Middle-Class Cooking

Recently, my awesome mother-in-law loaned me a big pile of cooking magazines.  Although I rarely follow recipes, preferring to invent my own, I enjoy reading cookbooks and magazines for ideas, flavor combinations, and helpful hints.  I looked over the thin pamphlet-style magazines this morning while I ate a bowl of humidity-stale Reese's Puffs and day-old iced coffee, and man, did I ever feel inadequate!

Many women may claim to feel "judged" by beauty magazines.  They'll never look like the airbrushed girls on the front of Elle and Cosmo, so they get down on themselves.  They don't have perfect wavy honey locks or slim, sleek shoulders and upper arms, so they feel worthless.  It's a common problem with society as a whole and, specifically, the media, but I'm not getting into that now.  Maybe another blog.  And, although I've felt that way, too, when poring over articles titled "Get a Perfect Butt NOW" and "The Best Mascara for YOUR Eye Shape", I was shocked to feel the same sense of inadequacy when I read one called "Orange Chicken: Can This Third-Rate Chinese Restaurant Offering Be Turned Into A First-Rate Dish?"

I know it's not glamorous, but really?  Batter-fried chicken in a sticky, sweet sauce is third-rate?  And, if I like it, does that mean I have poor taste?

A slight digression, if you will: people who know me well know that I love to cook.  I really do.  I taught myself while in college and, although I still get cravings for Hot Pockets, Big Macs and Little Caesar's Hot 'n' Ready pizzas, I usually bring my lunch to work and cook dinner at home every night. To me, cooking is a gift I can share with others, plus, it keeps me from spending loads of money on takeout all the time. 

What's my style of cooking?  I'm not like "Semi-Homemade" Sandra Lee, who cuts massive corners but still produces pretty plates, nor am I Martha Stewart, whose reputation for "easy" crafts belies the serious effort I'd have to put into them.  I'm not the foodie scientist Alton Brown, who can produce an off-the-cuff lecture on the gases produced by a specific strain of grape to create the distinct flavor in a bottle of fine Chianti.  And, although I love her style and sass, I'm no Paula Deen.  I prefer olive oil to a slab of butter most of the time, and under 85% of what I cook is not, in fact, "southern-fried".  

I'm much more of a Rachael Ray, myself, although, I think my shoes are generally a little cuter.  Of course she's more famous and has more money so I think it evens out okay.  And when I say I'm a Rachael Ray, I mean that I enjoy cooking but I enjoy the creativity of it - rather than the "correct-ness" of it.  Plus, I'm short and Italian.

Back to the magazine on my kitchen table that was silently judging me.

It's a beautiful piece of literature.  There are artist's renditions of peppers or cucumbers or cilantro on the back of every issue, plus gorgeous hand-drawn step-by-step guides for many of the meals.  There are delicious-looking desserts and incredibly mouth-watering roasts photographed in charming settings.  There are reader tips on how to make life a little easier, or how to substitute everyday tools for hard-to-find specialty items.  There are also recommendations by the panel of writers regarding what type of pot you should buy for making pasta...what type of peanut butter makes the best satay sauce, and for what types of dish a saucier is really useful. 

And they made me feel stupid.  

One article in particular bragged about how the magazine's test kitchen baked nearly 3,000 cookies in order to recommend to its dear readers the perfect brand of cookie sheet.  Dear Lord!  Really?  I hope they gave those cookies to people who had no food to eat!  Or at least sent them home with the bakers to sugar up their children.  The articles rank products from "highly Recommend" to "Recommend" to "Recommend with Reservations" to "Not Recommended".  Well...I have eaten - and enjoyed - a veggie burger from the "Not Recommended" category.  Should I be ashamed?  Perhaps I should throw in my towel (and my apron) and give up on cooking and eating altogether, as I must be an abject failure at both.  

A rebellious part of my soul wants to intentionally purchase and force myself to like the items on the "Not recommended" list purely because of how haughty and judgmental the language is.  "This product's texture hardly provides the velvety-smooth mouthfeel its advertising implies."  I wanna root for the underdog. "Go, generic shredded cheddar!  I believe in you!  You melt just fine and you're cheap!  I LOVE YOU, GENERIC CHEDDAR!"

I'm willing to try exotic ingredients if I can afford them.  I like cooking with tofu and organic fruits and veggies.  I make my own spaghetti sauce.  But, I do not possess a brisket-slicing knife.  Nowhere in my kitchen does there exist a Dutch oven.  I don't keep almond paste or macadamia nut oil in my pantry.  I think bottled barbecue sauce is acceptable (provided the sodium content is not obscene).  I am okay with using frozen chicken breasts, rather than carving up my own roaster every time I want a casserole.  And it would seem that makes me fall far short of this magazine's intended audience.

Pass the middle-class green bean casserole, would you, please?