Art and Necessity

This week, we are excited to welcome our guest blogger, Martha Condra!   While living in Nashville, Martha trained as a culinary apprentice at the Opryland Hotel based on classic European training and cooking. She graduated with a degree in culinary arts as well as several certifications in hotel and restaurant management. Martha also worked with the Test Kitchens of Cooking Light magazine. She lives in Birmingham, Alabama, and is a member of St Symeon the New Theologian Orthodox Church. We are thrilled to have Martha as a contributor to Week Five of our Back to Basics course: Discovering the Joy of Cooking and Celebrating the Art of Eating. 

There was a time in my life when I regularly cooked for six people every night. To some, that might seem like a chore, but I learned early on I could and needed to combine an artistic interest, a hobby, a talent if you will, with something that needed to be done. In those years when my children were young and all living at home, I had many interests, but time for few hobbies. I viewed experimenting and stretching my creative muscle in the kitchen as an excellent way to satisfy a creative need and ensure that my family was eating — “Art, this is necessity.” “Necessity, this is your new friend, art.”

In those days, I read cookbooks cover to cover as some would read a novel. It was mostly pre-Internet days, and I’m happy it was. I checked books out of the library, bought and received a few books as gifts, and allowed myself the luxury of one subscription — Food & Wine magazine, which I devoured. Armed with a culinary school degree and two extra children post graduation, I was putting my degree to work. I would experiment with new recipes, and put my own spin on old ones. They were busy, wonderful days, and I loved them.

I’ve maintained for years that the atmosphere, environment of a meal, and people who are with you are almost, if not more important than the food that is on the table. Those elements can make or break a food memory. I’ve tried to stress many times that the joy of communal eating is the reward. The fellowship should be the focus, and the food, while it should be nourishing and good, can be secondary; if it’s executed well, it can be simple, and be the base for the experience. The importance in coming together to share a meal is invaluable whether it’s several courses, a sandwich, or a bowl of soup.

Just recently my children, ages 23-37, underscored this very point. In preparing for this post, I asked them to share a favorite memory of a meal when we were all home. I said “favorite/memorable family meal or time.” I was thinking mostly in terms of dishes as I was thinking about the amount of cooking I used to do. They unanimously responded with “remember the time _______ happened” or “so-and-so did or said______ after I did___.” Once my older two tried to convince my middle daughter that a tube of tomato paste in the refrigerator was actually toothpaste. One of them cited the time our dog, an English Springer Spaniel ate an entire stick of butter from the table— good times! My point was perfectly illustrated. The experiences and our time together were what they remembered. Only when I said, “what was a favorite meal/food” did they respond with:

Panade burgers,

salmon and leeks

Guinness and Beef stew

Pan sautéed catfish

Pot roast

Potato and corn chowder with sausage

 Homemade cornbread

NOT toothpaste

Our meals were eaten at a dining room table together almost every evening—the result of a decision my husband and I had made early in our parenthood: we would eat together as a family. It was a priority we set. Our table could be noisy with people talking over each other, laughter, or serious discussions, but it was wonderful, and we were together. We used everyday china, cloth napkins, and glassware, and flatware.

I’ve always loved cooking and welcoming people into my home. I like to think I’ve had a number of dinner parties, but the one with non-family I default to is back when my husband and I had moved to a small town in Tennessee. We lived on a wonderful street with lots of neighbors in our demographic—-parents with young children and not lots of disposable income. We greeted everyone at our place one evening with pasta, and two pots of homemade tomato sauce—one with meat, one vegetarian (I think I had to borrow a large saucepan). Friends contributed things to round out the meal, maybe salad and bread, but what I remember the most is seeing eleven — eleven! people around my dining room table; It was wonderful!

When I think of truly getting to know someone over meals, the hands-down the best example is my eldest son-in-law. He was housesitting and new to the area, when he started seeing our daughter. He was hundreds of miles away from family, so we encouraged him to come for dinner. Every night. I believe he was there every night for three months until he found an apartment. We discussed any and everything, even things considered taboo: books, philosophy, religion, etc. There really is no substitute for lingering around a table for hours and getting to know someone. It was entertainment and joy. He was so gracious in accepting all of my culinary experiments—successes and those less than stellar. 

I was speaking with a friend yesterday about eating habits. He’s single (also a great cook)  and sets a place for himself at the table every evening. If he eats at his desk while working, he told me he uses a placemat.  I can’t underscore enough how even the smallest elements can yield great rewards—a sense of flourishing, if you will — pouring a beverage into a glass instead of drinking from a bottle, eating from a plate with silverware, a cloth napkin instead of paper, replacing the tv with appropriate music or conversation—-these are examples of flourishing, not merely eating.

At the risk of using a word I believe is exhausted by influencers, (a term I dislike) small details can “elevate” an experience. I would like to replace that with bless or improve. None of these things needs to be extravagant or costly. Thrift stores, inexpensive box stores, the internet, or a quick raid of your grandmother’s house can provide all of them. I’m not suggesting that anyone needs to be an advanced cook to find the blessings here. Even if you drive through a restaurant and get dinner, put it on a plate when you get home; it will taste better.

If you already incorporate some or all of these things, but still think something is lacking, to truly experience flourishing in your kitchen and dining room, something as simple as learning a new knife skill, an interesting new way to cut a vegetable, a new cooking technique, or a simple piece of kitchen equipment could be all you need. If that’s the case, we’ve got you covered in weeks five and six in the Back to Basics Course! You’ll be ready to share a simple meal with wonderful people in a calm and a beautiful setting, just when the world needs it.