The Flavor of Layers

In the culinary world, layering flavors in just the right way is considered a talent and a skill. Flavors should be balanced, bold but not overpowering, complimentary, and appealing. This is especially true for dishes that take hours to cook like 24-hour braised short ribs; classic beef bourguignon or coq au vain; and slow-smoked ribs. The best chefs in the world have the technical skill as well as the artistry when it comes to layering flavors. A mish-mashed pot of leftovers can become a symphony of high notes, low notes, background chords, and spicy percussion when married in just the right way.

I have a flavor theory that goes beyond the contents of the pot, straight to the pot itself. Your ingredients can be good and your flavors spot on, but I believe that a well seasoned pot can be a dish’s crowning glory. I think about this every time I’m at my Popo’s house with her cast iron pots that sit on the stove day in and day out, always with a thin layer of oil from the previous use, and the larger-than-life pots that are dented and discolored and these days only used for Chinese specialties like joong and jai. Food never tastes as good as it does at Popo’s house, whether it’s leftovers that have been reheated, or a simple breakfast of canned corned beef hash fried with frozen corn, oyster sauce, and a cracked egg. Maybe it’s the cook? Perhaps; Popo does have 84 years under her belt which is more than 3 times what I have. However, I also know that my food taste better when cooked at Popo’s house in her pots and pans, and my dad’s oxtail stew tastes better out of an old, heavy cast-iron dutch oven than it does out of an electric crock pot.

On a side note, my first cooking lessons with Popo consisted of:
“It only needs about this much…” (as she showed me on her pinky)
“About 4 times of shoyu around the pan…”
“A couple spoonfuls…not too much”
“I just measure the water with my finger” (duh)
“Always put one pinch of sugar”
This leads me to believe that I will never attain her level of cookery because the quality of her food is largely related to an inherent instinct, something woven in her DNA, than the ingredients themselves or anything a book could teach you (so much for my $20,000 culinary education).

Maybe her pots and pans are like a fine brandy- they get better with age. Or is it magic? How else can dishes come out so perfect without measuring and the “just right” be judged by sight, smell, sound, and feel? Or maybe, just maybe, each time something is cooked, another layer of flavor is added to the pot or pan itself, and that is how a pan becomes “well seasoned”. This means after 60 years of use, you not only get a taste of the dish in front of you, but every delicious morsel that came before it. Talk about depth of flavor… And what if in addition to the layers and layers of flavor, you were also tasting the years of love, sacrifice, heart, personality, good intentions, hope, and physical blood, sweat, and tears that went into putting food on the table. I’m talking about food that goes beyond pleasing the palate and pierces the soul. This is the stuff that makes your mouth water and your insides warm. This is how Remy won over Anton Ego in Ratatouille.

Well I’m no Remy, and I am certainly not Popo. I do hope though that over the next 50 years, as my pots age, so will my competency as a chef. Maybe then, by the time I’m 84 the contents of what I’m cooking will finally be worthy of the vessel they are being cooked in, and the layers of my life will be apparent in the flavors that I layer. That reminds me, I need to buy some pots, or at least put a claim on my inheritance.