French Onion Soup and The Recipe Anti-Inspiration

Recipes annoy me.  I avoid using them because I think it takes some of the fun out of cooking for me. However, sometimes you just can't wing it on your own and expect good results.  Baking is the most obvious example of this but for some reason (probably just lack of practice) soups always perplex me too, so I decided that I needed to follow AB's french onion soup recipe.  If you want to know how it's made, just follow the link.  My only variations were a dutch oven instead of an electric skillet, and apple juice instead of cider (no cider at the Giant).

French Onion Soup

On several occasions after making and eating the soup, I sat down to write this blog entry about it, but remained thoroughly uninspired.  What did I learn from this experience, except maybe that I should add more beef stock if I make the recipe again?  It had a feeling of falling flat.  Then suddenly this morning it hit me that this feeling of falling flat is exactly where the reflection on how I learn and what excites me lies. 

Following a recipe is, at its heart, a different task intellectually, emotionally, and creatively than developing a new dish.  Now, developing a new dish is built on the back of years of experience with watching and making the recipes of others, but it is not the recipe of another - it belongs to the maker, the creator.  That deft pinch of kosher salt or splash of red wine vinegar, with its pedigree reaching back through years of experience and dedication, is a slice of artistry.  

The result of a recipe is food; the result of a new dish is art, for good or for bad.

When I create a recipe, I own all the decisions - good or bad - and am fully invested in every step.  If it tastes great, I can bask in the goodness.  If it's not quite right at first, I have the authority to step in and make it better.  With a recipe, I share the ownership - if it's too salty, whose fault was it?  Mine? - I just followed the recipe, or did I make a mistake?  Alton Brown's? - It seemed to taste pretty good to him on the TV show.  Who knows where the error lay - I just know I have mediocre soup.

If I serve a dish with some problems, I at least own the process, and more importantly have also completed a needed task of feeding the family.  This is probably the most important distinction for me about creative cooking vs other art forms like music or painting.  Mediocre food is still meeting a basic need for other people, and getting food is something I would have needed to spend time doing anyway, even if it didn't end up being as good or nutritious as what I did manage to produce, which at this point is never really horrible.

Now, to balance this perspective a bit, there can be a great deal of expression and room for creative modification in recipes.  But, for me, I find that the safety net takes away some of the fun and the challenge, which is ultimately why I cook.  To the recipe followers (my mother included) I say "enjoy! But don't forget to stray from the path once in a while."

 

“In 1896, when she [Fannie Farmer] published her Boston Cooking-School Cook Book, she for all time took a great deal of the fun out of cookbooks by insisting that recipes were scientific and not an artistic expression.....Every recipe was to be a formula which began with a list of ingredients.”
Mark Kurlansky, 'Choice Cuts' (2002)

 "I feel a recipe is only a theme, which an intelligent cook can play each time with a variation."
Madame Benoit

 --- From Food Reference