Raspberry salsa seems to be trending lately around here, which reminds me of a pivotal event in my cooking journey. So settle in for Story Time with Radshop...
As a self-taught cook who's not great at following complicated recipes, I always experimented. I liked my creations, and my family seemed to like them. But I didn't have confidence that they were actually something other people would really like. And my wife (now ex, herself not a good cook) wasn't very supportive - she would be like, "Hey, my whole family is coming over - are you sure you want to try something that might not turn out? Remember that one time when..." So I would play it safe and make the standard, boring stuff.
About 10 years ago I was new in a key consulting role for a client, and they asked me to join their annual management retreat. One of the things they did as a team building exercise was a group Iron Chef competition - with the twist that not every group got the same basket of ingredients and you could negotiate & trade with other groups. It was fun, but since I didn't really know people, I hung back. And it turned out that the women stepped up and did the cooking while the men watched. Go figure.
Our group made an omelette, which seemed pretty good, but the guys in the peanut gallery were worried it was too plain. Plus the vegetables weren't chopped very well, so there were some big chunks poking out.
I noticed a couple ingredients left: a jar of salsa verde, a pint of raspberries, and some sugar. We had only a couple minutes left. I said, "Hey, I'm going to try something. If it doesn't work, we don't have to use it." I wiped out the pan, cranked up the burner, sprayed some cooking spray and got the raspberries breaking down in the heat. Then I added a little sugar to caramelize, plus some other spices that were there - don't remember what - and then the salsa verde. I let everything bubble until we had a minute left on the clock. While I was doing all this, I heard one of the guys in the back say, "Wow, he really knows what he's doing." And one of the women said, "No, I don't think so." I wasn't sure.
We grabbed some spoons to taste, and suddenly everybody got excited. We drizzled a little on top of the omelette and a little puddle on the side. The ladies headed off to the judges. Then two of them came running back: "What do we call this?" I've watched Chopped, so I knew to say, "Rustic omelette with a raspberry-tomatillo reduction." Off they went.
Bottom line - we won. It was a close competition, and the sauce put us over the top for the victory (as one of the judges told the women). And that was the turning point for me to have a lot more confidence to trust my instincts and cook the way I want to.
If you hung in this far, thanks for reading.
As a self-taught cook who's not great at following complicated recipes, I always experimented. I liked my creations, and my family seemed to like them. But I didn't have confidence that they were actually something other people would really like. And my wife (now ex, herself not a good cook) wasn't very supportive - she would be like, "Hey, my whole family is coming over - are you sure you want to try something that might not turn out? Remember that one time when..." So I would play it safe and make the standard, boring stuff.
About 10 years ago I was new in a key consulting role for a client, and they asked me to join their annual management retreat. One of the things they did as a team building exercise was a group Iron Chef competition - with the twist that not every group got the same basket of ingredients and you could negotiate & trade with other groups. It was fun, but since I didn't really know people, I hung back. And it turned out that the women stepped up and did the cooking while the men watched. Go figure.
Our group made an omelette, which seemed pretty good, but the guys in the peanut gallery were worried it was too plain. Plus the vegetables weren't chopped very well, so there were some big chunks poking out.
I noticed a couple ingredients left: a jar of salsa verde, a pint of raspberries, and some sugar. We had only a couple minutes left. I said, "Hey, I'm going to try something. If it doesn't work, we don't have to use it." I wiped out the pan, cranked up the burner, sprayed some cooking spray and got the raspberries breaking down in the heat. Then I added a little sugar to caramelize, plus some other spices that were there - don't remember what - and then the salsa verde. I let everything bubble until we had a minute left on the clock. While I was doing all this, I heard one of the guys in the back say, "Wow, he really knows what he's doing." And one of the women said, "No, I don't think so." I wasn't sure.
We grabbed some spoons to taste, and suddenly everybody got excited. We drizzled a little on top of the omelette and a little puddle on the side. The ladies headed off to the judges. Then two of them came running back: "What do we call this?" I've watched Chopped, so I knew to say, "Rustic omelette with a raspberry-tomatillo reduction." Off they went.
Bottom line - we won. It was a close competition, and the sauce put us over the top for the victory (as one of the judges told the women). And that was the turning point for me to have a lot more confidence to trust my instincts and cook the way I want to.
If you hung in this far, thanks for reading.
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