This is a normal post-dinner kitchen in my house. My DH always asks me why I can’t clean up as I go. Obviously, he doesn’t cook. Do you think Julia Child cleaned up as she cooked, unless she had a helpful telly crew standing by? Tell me it’s not so . . .
I am a good but slapdash cook. None of that fussy bakey-measury stuff for me. (Slapdash with words as well, I think.) One of the many reasons I love Jamie Oliver is his resistance to precise measurements. “A glug of olive oil,” he says. How much is a glug, you ask? He knows. I know. It all works.
So what exactly created the above-pictured mess? Shrimp, marinated in a bit (!) of olive-oil mayo, a squeeze of lemon, some herbs de Provence, and some fresh ground salt and pepper. Threaded on skewers with lovely fresh grape tomatoes, popped (another Jamie word) on the gas grill for a couple of minutes. Some fresh corn, steamed in the microwave, served with unsalted organic butter and fresh ground salt and pepper. And coleslaw with a half-remembered thrown-together dressing recipe: A spoon of mayo, some apple cider vinegar, a sprinkle (so precise) of organic sugar, and another sprinkle of caraway seeds.
All delish. Neither Julia nor Jamie would be ashamed. And although I am a messy cook, I’m a very good dishwasher. It’s the zen of it, and tonight I had DH playing the guitar and singing Bare Naked Ladies songs while I rinsed and swished.
What’s not to like?
(Unless it’s the squished tomatoes and blueberries under my feet.)