Back to Food

In my short lifetime, I have witnessed many ridiculous situations concerning our nation’s consumptive habits. There have been lawsuits against fast food giants claiming they are responsible for the fattening of America. On the other end of the spectrum are those who can’t open their mouths lest they proclaim the glory of Atkins or South Beach regiments. It is nearly impossible to go a day without hearing of this restaurant’s smash opening or that one’s closing. Amidst the crashing waves of epicurean speak, there is one encouraging undercurrent: the country is getting back to food.

I don’t mean to sound as if everyone had stopped eating and has merely broken their collective fast. No, people are taking back their kitchens. No longer do roaches rule the space between the dining room and the garage. Drawers of dusty graters, spatulas, whisks, garlic presses and measuring spoons are being polished to nearly newborn status. Days of tuna salad sandwiches and nights of dry meatloaf are being phased from memory, and at the forefront of our consciousness is filet mignon covered in béarnaise slowly oozing over a pile of roasted garlic mashed potatoes and delicately steamed baby carrots. Everything homemade; an every-pan-in-the-kitchen meal made more satisfying by not having to sport a suit and tie, sign a credit card slip, or fight traffic back to your driveway.

Dining out is becoming more like it was decades ago when families patronized restaurants for birthdays and other special occasions. There will always be those empty masses that rely on the gifts of others to satisfy their hunger, and never know the true joy of cooking, but I fear nothing could convince them to pick up a shopping basket and fill their fruit and vegetable bins with the delicacies that compose Waldorf salad or spinach artichoke dip. No, I am focused on the home cook. The one removing the stained takeout menus from beneath the leaking packets of soy sauce and used chopsticks, ripping the submarine sandwich coupons from the tight grip of the “I love New York” refrigerator magnet, and erasing Papa Johns from the number one spot on speed dial. It is this dedicated group demanding prompt seating at the dinner table at six thirty who are making restaurants step up, their families eat a little better, and resurrecting those dog-eared cookbooks covered in mom’s tomato sauce thumb prints that are taking this country back to food.

In Los Angeles alone there are thousands of restaurants that serve everything from spicy tuna rolls to steak Diane. This city is built around dining out, but I’ve got a radical idea for those who eat 14 meals a week outside of their own abodes: drop by the grocery store and fend for yourself. Start simple. Fresh pasta with basil, olive oil and parmesan cheese. You don’t have to slave over a pot of duck sausage gumbo right out of the gate. Get familiar with ingredients and cooking techniques and build your confidence to the perfect hollandaise. I promise to be your lifeline if you’ll just put down the takeout menu. I’ll answer any culinary question under the sun and if I don’t know it, I’ll look it up so I learn something too. So dig out the recipe book that you got for graduation half a decade ago and let’s eat. But more importantly, let’s cook.