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Anyone who has read my “recipes” surely realizes that I don’t much go in for measuring.  When I cook in large quantities at work, or if I’m trying something totally new, or if I’m baking, I’ll measure.  But otherwise, I honestly can’t be bothered.  Measuring slows me down and takes some of the fun out it. And by now, after the literally thousands of dishes I’ve prepared, shame on me if I can’t tell a tablespoon of something by looking at it.

I think it’s amusing to test yourself as a cook, too, and not measuring has a devil-may-care attitude about it.  Cooking at home should be at least a little bit fun, show why not play a game with yourself?  Plus, you’re building palate skills by not measuring ingredients.  You’ll begin to feel your way as a cook, which will, by and by, make you a better cook.  You’ll begin to taste flavors and their balance in your head before tasting the dish in reality.  You’ll wonder what to make for dinner one night, see a random or obscure ingredient in your cupboard or at the store, and start building a unique recipe for it by cooking with it in your head.

Put down those pesky spoons and cups for just a little while and see what happens.  You might surprise yourself.

The title of this post is a nod to Alfred Lord Tennyson who wrote that “nature is red in tooth and claw.”  I wrote “tail and claw” because I made lobsters for dinner last Saturday night, and when they emerged from the pot they were, of course, quite red.  Now Tennyson was obviously commenting that all life lives at the expense of other life, whereas my comment is more drily humorous.  Nevertheless, I killed the lobsters before I put them in the pot.  I had never done that before.  (I needed to see if I was capable, as in the near future I hope to become a snail farmer.)  The handful of times I had cooked lobsters previously, I had just jammed them into the pot and replaced the lid as quickly as possible. 

So following the explicit instructions garnered from a couple of websites with photos, I picked up my biggest, heaviest, sharpest knife and did the deed.  I won’t go into the specifics, but let’s just say the lobster did NOT cease movement immediately as I had hoped.  And when I pushed the wooden skewers up their tails (to keep them from curling in the pot), I felt more than a bit guilty.  If the lobsters reactions meant anything, they definitely were not dead at that point.  It didn’t help that later on that evening I caught a few minutes of “Hannibal” on TV.

We could go on for hours debating the humane/inhumane sides of the coin.  Trust me, I’ve had that debate with myself for quite a while now.  Would it be better to just drop them in the pot, boiling them alive?  Or is it indeed better for the lobster to have its main nerve severed, so that it doesn’t feel the boil?

Let’s eschew all that for a moment and consider the main question:  how did they taste?  They were lovely.  They were tender and tasty, especially since I had made a court bouillon in which to cook them.  The tails were straight as arrows, making the removal of the shell easy. 

But the best part?  I feel a definite reduction in the niggling hypocrisy that comes from being a modern carnivore.  I’ve often thought that a person who eats meat should know where it comes from, how it’s been treated, and if it lost its life in a humane fashion.  After dispatching those two lobsters, at least I’m going to make an effort to buy more free-range meat, and also cook less of it at that.  Yeah, I know it’s really expensive, but it’s almost always a better quality than commercial meat, and it was probably a lot more content while it was alive.   

I really don’t like leftovers.  I don’t mind eating them so much, but I can’t stand seeing them build up in the fridge.  The sight of them produces a peculiar, specific anxiety in me…the idea of food going bad and having to be thrown away makes me feel all wrong inside.  Too many people are going hungry in this world, not to mention that I pride myself on buying really good ingredients and cooking them lovingly. 

Last evening, after working on The Tropical Thrill Cake (more on that in my next post), I presented my husband with a veritable smorgasbord of leftover choices for dinner.  I hadn’t had the time to cook after messing around with that cake.  There was lasagna, shepherd’s pie, and pork loin with a sauce of cranberries and apples.  I realized that all of it was really good food, hardly to be classified as ”leftover,” an inherently pejorative term.

My husband picked the pork loin (with brown butter noodles and green beans almondine), and I went for the shepherd’s pie.  Don’t misunderstand me, it wasn’t the first time I heated leftovers for dinner.  But last night, for some reason, I got over myself and decided I could feel good about leftovers.  Not only did it help clear out the fridge, but we genuinely enjoyed our respective dinners, like we would on any other night.

So to any other foodies out there who might be feeling like they’ve failed themselves or their loved ones when pressed to serve leftovers, just stop it!  I did, and it felt good.