I am a food guy who comes from a food family. Where more than two Nixes are gathered, there is enough food for more than double the number of people. I come by it honestly.
This past weekend I tried a couple of things I’d never tried before, both food related.
Many years ago I watched Anthony Bourdain eat what he called the best sandwich on earth. It was mortadella and provolone. I’d never even heard of mortadella, but when a guy spends his life traveling the world in search of great food, his recommendation tends to stick with you.
So I headed to the deli counter at a local grocery store and asked if they had mortadella. Judging by the look I got, they don’t hear that request very often. Fortunately, they had some, and I ordered a pound sliced paper thin.
I grabbed some provolone and Kaiser rolls. We already had mayonnaise and Dijon mustard at home, so I had everything I needed.
You’d think a sandwich carrying the title of “best ever” would require some elaborate preparation.
I warmed the mortadella in a skillet, laid the provolone on top long enough to melt, toasted the Kaiser roll, spread on a little mayo and Dijon, and that was it.
I don’t know if I’m ready to crown it the greatest sandwich ever made, but I can confidently say it’ll be making repeat appearances at our house. My better half agreed, and I trust her palate a whole lot more than I trust my own.
The sandwich wasn’t my only culinary first.
Last year, while away at training, I had a piece of tres leches cake at a little mom-and-pop restaurant. That cake has lived rent-free in my head ever since. I almost asked social media where to find the best one around here before deciding maybe I ought to learn how to make one myself.
Now, I’m perfectly comfortable standing over a charcoal grill all day, but baking has never really been my thing.
Fortunately, tres leches turned out to be much simpler than I expected.
The cake came out so well that my wife, my daughter and I nearly polished off an entire 9-by-13 pan on Sunday.
I also learned how ridiculously easy homemade whipped cream is. Five minutes with heavy cream, powdered sugar and vanilla, and you’ve got something that makes the stuff in a plastic tub seem like an entirely different food.
I’ve probably eaten homemade whipped cream before without realizing it. Now that I know the difference, I doubt another tub of Cool Whip will ever cross our threshold.
The funny thing is that both of these recipes were so simple a Toby could make them.
Now, don’t misunderstand me. I made a beef Wellington this past Christmas, and that thing was a full-scale production. It took hours, dirtied every dish in the kitchen and tested my patience more than once. But when we finally sat down to eat, it was worth every minute.
This weekend was the complete opposite.
Two recipes. Very little effort. Outstanding results.
Maybe that’s what I enjoyed most.
At 50 years old, it’s nice to discover there are still foods you’ve never tasted, things you’ve never cooked and little victories waiting in your own kitchen. Sometimes trying something new doesn’t require a passport or a pile of money.
Sometimes it just takes asking the deli clerk for a meat you’ve never heard of and deciding to bake a cake instead of buying one.
