My name is Maria. I'm ninety-one, but I have the body of an eighty-seven-year-old. Lively and mischievous, I'm fond of little tricks, because good-natured mischief never hurt anyone. I've always cooked, to the point that the kitchen is the center of my universe. I'm not referring to people, far from it. A center both geographically and in terms of thought.
At this table, besides preparing the dough for countless treats, I read a great deal, because being a cook transcended my profession, which I won't reveal here. Please consider me a simple cook. However, I will reveal something I've pondered for decades: life.
To view it in the eyes of Thomas Aquinas as creation, or Nietzsche as the will to power arising from the competition between self-perpetuation and self-intensification, and even as the selection of replicators as neo-Darwinism suggests. Whether life is associated with pleasures, like a well-cooked rice dish, or the miseries of existence, answered by an excess of salt, like a tear falling unnoticed into a Provençal salad.
Life: breathed into matter or explored in biological experiments.
Their discussion goes beyond the theory of complex systems, adding this and that spice to simply savor it. Some refuse to consider philosophical those questions whose answers can be given by the musings of a cook, but who can cook them better, while the aroma of rosemary sublimates us?
Today is the first day of the year. It's four in the morning and I've decided to prepare four recipes that help me maintain the body's intrinsic well-being and the soul's fluidity.
Cornmeal cake for breakfast: 500 grams of stone-ground and sifted cornmeal; 02 heaping tablespoons of butter. Moisten the cornmeal. Heat the butter over low heat and, as soon as it boils, add it to the moistened cornmeal in a saucepan. Mix and cover for 30 minutes. Stir occasionally to break up any lumps.
Next, I add 01 teaspoon of ground cinnamon; 03 tablespoons of chopped unrefined brown sugar. I add grated semi-cured cheese to taste. I stir until melted, and serve with sweet coffee, to sweeten the rest of the day.
I prepare cornbread for my great-grandchildren's childhood, which coincides with the spring of their lives.
May doors be opened for you from birth, and may sadness find no refuge in your little eyes. Pernambuco-style feijoada for lunch: 500 grams of black-eyed peas; 500 grams of dried beef; sunflower oil; 02 bay leaves; 500 grams of pork loin; 500 grams of Calabrese sausage; 02 paio sausages; 500 grams of pumpkin; 06 tomatoes, peeled and seeded. I wash and boil the dried beef a couple of times before adding it to the beans.
Ah, the sauce: 01 ladle of bean broth; ½ chopped onion; 02 tablespoons of chopped parsley; 01 tablespoon of cilantro; 03 chili peppers; 01 shot of cachaça, of course. I serve it with white rice and raw cassava flour.
I prepare feijoada for my grandchildren's adolescence, coinciding with the summer of their lives. May they shine, dream of the gardens they will find along the way, learning from the flowers and thorns. May they rebel, fall in love, understanding, however, that resilience is acquired through hardship.
For an afternoon snack, a special tea: orange and passion fruit peels; cloves and cinnamon. I wait for the water to heat up and add the ingredients. I don't let the water boil. Then, there's the Easter bread: 50 grams of yeast; 100 grams of wheat flour; a little water. I make the sponge and let it rest for 15 minutes. I add 100 grams of butter; 100 grams of sugar; 04 egg yolks; a pinch of salt; zest of 01 orange; juice of 01 orange or orange essence, whichever I have on hand. I mix well, and gradually add 500 grams of wheat flour; 01 cup of water or orange juice; 150 grams of dark chocolate.
I knead the dough well and let it rise. I cut the dough in half, and open one of the halves and sprinkle it with cinnamon powder. I spread 150 grams of chocolate; 50 grams of walnuts; 50 grams of candied fruit. I roll it up like a Swiss roll.
Next to it, I make little sticks, like little snakes, for decoration. I brush everything with the egg yolk. I put it on the stove at 200 oBake for about 20 minutes. After baking, I sprinkle the ring cake with powdered sugar. I tease the guests with the "Husband-Waiting Sweet": 01 liter of milk; 03 cups of sugar; 02 egg whites beaten to stiff peaks and 04 egg yolks. I cook it over low heat and don't even need to stir.
I prepare afternoon coffee for the maturity of my children, which comes with the autumn of their lives. May their misfortunes and triumphs not be merely those of fallen leaves, and may hope, hanging on the tree of life, bring them comfort to remain steadfast in the face of the vicissitudes inherent in the simple fact of existing. Onion soup for dinner. Simple: 01 tablespoon of butter; 03 chopped onions. Season, sauté, and brown.
Meanwhile, I'll prepare 1½ A liter of beef broth, choosing a very firm cut of beef for this purpose. I add the sautéed vegetables to the broth and let it cook for three minutes. Before serving, I taste for salt and garnish the edges of the bowl with parsley. I serve the soup with toast.
I haven't forgotten the pineapple cocktail to end the day: 01 cup of white Martini; 01 can of condensed milk; 02 cups of rum; 02 cups of chopped pineapple in syrup; ½ cup of gin; 03 tablespoons of lemon juice; crushed ice. I prepare onion soup for my partner's old age, but he is no longer here. I am alone and the soup is for me, made in the winter of our experiences.
So, I toast to what we've lived through with a cocktail glass. May the tears shed while peeling onions be due to eye irritation, and may the cold I feel be due to age, nothing more, because after winter, I am certain of spring renewing itself in cornbread cakes.
I am Maria, the mother of the columnist who wrote this text without consulting me. I was never a good cook, but I am an avid reader. Yes, I am ninety-one, and, I confess, I have the body of an eighty-three-year-old.
Marco is a bit crazy, and he takes after me.
This text does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Unicamp.
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