Our theme, “Get a Plan,” seemed like a tidy, ambitious topic to kick off 2020 when we hammered out our editorial lineup for the year.
Plans are good. Plans are necessary. I like plans in theory. Execution is another matter. Plans are fine for other people but my failure rate is too high to embrace much planning.
Privilege and Plans
Clutter is a first-world problem. I’ve read about people in other parts of the world who collect cigarette butts, separate the pieces, and sell the bundles by the pound — you read that right, by the pound, to earn a bare-bones living. I’m assuming that’s a clutter-generating enterprise.
I’ve got first-world clutter; too many shoes and coats and casserole dishes and — I’m just realizing — a significant collection of drinking glasses. I planned to clear things out after reading Marie Kondo’s, “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing.” I skimmed the book (too busy), fast-forwarded the show on Netflix (too impatient, ) and dove in (too hopeful).
I ruthlessly bagged up my castoffs and dropped them at donation bins. I rolled sweaters, sorted clothing by colors, and rethought my casserole dish collection. The dogs thought they were the next to go.
The minimalist lifestyle suited me, but only for a minimal amount of time. I soon was back to my old habits, cruising consignment shops and hitting estate sales. I was a junkie who craved actual junk. My decluttering plans sputtered and then died in a heap on the closet floor.
That’s just one example of failed plans. Each January, I plan to carefully pack away my Christmas lights so I never have to untangle them again. Eleven months later, I’m untangling Christmas lights.
Here’s another: I plan to watch higher-quality TV — more PBS less Bravo, but deep down I’m drawn to the Kardashians and “My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding.”
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One of the first lessons I received as a cook happened on my first day on the job. The chef asked me to dice tomatoes for a Milanese garnish; he demonstrated one tomato for me and then had me do one under his supervision. He found it acceptable and left the kitchen.
Then the sous chef quickly came over to me to show me a better way to complete the task. I learned right away, “there’s more than one way to skin a cat” would be a saying that I would use many times in my cooking career because even though traditional techniques have given us consistent results for years, there’s always a better way.
Learning technique is the best way to learn to cook without a recipe but many long-held beliefs are being challenged by modern-day chefs. Home cooks should take note!
Different Can Be Better
For example, many recipes or techniques require cooking a pound of pasta in four to six quarts of salted boiling water, which translates to a gallon and a half of water. The professional kitchen I work in has pots that can accommodate cooking pasta for hundreds of people, but at home, my largest pot is a gallon and a half. I’ve had to cut the water ratio out of necessity and it’s giving me better results in many ways: it uses less energy to boil the water, uses less water, and the water that is used for the pasta becomes even starchier. The starchy pasta water is the oldest trick in the book for restaurant-style cooking that home cooks should try to adapt to adjust the consistency of tomato sauce. Pasta water also improves the taste of jarred sauce.
Another classic culinary technique says to use a large pot of salted water (without a lid) for boiling green vegetables.
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Christian Bernadotte isn’t a worrier. Until his heart transplant at Cleveland Clinic two years ago, he wasn’t much of a planner, either.
For years, Bernadotte, now 70, was busy raising a family and building a career. He traveled extensively for work. He didn’t eat properly. He smoked. He never went to a doctor. Eventually, his lifestyle caught up with him; the Shaker Heights resident had his first heart attack at 49.
Bernadotte lost weight and kept up with his medical appointments and heart medications. “I lived with a bad heart for 18 years and made the most of it. I sailed. I golfed but I paced myself,” Bernadotte says, sitting in the Shaker Heights home he shares with his wife, Marianne.
Bernadotte carried on with his busy life, all while living with a weakened heart. He became short of breath and had a tough time walking uphill. On Thanksgiving 2017, Bernadotte collapsed at dinner with friends. Two of them were Cleveland Clinic heart surgeons, Per Wierup and Gosta Pettersson.
A device that had been implanted in his heart jolted Bernadotte back to life. Recovering at the Clinic, he was placed on the Status 2 heart transplant list.
The following February, Bernadotte was at home and started feeling ill. His wife called Dr. Pettersson, who lived nearby. By the time he got there, Bernadotte was on the floor and wasn’t breathing. Dr. Pettersson started CPR and revived him.
The incident bumped Bernadotte up to the highest priority status for a heart transplant. A week later, he had a new heart.
Soon, Bernadotte was back to his active life — this time without having to make accommodations for a weak heart. His plan today includes a much healthier lifestyle. He feels and looks great. His wife, Marianne, also has had to make adjustments.
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