I. Experimentation

[This is part 1 in a tripartite memoir-style piece I wrote for English class. There are recipes included!]

One of the many joys in cooking is experimentation. It is hard to achieve such status as "experimenter" - jumping through the hoops of learning craft and flavor combinations and methodology and the best of the best - but my father has. He's a closet foodie; he can’t resist the new, the interesting, or the different but . My sister and I are not picky eaters, not by virtue of being “good kids”, but because my father would dare us to consume all matter of “squiggly bits” and scary sounding dishes, like keftedes and caciao e pepe (meatballs and pasta, respectively).

Like father like eldest daughter, but I am marginally more open about the passion-borderline-obsession. My sister likes baking, which is my mother's mastery, but I have taken to my dad's style. Mostly because I can stand to look at, let alone touch, raw meat. Mum can't get over that - sometimes I'll pull a groping maneuver on a piece of beef, just too hear the reaction I liken to cats vomiting underneath drapes.

There's a short list of things I am good at making: bread, mozzarella cheese, hummus (by American standards; I know people who say otherwise), tortillas, and several kinds of alcohol. My summer science project was figuring out the science behind brewing beer, which was then related to yeast-air production in bread. It’s all very clinical sounding, but not relevant beyond "I did it because I could".

The newest fad in our kitchen is Limóncello. It is a sweet Italian liqueur made by soaking lemon peel in vodka for three days to create alcoholic cordial, then mixing it with simple syrup. I've never had a taste, but the smell is enough to go by. The drink we serve in shot glasses (traditionally doled out in miniscule flutes by people classier than us) is meant to be glacially cold. You do not let it linger in your glass. If you do, you run the fine line of enjoying melted lemon sorbet with a jet-fuel kick, or the liquefied remains of lemon gummy bears.

Dad and I joke that you could sneak this stuff anywhere. It is the exact color of Lemon Pledge wood cleaner, and maintains that integrity unless you open the bottle. Our clear jars have a permanent home in the depths of the outdoor freezer. When we got the unprecedented temperatures this winter, we kept a few bottles in the snow bank that rose up to the window by the dining room. It's earned the affectionate moniker "yellow snow" from my sister.

It is a late spring to summer drink that would offend anything outside of white-fleshed animal friends. Chicken, shrimp, crab, all kinds of fish, and (oddly enough) paper thin slices of beef. I don’t claim any dietary restrictions – vega-whatzit or pesce-whozit – but I definitely favor mild, versatile chicken over all else. My dad taught me how to debone and butterfly a chicken when I was ten. We looked ridiculous: the pair of us in our Sunday best (Dad had some good sense to make me wear an apron); a tiny girl with a thick French braid on a step-stool, knife poised in Julia Child’s “confront the bird” stance. I see my mother at the kitchen table, balancing her check book and fooling herself into thinking she can ignore the presence of fleshy-pink, semi-firm chicken meat.

My dad spent many irritable hours in high school choir, thus knowing many obscure pieces from musicals long since dead. Occasionally, he becomes the Modern Major General chasing the Pirates of Penzance, knowing everything about animals, vegetables, and minerals. My mother sticks solely to the vegetables.

Catalan Chickpeas with Tomatoes and Almonds

2 (14oz/400g) cans chickpeas, drained

1/4 cup (60ml) extra-virgin olive oil

1 large onion, peeled and grated or finely minced

1 can (14oz/400g) plum tomatoes in juice, preferably Italian, drained and chopped

pinch sugar

pinch saffron threads

3 large cloves garlic, peeled and coarsely chopped

1/3 cup (50g) lightly toasted almonds

small handful flat-leaf parsley, chopped

1 1/2 cups (325ml) chicken or vegetable stock

salt

juice of 1/2 lemon, or to taste

1.  Try the chickpeas - if they're not completely soft to the bite (and canned ones rarely are), bring them to a boil in lightly-salted water and cook them until they are, usually about 10-20 minutes. Drain. 
2. In a heavy frying pan, heat the oil over medium-low heat and sauté the onion until it is golden brown and very soft, about 25 minutes. Add the chopped tomatoes and sugar, letting them fry until they melt into the onions and form a paste, about another 10-15 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat.
3. In a large mortar or food processor, combine the saffron, garlic, almonds and parsley and pound (or pulse) to a thick paste. Add a little water if necessary to keep things moving. Add the paste to the onion mixture along with the stock and the chickpeas. 
4. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and simmer until the liquid has reduced to a thick sauce, about 10-15 minutes. Season with salt and lemon juice to taste. Serve hot or at room temperature; you'll find that this dish keeps developing in flavor the longer it sits.