times to places she thinks I'll enjoy - a Mexican restaurant, a little Italian place (where we saw Kevin Bacon!), and last week we went on a movie date.  We went to see A Separation - it just won Best Foreign Film and I highly recommend it - then we had dinner at a nearby restaurant.  She bought tickets for us to see a Broadway show on Thursday night, too.  I know she adores me because she gives me granny-like hugs when she knows I need 'em and she already told me she thinks I shouldn't ever leave!

borscht - ukrainian beet soup (sooo good)

I really think a lot of my bonding with Phyllis has happened over food.  We discuss dishes we enjoy, then we compile the ingredients and make them.  I watch her leaf through butter-stained cookbooks before ever going to the internet with a culinary question.  I ask her how she's so creative and she says it's just industriousness and a zest for life.  I help her when she needs it, and observe her when she doesn't.  I listen to her friends' stories of their memories of first meeting Phyllis - all involve food at a dinner party.  Stuffed artichokes, cheese soufflé, lemon bars.  And most of these events were 40-50 years ago!  I wonder what people will remember about me, certainly not an ability to stuff artichokes, perhaps a mean grilled cheese?  Then I think of what people remember about my Grandma: brisket, pinto beans, fried chicken, biscuits and gravy -- the people who spoke at her memorial ceremony almost all mentioned food!

moroccan spiced lamb shank, cous cous and beet greens

So have I been missing something, am I just now putting together something I've always known?  Of course, food is inextricably linked to emotions, comfort, memories.  I miss certain dishes the most when I'm away from home because they're connected to a feeling of familiarity.  Phyllis' friends haven't forgotten the impression she made with particular dishes and a certain charm.  I know I won't.  And my Grandmother's legacy lives on through her generous spirit and willingness to share her table.  Considering this, I would venture to say food must be the key to a happy life.  Not just eating, but the act of making and sharing.  Breaking bread.  Communion, in the sense of bringing people together to participate in an experience.  What I really appreciate about Phyllis is her generosity, her vigor and her selflessness.  And this she shows me daily, by the spoonful.