I admit it. I *am* a terrible cook. Or, failed 'Chicken Cacciatore'

soupy mess

We ate at Holiday Inn a few weeks ago and I enjoyed a dish so much I decided to look it up. It's called Chicken Cacciatore, which is tender chicken in tomato sauce. I found a recipe with good reviews at allrecipes, and considered myself good to go.

What I appreciated about the dish is that the ingredients were all easily available. The only ingredient new to me was the white wine. Mushrooms and a can of tomatoes were easy to find in the supermarket.

I was quite excited to make this dish. I read through the recipe and followed instructions as best as I could. I had trouble with browning the chicken. I don't know if it was my stainless steel soup pan (I used that since I thought my regular skillet was too small) or the electric range or both, but the chicken refused to brown properly. I even made sure to fry in two batches but it didn't do the trick. I gave up when I thought the chicken skins were burning, not browning.

Later, I put in the whole 14.5 oz can of tomato in. Uh-oh. That was a big mistake. The tomatoes were actually enough for about 4 times the amount of chicken I was cooking. I ended up with a SOUP. What makes chicken cacciatore tasty is the SAUCE. Major FAIL :(

My confidence has gone up the previous weeks since I find myself to be a fair novice baker and the torta I made last week was good enough, but it has reached rock bottom once again. I'm trying to analyze what happened. I am quite successful as a baker since I follow recipes as strictly as I could (but always with some modifications), I read a lot about baking so I have extensive theoretical knowledge that help me come up with modifications successfully. I have read extensively about the techniques (how to cream butter and sugar, how to mix batter, what pans to use, the ingredient proportions to use....) so I know how they work and how to apply them.

In hindsight, I may have been too adventurous my despite my extremely limited knowledge of cooking. I always read that unlike baking, cooking is not an exact science so one is free to improvise. However, someone like me does not have the required knowledge, experience, or technique to make suitable improvisations. I realize now that my biggest downfall in cooking is that I have no regard for ingredient proportions. My mother and grandmother never measure anything, so I thought I could get away with it, too. However, this is only possible if you have had prior experience and an idea of how the ingredients will work together - I don't.

I still like blaming my electric range which I think heats up too much even on the lowest setting, but it is only half of the story. If I actually knew how to compensate for that (like what I do with my baking pans), I may still get a decent dish.

I always end up with crowded or soupy dishes, and that's because living alone, the amount I require is usually much less than the 6-8 servings usually seen in recipes. Now if only I followed the ratios more closely and didn't pour in the whole can, I might have been able to come up with something halfway decent.

I hope that next time, this blog will bring a success culinary story.

On the occasion of Lola's funeral....

As usual, my reaction to news of death is delayed.

When I heard of the news that my grandmother died last Monday night, I was shocked, but then I continued with my everyday concerns without much thought on the death. It was kinda expected already, since she's been sick for a long time, though I'm still surprised that she was taken so soon. I was expecting her to hang on even just a year more. But alas, death does not wait for anybody.

The full gravity of the situation only hit me while on the bus and jeepney back to Batangas. The burial was held 3 PM this afternoon and though I felt a tinge of sadness as I took one last look at my grandmother, my emotions were more or less neutral the whole time. I've always avoided looking into caskets these past years, but with the new elevated casket used for her, I had to look though I didn't want to. It's strange..whenever I looked at her chest I always thought that it was gently swaying, as though she was breathing. But of course, that was my imagination. Her face was full of make-up so she looked quite good, with her black hair even at 84 years of age and no hair dye. But looking at her arms and hands, she looked very dead. Her palms were whitish-gray and her arms were grayish too. I could see the numerous injection marks on her arms and even on her fingertips. It was these that reminded me the most just how dead the body was in front of me, and that it was just a shell - it was not really my grandmother anymore. It was a container without its contents.

I was never really close with any of my grandparents, though I knew and spent more time with my grandmother than I did my late grandfather. Especially since she was living in our house for the last 7 months before her death. She always wanted to go back to her own house in San Simon, but due to some complications, she couldn't go back. During that time, I got to know how much of a nervous person she was, how picky she was, how much of a worrywart she was, how much of a complainer she was, and how much of a negative thinker she was. But at the same time I learned of a person with simple joys, whose greatest happiness in life is staying in her own home, cooking and cleaning for others. When she was stronger and I stayed at her house during the vacation for a couple of weeks or so, I always looked forward to her delicious dishes. And she always cooked my favorite boiled and caramelized bananas. She was a smart person, still able to answer mathemetical questions at her age, despite the fact that she only finished 4th grade. She was quite interesting to talk to when she was in one of her better moods. And, she was always concerned about the safety of others.

When tears started rolling down my cheeks as I was in the jeepney, it was because I realized that I wouldn't be able to hear her voice anymore, or see her laugh. She was really nice to see during the rare times when I was able to make her laugh. Neither would I be able to ask her to tell me stories of things that happened long ago. Thinking back, I wouldn't mind anymore if she asked me to make oatmeal for her every mealtimes or asked me to get fruits for her or stayed with her a bit more if it meant that she had lived a bit longer... In short, I wish I had been able to do more for her instead of ignoring her for the most part that she was in our house. I feel sorry for myself because I wasn't able to make her feel happier during the time I was with her. Now, even though I'm willing to sacrifice a bit of my personal enjoyment for her sake, it's too late. I won't be able to do any of those things for her anymore even if I wanted to.

This just reminded me how important it is to cherish and treasure the people and relationships that we have NOW. I wish that next time, I wouldn't feel this way anymore when someone passed away. I wish that when that time comes, I could confidently say that I had been able to show all my love and effort and that I don't have any regrets. We don't know when any of our loved ones will be taken from us. Each day that we spend with them is a special gift that we have to make the most of.