I strive to be a really positive influence on others, but we all experience times of doubt and insecurity. Sometimes, I don’t think I am as honest with my readers as I could be about the struggle that is a part of healthy eating and living. The truth is that for as often as I am happy about the progress I have made, there are days where I beat myself up. It could be that I finally broke down at the deli and bought a candy bar after months of clean eating, or simply that I woke up that morning I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror. There’s a part of me during those moments that knows it’s time for a reality check, but sometimes that voice can get stifled.
Food and I have a tenuous relationship. As humans, we need sustenance to live. At a young age we come to acknowledge those who provide us with that sustenance as our caregivers. From very early on, we learn that to feed another person is to love them. When I met Joe and discovered that I liked him, one of the very first things I did for him was to make sauteed balsamic-thyme sirloin tips with mozzarella cheese. And it was not a dish I made to be particularly impressive, but because I had those ingredients in the fridge. It won him over, and the feeling of providing that kind of comfort to another person won me over. True, I’d spent the latter half of my freshman year of college cooking weekly meals with a friend for our group of friends, but that was the first time it was me alone just whipping something up on the fly for someone else. In any case, I kept cooking. I read culinary textbooks, southern cookbooks, cookbooks for every ethnic food imaginable…anything to stimulate my imagination to create new things. But at the same time, I found it difficult to avoid overeating when I was always trying out new recipes. I walk the line. I am constantly trying to balance between being passionate about the creation and sharing of food while avoiding gluttony and irresponsibly grown/created food products. It becomes overwhelming, it becomes burdensome, and worst of all…cooking becomes guilt-ridden.
And then I know it’s time to step back, take a breath, and just go home again. Time to take a day and remember why the act of sharing a meal is an act of love. Remove everything else from the equation and just create out of the desire to love another person.
And on Sunday, I did just that. Taking flour from Morris farms, eggs from Polyface farms, cheese from Blue Ridge Dairy Co., tomatoes, garlic, and basil from Bull Run Mountain Farm, and cayenne peppers from my own backyard, I brought together those who provide me with products I know are grown and raised with love and a sense of pride.
First, I made these:
I made the pasta dough from a combination of whole wheat and whole grain durum (semolina) flours, two eggs, a few tablespoons of olive oil, and a few tablespoons of water. It made a fine, elastic dough that was surprisingly light. I think that one of the keys to whole wheat pasta is to make sure that the dough gets a proper rest before it’s rolled out. The filling is comprised of part-skim ricotta, parmesan, and pecorino romano cheeses. I bound it with an egg and added a few herbs and spices to bring out the flavors of the individual cheeses.
What good are ravioli without a nice sauce? Since Leigh said that it was likely the last week for big, ripe tomatoes (damn blight) I took the bunch of gorgeous orange and yellow ones he gave me and sauteed them in a few teaspoons of bacon fat with garlic, some bell pepper, thyme, basil, and spices. I finished it with a diced cayenne pepper. I’m not really a huge spicy food fan, so I removed the seeds first. After tasting the sauce, I instantly mourned that it would be gone so quickly. Even Joe, who normally asks me to go light on the marinara sauce when I serve him pasta, asked for more of it on his plate.
And what better to serve a lovingly prepared meal on than a dish designed with the earth in mind?[FYI, that’s a seven-inch triangle plate in grass green from Riverside Design Group’s Sea Glass collection. How awesome is that color? If I didn’t already have an “Empire Red” theme going on with my kitchen appliances, I think I’d go with that green. It’s refreshing!]
After it was all said and done, I felt accomplished. Even satisfied.
But it wasn’t until Joe brought me his empty plate in search of a few more ravioli that I felt “the happiness.” There was that same look that made me feel all warm and fuzzy five years ago, and I thought “Yes. I may not always do right. I may not always make the best choices. But if I can always give this kind of comfort and love to the people around me, then I think I’ll be okay.”