Cooking Isn't Baking

These were the words spoken to me by Eric during the middle of the meltdown I had at the stove while making dinner the other night. Words by which, of course, I was immediately infuriated. I felt entitled to my meltdown. I had a plan and it was not panning out. Hence, meltdown. 

It wasn't over anything big either. I was making lightened up creamy Cajun chicken pasta (you know you want to try it...). I was anxiously anticipating the first bite of this meal as the words "creamy" and "pasta" and "spicy" generally cause me to salivate like Pavlov's dog. I was sticking to the recipe with one, okay two exceptions. 

Garlic. The first thing I do with most recipes is look at how much garlic it calls for and then add a clove; granted, sometimes a small one, but a clove nonetheless. No one has complained about my cooking and I can neither confirm nor deny complaints about my breath. 

Spinach. I wanted to add a whole heap of fresh spinach. I pulled my bouquet of spinach out of the refrigerator, rinsed it, and thought twice. It sure looked like a lot of spinach...

Well, in came Eric, right at that moment, so I asked him, "Eric, do you think this seems like too much spinach?" 

"No, it will cook down, " he replied. 

And I knew he was right. I have been amazed by the serious reduction in volume of spinach that occurs when it is heated every time I've cooked with it. I stood aside as Eric plopped the spinach into the skillet. It completely overwhelmed the dish and my coping skills. (Note: I wish I had the wherewithal to take a picture of the spinach pouring out over our over-sized French skillet, but I was too distraught. I'm not saying it would have justified my behavior, but there was so much of it, Eric even looked a little concerned).

"Damn it! I knew it was too much spinach. There is more spinach that anything else now and it is never going to cook down enough! And do you see all that water it's adding to the sauce?" I shouted exclaimed.   

"Ninoosh, cooking isn't baking, if  you want things to be so precise, you should really consider being a baker," was his response.

Of course I got angry and responded with a few statements of my own. I paced and wrung my hands and tried to come to peace with the fact that my highly anticipated meal may be ruined AND that Eric might be right. Two realities which were just too much to bear.

A few minutes passed. I heard Eric say, "there." I looked over and the spinach had all but disappeared into the sauce. Small little leaves floating amongst the shallots and tomatoes."Wow, that looks great, but the sauce still looks watery," I said. And then I had a real, chef-like response to the predicament. "I know, I'll add a little more cream, tomatoes, and seasoning."

Harmless looking spinach.

Ding! It worked! Making more sauce is a great (albeit obvious) way to solve the problem of more volume than sauce. This is why cooking is not baking. And thank goodness it's not. 

We put in an additional:

1 tablespoon of cream
2 tablespoons of diced tomatoes
1 teaspoon of Cajun seasoning 

We let the sauce simmer for a bit longer so that the water could cook off and the flavors could mingle and meld. We served. It was scrumptulescent.

Bon Appétit