Learning to Follow a Recipe
I am notorious for not following recipes. The makeup of my DNA can’t stand the idea of replicating someone else’s creative treasure. My hands, my mouth, my tastebuds are gates holding back a gush of dreamt masterpieces, so why would I recreate someone else’s? I pride myself at receiving the artful gift of looking at a sparse fridge full of unwanted ingredients and making something wonderful out of it. Cooking is one of my many creative outlets. For this reason, I have refused to follow a recipe for twenty-two years.
Like any twenty-two year old, I know I’m right. I know it is good that I am stubborn to the point of stagnation in my learning, so that my work shows my own creativity.
Or perhaps…I am learning that I may be wrong.
In my three years of studying Creative Writing in school, I read many books. I studied many poems. I dissected many words. I took many classes labeled “Reading like a Writer,” of which at the time I didn’t really notice the importance of. Not until I graduated school and forgot to pick up a book for a year and a half, did I realize that maybe what made me a good writer in college was the fact that I read things. I read books. I have since picked up multiple books and to my shocking surprise, my writing has improved. I began to not only make art; I began to hone a craft. In my folly, I forgot that my love of writing is in vain if I do not learn how to write from those who, well, know how to write.
I’ve learned the same lesson in my love for dance. I’ve always loved to dance in the kitchen and perform one-night-only acts for the wonderful audience of my mom and my dog, and now my husband. In the past few months, I’ve realized how much dancing is a way for me to decompress, express emotion, and feel connected to my body. I used to want to freestyle. I loved playing Just Dance growing up, but I would rarely want to follow along. I wanted to do my own thing. Lately, I’ve had a strong desire to learn technique. To learn how to keep tempo. To watch those who actually know how to dance. To study dance because of my love for it.
I could probably think of many other examples in my life where my stubbornness blocks my improvement. But in short, in efforts to learn this lesson (in the kitchen and in other areas of life), I have decided to walk through a cookbook in its entirety. Think Julie & Julia, but I’m not Amy Adams and this will be much less intense. My project is pretty basic: Cook one recipe a day from this book, and write about it. I have permitted myself to alter the recipe in only two circumstances: if it needs to be changed to be made gluten-free and if the ingredients are too pricey for my particular budget.
My choice of cookbook was an easy one, as I only own four, and only one has the same distinct flare that I have. I will be working through “Eat this Poem: A Literary Feast of Recipes Inspired by Poetry” by Nicole Gulotta. The combination of poetry being my favorite genre of writing and the goal of writing about my experience learning these recipes, made this book the perfect cookbook to complete. Already in the first paragraph of the introduction, Gulotta speaks of the similarities between poetry and food. The intentionality, the multifaceted composition, the mouthfeel—it all matters. For both poetry and food, they are meant to be shared. Both are formed only to be ingested. To soak in and become nourishment. While I cook, I spend hours creating poetry oozing with flavor that is gone in sometimes just twenty minutes (or five for my husband). The very necessity of food, and how quickly it vanishes, is what makes it the perfect medium of art. We must consume. Therefore we must create.
Tomorrow starts Day 1, Recipe 1 of 75. Let’s make some art.