Sometimes, even when everything should be going right by all practical accounts, things can interfere with my goal to make my dish look and taste like Jamie’s.
It was the first nice day of the season. I wore my leather jacket, unzipped, instead of my usual winter coat. I walked to and from work listening to an audiobook on my iPhone and carrying a little extra bounce in my step. The grocery store near my house didn’t have the cod I needed but my boyfriend generously offered to pick up the cod fillets from another market while he was on the other side of town.
And so I was so confused when, due my stubborn insistence that I simply had to cook the large cod fillets in a too-small cast iron pan, they fell apart. Badly. And went all over the place.
I started to get that frustrated feeling. I could feel my roommates eyes as she looked from the pan to the page and back again.
“Don’t ask,” I barked. But she stayed.
“Don’t ask,” I said again, louder this time.
“Are you in a bad mood or something,” she asked.
And then I felt so silly. The food would be fine. I had learned a lesson and that was, certainly, of some value. I decided to make some proverbial lemonade.
I plated the broken cod on a bed of basmati rice, covered the imperfections as best I could with natural yogurt and threw on some cilantro. Not exactly like Jamie’s but good enough to eat on a Monday night when everything else went right.
And due to the lingering smells from the curry powder and the lack of windows in my kitchen, I have been forbidden from cooking curry in the apartment for an indefinite amount of time.