I’m a phoney foodie, a phoodie if you will. I’ve swooned over a perfect sticky spicy bite of charred octopus at Pomerol, I’ve wanted to take a long walk off a short pier if it meant I could dive into a bowl of Momofuku ramen. I might even pee a little when I get a chance to tuck into a slice of Whidbey’s marionberry pie. Yes, marionberry is not just a former coke-snorting mayor.
Get it? I love food. Food that’s so perfectly what it was destined to be, whether that’s slow-cooked pulled pork or the most delicate Grand Marnier soufflé with hot caramel sauce that I ate earlier this evening at Violin d’Ingres. I’ve learned a lot by watching Top Chef. I’ve cut my teeth on amazing restaurants and out of the way treasures.
But let’s be honest. I can’t cook. I can follow a few recipes over and over, so much so that I have some signature dishes. But they aren’t fancy. My lasagna’s secret ingredient is cottage cheese—and requires no creativity or skill on my part.
I have zero knife skills. I don’t own a Vitamix and I don’t care that my counter isn’t chockablock with colorful Kitchenaid appliances. I actually want to punch pretentious foodies in the face when they want to fancy-pants up my mac and cheese.
But I do love to eat, so I’m going to the belly of la bête and taking a weeklong cooking class in Normandy starting on Monday. Chef and author Susan Herrmann Loomis runs On Rue Tatin out of a converted convent in the village of Louviers (that’s her in the photo). The focus is on apples, and we’ll drink cavaldos, learn to navigate the farmers market in nearby Rouen under the shadow of its famous cathedral, drink wine, eat cheese, cook.
While I suspect my knife skills will only marginally improve, my understanding of food and cooking will deepen. I’m also pretty sure I’ll hit my kitchen and local farmers market, infused with a new curiosity and passion for more. More instruction, more cooking, more bites out of what is a most delicious life.