New Years 2009 Recipe Story: Where's Andrew?

For New Years 2009, I’ve been asked to share a recipe. The problem is that I rarely follow recipes, which is probably why I’m posting this entry so late. Oh sure, I crave structure and feel that recipes can serve as nice guidelines, but as long as I’m not interfering too much with the laws of chemistry that apply to baking I can generally take a recipe anywhere I want it to go. Otherwise, I consult with my brother Andrew, who doesn’t really believe in defining ingredients in teaspoons, cups or pounds, and tends to give instructions based on generalities. In fact, my brother purses his lips when I press him for specifics, “You give the same recipe to twenty people and you’ll get twenty different results.”

Typically I endorse my brother’s method to cooking because he’s a damn fine cook and traditionally my family turns to him to create festive meals. He adds an artistic, personal flare to his cooking and has a responsive nature in everything he does. But he is not a pragmatist like me. Instead, he is stealthy breed, easily diverted by things of personal interest and not intimidated by price tags or spilling food on other people’s floors. He is a sensitive, creative type and, as a result, we spend an inordinate amount of time rolling our eyes at each other.

Though I’m sure that my brother finds us pragmatic folks uptight and restrictive, I often find him infuriating in an endearing sort of way. For example, he’ll show up late when we’re leaving town for my grandmother’s funeral, but he’s almost always willing to help me move heavy furniture across state lines on a moment’s notice. Or he won’t feel obligated to participate in conversation. I have stood at a meat counter in an upscale grocery market discussing Thanksgiving dinner with Andrew as we waited for the man behind the counter to package our pork tenderloin (for which I was footing the bill) only to turn my head and find that I was talking to myself. Five rows away he was investigating the bulk spice area, sniffing the herbs de provence and fresh pepper.

Perhaps Andrew hoped that living in Africa for two years would have allayed my desire to promote conversation or structure activities in a reciprocal, semi-predictable manner. Unfortunately, his complete lack of urgency still makes me swear like a sailor. My grandmother’s funeral took place in Southwestern Minnesota over the weekend and when we encountered white out conditions five miles south of Mankato, we backtracked to the Holiday Inn to wait out the storm. In the morning, Andrew didn’t feel the need to wake up early, have his dress clothes in the hotel room, or pack his duffel bag on time. I checked out and got directions to Hendricks, MN and Andrew dawdled around the lobby. As Joe and I stepped on the elevator to the parking garage, Andrew decided to hunt down a pack of gum. He fed a dollar into a vending machine and took a few more minutes coming to terms with his loss after it didn’t deliver the gum. About 40 miles down Highway 14, he asked to stop at a gas station to use the restroom, where he spent another 15 to 20 minutes with the door locked.

I practiced Lamaze in the car.

Whether you’re roasting your first pork loin or driving to a funeral, Andrew feels that the destination is far more important than any prescribed journey; so we rolled up to my grandmother’s funeral fifteen minutes late to find a room full of 100 people and an open casket waiting for us to arrive. To him, we made it to the funeral. It doesn’t matter whether we left on time or arrived late because the point is that we made it to our destination. He treats any itinerary as a general roadmap and demands – whether he realizes it or not – that those around him improvise and adjust their plans. This was probably a very good stance to take since our plans had to respond to an overflowing toilet Friday morning, a flat tire later that afternoon and abysmal weather Friday night and Saturday morning. As a process-oriented person, though, I typically insist (unsuccessfully) that we stick to the time-specific preferences of others no matter how impossible the circumstances.

I’ve strayed from the original request that I write about a recipe. In January, when I thought I could stay on topic, I asked Andrew about his view on recipes and he gave me a list of good reasons for not following them. Ingredients may be in or out of season, stovetops and ovens are calibrated differently, and not all cookware is alike. Maybe he accepts that, more or less, life is a crapshoot and you’re better off embracing the fact that there really aren’t any set rules or recipes. So you might as well calm down, see what happens and respond accordingly. Now, I doubt I’ll ever become as laissez-faire about life as Andrew, but having him for a brother does help me keep perspective – even when we are fifteen minutes late to a funeral in Southwestern Minnesota.