I hate to admit it, but I’m in the homestretch of life.
I’m reminded of that often when people I know show up in the obituaries. I’m at that stage where I’m reflecting on what has been and what could have been. There’s not a lot I would change. Life has been good.
I was born into a country where freedom reigns. I was brought into a world by loving parents and they gave me good siblings. I married over my head. I’d even go so far as to say that I married the best woman in the world, but I know you husbands would disagree with me.
We have three great kids and four wonderful grandchildren.
Work was better than I’d anticipated. Each job outshone the previous one. I currently have four of them and love them all, including this one as a freelance writer.
At 67, I tell anyone who will listen that I’m in life’s sweet spot.
But I do have one regret. I wish I had taken up cooking much earlier in life. I started three or four years ago and I never knew it could be so enjoyable.
I never knew what a kitchen was until I was close to retirement age. I knew what a fridge was, but that was about it for that part of the house.
I’m very mechanical as a ‘chef’, tied to recipes, but I am getting better. My first creative experience happened accidentally. I was making a sauce that required constant stirring. When the timer went off, I discovered to my horror that part of the plastic whisk had melted into the sauce. I had heard often that margarine is one molecule away from being plastic (which, incidentally, is a myth) so I figured what difference does it make whether it’s margarine or part of a plastic whisk in the sauce?
I used the sauce anyway. It tasted fine and I was proud that, for the first time, I had added an ingredient that the recipe didn’t call for.
Several years ago, our family went to Cuba for a holiday. Our breakfasts usually included an omelet. The chef would break a few eggs into a pan and then we’d select many items from the omelet bar to add to the eggs. They were delicious.
Then before moving to Carnduff, I worked at a mission that fed the homeless. The cook made soup daily for lunch. He’d take the leftover food from the previous day (except what was left on the diners’ plates, of course) and throw it all into a big cauldron and the result was a soup that was mouth-watering.
Recently, I was thinking of Cuba and the mission. If throwing all sorts of unrelated ingredients together could make a great soup or a delicious omelet, why couldn’t I do the same thing? So, once or twice a week, I do just that. My culinary creativity was growing.
I’d take a couple of eggs, toss in whatever had to be used up from the fridge, stir it into the eggs and cook it. The last omelet I made had 15 different ingredients in it. It made for a delectable breakfast, and made my wife happy because I was using up odds and ends that were taking up space in the fridge.
I make one or two recipes every week, cooking up things we’ve never had before so that my wife can’t compare it to anything. Along with the new dishes, we get to try out new and unfamiliar ingredients from around the world. It’s added a new joy to my life.
Look out, Gordon Ramsay. Here I come!
