"Are we having chicken Mum?" he asked eagerly. "On the bone??" Hopeful eyes sparkled and I laughed, "Yes, my love--on the bone." "Yippee!" he hollered, dancing out through the dining room, off to give the good news to his brothers. He's nine. Sweet still. Blue eyes and a contagious belly laugh and when he hugs you--he really hugs you. Amazing actually, at such a tender age he has learned one of life's luscious lessons.....meat on the bone, is the best.
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The snow is drifting past the window, dancing in an endless holiday tango. The last wisps of incense mingling with the scent of pine....the evening aglitter with tinsel and lights. Dinner was seared and then roasted slowly, the nobs of garlic permeating all before relinquishing their firmness, melting into decadent paste. Rosemary infused, wine and butter and onions caressed the meat, tender....succulent.
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Indulgence....laughter.....contentment.
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I shudder a bit at the packaged meat shelves in the market. I'm blessed to have an amazing butcher close to home--one of the few with hanging sides of beef and daily delivery from organic and local producers. He supplies me with rabbits and lamb and cuts my delmonico steaks two and a half inches thick while I watch. He saves bones for me...filled with buttery marrow, ready to roast and simmer. It's these bones which awakened me to the lost magic of marrow. The creamy center which once pulsed with movement and blood....the essence of life.
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Plastic trays of skinless, boneless strips of meat break my heart. Their sterility frightens me. In the name of convenience and cleanliness, we've chosen ease over decadence. Our homes sport kitchens the size of rec rooms with appliances gleaming.....and yet the demand for "take home" Bosten Market, Eat-n-Park, "Applebees on the go" is soaring. "Get that home cooked taste with no effort at all!" Shame on us. When did effort hurt? When did labor become laborious?
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I'm trying to teach my children this. Within the snow globe that is a child's world, little else provides such an immediate return on investment. Yes, they save up allowance for prized possessions and they endure our new puppy's craziness, hoping for a calmer companion in the future that won't chew their gloves and eat legos. However, they come running when the clang of pans and pots rings out. 'What are you making Mum? Can I help? Can I watch?" The anticipation is almost tangible as they help roll meatballs and pour in the plum tomatoes, using the masher to break them up. They tear off to play, but return every hour or so to see how high the bread has risen and beg to taste the sauce.
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And they cheer when it's meat on the bone.
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Perhaps it's the primal urge to tear with our teeth? Sucking and nibbling as we lick our lips and smile sheepishly at one another. Fingers seeking out flesh, sliding along the bones, tearing and pulling and finding deliciousness. Dipping cartilage back into the sauce, tongues catching the drops of liquid ambrosia. I love the sounds of savory satisfaction; giggles and grins and slurping. The boys often play rock-paper-scissors for the last piece, makes me smile every time.
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I don't cook every day. The leftovers from today's pistachio crusted rack of venison is going to make a smashing stew tomorrow. Wednesday is pizza night as I've got a painting to finish. And this last weekend, preparing for our holiday bash--you'd better believe my husband took the crew out for Arby's while I was mulling wine and making crab dip. Life is absolutely about balance. We all juggle and spin, attempting to keep eleventeen things up in the air at once. But within that balance, when there is room and time....skip the instant. Brown the chicken quarters till golden, nestle them in the dutch oven with sliced potatoes and onions and sausages and sage. Roast slowly for two hours....
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Trust me, it's worth it.
