"Not Cheap, But Worth Every Penny"
This comment — “not cheap, but worth every penny” — popped up one day on a food website I was once part of. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. In fact, I’m still not.
On the one hand, there was the recognition by one of my guests of something I take pride in: an emphasis on quality. The various foodstuffs I buy are as good as I can find for our soul food kitchen. The meats hail from the north of Israel, where the quality is much better. The fruits and vegetables are organic when I can at least independently verify the source — and when they are not organic, they are at least as fresh as possible. Same is true with the various dairy products, some of which I have started making here in my own kitchen. The yoghurt and creme fraiche especially are far superior to what you buy in the store. Spices are roasted and/or ground on the spot. The cooking is almost inevitably slow — except when a fast technique such as high-heat sauteeing is called for. Our roasted whole chicken, for example, takes at least 4 days to prepare. OK, you get the idea.
On the other hand: I don’t think food should be so precious that it is priced beyond the availability of most folks to enjoy a good meal. IN this respect, well-prepared food reminds me a lot of good design. Why the fuck should I or anyone else pay a fortune for a well-made tee shirt of pair of jeans? Why should our bbq brisket be pricier than the one served up at the ersatz juke joint with the faux americana decor down the street?
It’s an ongoing debate in my head, this one, one I don’t have an easy answer to. From my own, limited experience, the “easiest” way to square this circle is simply to discount one’s own time significantly — which is what I do. Yeah, I know the old sayings: If you don’t value yourself, why should anyone else? Or, you need to take care of yourself before you can take care of others. Things like that. Which are probably true and have their place, but, I dunno, call me a throwback to another era. I want my food enjoyed. Not sitting on a virtual shelf somewhere unenjoyed.
