I am currently reading Julie & Julia by Julie Powell, yes, the book the movie was based on. Usually I like to read the book before watching the movie, but this time I happened to do things the other way around. I'm really enjoying the fact that I get way more of the story surrounding the central plot (girl decides to go on hare-brained cooking adventure and blog about it), which is pretty much the only thing the movie deals with. It's also way less chronological than the movie. She jumps around quite a bit, lots of flashbacks and such. Now I personally enjoy this type of storytelling but I know it's hard to do in a movie.
So that brings me to my point. I was reading a chapter today about how she thinks that cooking certain foods can make you feel sexy, just like eating certain foods can feel sexy. It all depends on who you're cooking for. Now, I'd like to preface this by saying that I am not the cook in this household. I barely ever cook and when I do it usually turns out mediocre at best (with the possible exception of things that don't need to be cooked like my 7-layer dip and most things that come out of the oven like stuffed shells). My husband is a chef, so there's really not much point in learning. However, I have been craving this chanterelle omelette my father used to make after we'd go mushroom picking. For the longest time I couldn't figure out what the mushrooms in the omelette were, but I finally figured it out.
My husband, being the sweetheart he is, offered to bring me some home from work. Apparently, they are a) in season and b) they are using them at the restaurant he works at right now. This made me extremely happy. Then he proceeded to forget for almost a week to bring any home. But fortunately, he remembered today and came home with the loot and booty (no, he didn't actually steal them). I had crashed and burned the second I'd gotten home from work, several days of not enough sleep finally catching up to me, but I woke up when he came home. I'd stopped at the farmer's market after work and grabbed a baby cantelope and some purple peppers. When he got home, I woke up, grabbed the mushrooms, cut up the melon so we'd have something to snack on while I cooked and cut up half the mushrooms. I sauteed them in butter (managing to almost burn them... I told you I can't cook) and then dumped three eggs whipped with some heavy cream over them. Since I was still in a bit of a haze, I managed to pour way too much pepper into the egg mix, because I forgot what I was doing for a second.
Flipping the omelette was a nightmare (if your mind can't wrap itself around the idea that an omelette doesn't have to be folded over with cheese in the middle, then call it an egg pancake) and it looked like a mess. I toasted an egg bagel to eat with it. Luckily it still tasted delicious (I blame the butter, not my cooking skills) and the pepper wasn't completely overpowering. My husband deemed it "well seasoned," which I think is high praise from a chef. But maybe he was just glad I didn't make him cook tonight.
And as for Julie's point that cooking can be sexy, I must say I totally agree with her. While chopping mushrooms and trying not to burn them and the eggs, I felt like a domestic maven, a true goddess. And I felt sexy as hell.