Let’s say the world ends. Right now. Not that I’m a tremendous fan of doing these posts on current stuff, otherwise I’d be vomiting the number 12/12/12 all over you. But it fits.
So say the world ends. That means no phones, no fancy tablets to pull up your precious Epicurious on. You can’t retreat to the tattered (a word which apparently only applies to books and magazines, instead of, say, puppets, like I think it should) pages of a Food & Wine issue from 2009. But you have some flour, butter, sugar, maybe rice, water, spices (if you’re lucky), other assorted odds and ends that survived in your pantry.
What do you make? Can you make anything?
After being deprived of Internet for a week (this week’s excuse for posting insanely late, join us next week when I pull something much, much less legitimate out of my ass), the answer, for me at least, is a resounding: no. Not even close. A decent, knowledgeable chef would’ve acted on memory, taken a cabinet full of ingredients and made something tasty happen. I, on the other hand, darted to and from a stove full of boiling pots and pans to a fledgling 3G connection on an equally fledgling phone halfway across the room.
I suck. You probably suck too. And as impressive as it is that you, or I, can follow a complicated, five-course french-fusion-whatever recipe down to the letter, it’s way more impressive when you can make a loaf of bread from scratch using just your brain and your bare hands. I started this blog with a quote from Achewood’s (the best damn comic ever, in case you’re not familar) Ray Smuckles:
“A dude who can walk into any kitchen in the world and make bread is COMPLETELY RAW!”
And he’s right. Ain’t nothin’ impressive about reading a bunch of numbers and dumping them in a pot. Start closing your eyes while you’re cooking. Get uncomfortable. Then you can make some bread when the world ends.
And after that intro, I’m gonna give you an insanely long and complicated recipe for Beef Short Rib Bibimbap that you’ll have no chance of making correctly without following everything down to the letter. Hypocracy! Because I can. —Fresh Beats, Fresh Eats