Every Page Tells a Story

And just what does this approaching middle-age lady write that's so important you ask? Oh don't worry, I've nothing to hide. In fact, my little black book has become a kitchen tool.

I dutifully record my culinary adventures each day. Banish any thoughts relating this to keeping logs while on a diet. No, not at all! For me, the diary is a very pleasant thing. Every page tells a story.

Each year as the first of January approaches I make a visit to a local office supply store and buy a daily calendar. I write down what we prepare for dinner or brunch - whatever our main meal of the day is.

If I follow a recipe, I make note of where I found it - Patricia Wells' Bistro Cooking p. 215, and so on. For recipes I get from the newspaper or online, I often tape it right to the page. This makes it easy to locate later. I spell out the entire menu, including the wine I served. In our kitchen, inventions are called "creations," and I include a brief description of ingredients and technique in the diary.

I constantly critique what I cook and encourage those who dine with me to do so. I make notes about how I would change a dish the next time - too much sauce, use wild mushrooms instead of button mushrooms. This may sound a bit harsh, but it's really all very good-natured. When the vote is for a "culinary triumph," I write that down too.

Discussing a meal makes kids more aware of tastes. What is "tart"? What is "savory"? Is that garlic you taste? Do you like this? Tell me why. Beyond developing their taste buds, it gives them a sense of participation. They realize that eating can be a pleasurable experience - not just something you have to do every evening and then run away from as soon as possible.

On nights that we eat at a restaurant, I write down what we ordered. I try and pay particular attention if I think the dish is something I might want to replicate at home. Was the meat braised or roasted? How were the potatoes made? How was it plated?

One of my favorite replications is a dish called Volcano Beef. My husband ordered the house's fiery-hot specialty at a place called Under the Volcano in London, ON. It was on lovely warm, yet slightly breezy, Father's Day some years ago. We dined on the porch and lingered over the sunset with the last of our Margaritas.

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