I have a confession to make. I make a great-tasting pot roast. I just can’t remember how to make it.

My mother calls me a recipe cooker. Whenever she says that, I feel a sense of shame. After all, really good cooks don’t use recipes. Right?

The fact is, I brine and marinate meats, make salad dressings, roast garlic, make herb vinegars, and regularly use fresh, local ingredients to cook from “scratch” for my family. But, since I use recipes for most of these, being a guest on Paula’s Party doesn’t seem to be in my future, nor does it get a nod from my mother. She doesn’t eat “that stuff.”

C’mon y’all.

Generations of Creative Cooking

I used to watch my grandmother cook and bake “from the hip.” I’d watch her mix unmeasured amounts of water, flour, butter and sugar to create a perfectly golden batter; in awe at the speed at which she could make a chocolate cake. Yet, I don’t think my grandmother owned a cookbook. In fact, I know she didn’t. Neither was her kitchen equipped with the so-called essentials. She just knew how to create meals that fed you, enveloped you, hugged you and loved you.

My mother, also an excellent cook, would rather catch a bullet between her teeth than use a cookbook. Rebellious and creative, she doesn’t read instructions and she doesn’t follow recipes. “Recipe cooking takes too long,” she says.

I’d like to consider myself a good cook and I have the cookbook collection to prove it. While this collection – from Amish cooking to soul food – may give clues about my preferences, the food I prepare from them is devoid of my personality.

I’m beginning to realize that authenticity isn’t to be ignored or segmented into parts of my life. It wants to come out to play full out – even with food.

Play Time

Whenever we purchase a cookbook, we do so with the expectations that the recipes will turn out “right.” Right = tested, delicious, and look like a carbon copy of its photograph in the cookbook.

We don’t waste food. We have families and careers. We’re short on time and sometimes on money. We want things to be right so we can cook, eat, and move on.

Testing recipes? We’re adults and we don’t play that.

However, creative cooking is playful. Recipes simply provide structure and guidance, not limits. They provide the fence surrounding the playground. We provide the thrill of the sliding board and tire swing.

You! On a Plate

Studies show that only about 19% of all cooks fall into the category of innovative cook; a creative, trend-setting cook who seldom uses recipes.

How, then do you become a creative cook; one who relies more on instinct and less on the structure of recipes?

Well Dorothy, you’ve always had the power.

Just take it one step at a time:

1. Do it for yourself, not for your mom. Make sure creative cooking is your idea.
2. Start small. Focus on one dish as opposed to an entire meal.
3. Take inventory. Find out what you have in the pantry, freezer, and refrigerator. Use a recipe search engine to list ingredients you have at home and to generate meal ideas.
4. Modify an existing recipe. Start by substituting or adding one ingredient.
5. Become spice-literate. Learn how to adjust the natural characteristics of food by adding spices and herbs.
6. Trust and rely on your senses. If it looks too dry, add liquid. If it tastes bland, add seasoning.
7. Keep notes, not recipes. If you like the taste of sage in sausage, jot it down. Use your notes to experiment with other dishes.
8. Use your Style Statement as a guide. If you’re struggling to decide what you cook, do an internet search using one or both of your Style Statement words along with the word “cooking” or “food.”
9. Make a food play date. Set aside a time where you give yourself permission to play with your food. If the idea of possibly wasting food makes you cringe, use less expensive ingredients.
10. Put you in your food. Creative cooking involves expressing who you are in your food. Ask yourself, “If I were a [insert particular dish], what would I be?” “What ingredients would I have in me?”

So, if I were a pot roast, I’d be brown on all sides. I’d relax all day with just a few of my closest friends; friends who shared my interests.

I don’t have to remember that. I just have to remember me. That’s what the really good cooks do.

. . . . . . .

Photo courtesy of WordRidden