Quite a Handful

If I invent recipes, I usually keep the great big in mind. And measure up the small with respect for detail.

I once had this student job – back in university. It involved mainly the task of measuring and filling small plastic containers with exquisite salads. The stand was located in the corner of the food section of a large department store. And it had a twin right next to it where pastries were sold in the form of beautifully decorated large cakes and slices of them. The ensemble was supervised by a very strict but friendly lady, whom I admired very much for her organizational talent and her always remaining calm, even during the busiest selling hours.

Since I cannot eat cream, the cake was not really interesting for me (believe it or not). The salad was nice, but it usually contained the standard mayonnaise (another food supplement I cannot eat). So obviously my goods were safe from any rising desires.

But the job came with some fun. Because after a short period of getting to know each other, my colleagues and I made it a competition to perfectly estimate the weight of all the salads and the like on display (they also had a fresh wild garlic cream that I could eat – I definitely fell for that one).

What seemed silly at the time, and just a way to get through long days at work, is now a great advantage to me. So when I am creating a new dish and estimate the amount of ingredients I need to make a dish, I always start by imagining the feel of a very common food package with a fixed weight, say a large cup of yogurt (weighs about 400 grams).

From there, I scoop out the large portions I want with my hands. For smaller portions, I use a regular picnic cup. Smaller amounts of essential liquids or fine ingredients (like baking soda) are measured out in tablespoons. Herbs and spices are sized in teaspoons (whole or half). Small flavor accents are added with the tip of a knife, a pinch, or just a ” hunch.”

Or, if I am cooking new creations without planning ahead (which I sometimes do), I write down a complete list of the ingredients I used (if it worked out…). Then I follow the same routine as above. Carefully keeping track of amounts and proportions. If something is missing, I try to visualize the amount I need: in tablespoons for something that sets the tone, in teaspoons (or coffee spoons) for something that merely adds a note.

But only when I make the dish for the third or fourth time do I add the exact amounts in grams or liters for the recipe to write down. It’s the only way to eliminate the possibility of a “flavor accident”.

But of course, as always in life, ‘Murphy’s Cousin’s Law’ can strike now and then: ‘If you decide to invite trouble (e.g., by trying to invent a new meal), always be prepared for additional guests to arrive.’

I always start by imagining the feel of a very common food package with a fixed weight.

Side Notes:

• I have found it very useful to ask people who eat my dishes for their suggestions. The description of the missing flavor accent in their impression can sometimes be a bit vague (like: “it could use some strawberry…”). But you get an idea of which corner of the spectrum is not yet filled.