under the foil

I am dog-sitting this weekend. The home where I am staying is beautiful. The backyard has fantastic trees and landscaping. They have internet, of course, but I choose not to use it when I’m here. Instead, I spend time reading, cooking, watering plants, playing with the puppy, and watching TV. I’ve chosen not to have a TV at home so, when I come here I get the chance to binge on HGTV and Food Network.

I particularly love the Barefoot Contessa. Ina Garten teaches me that store bought is fine...sort of. 

She uses wonderfully fresh ingredients that are typically out of my budget. But, I love her show – and cooking shows in general – because I pick up tips and techniques. Cooking fascinates me. I am continually floored by the chemistry and transformative nature of the process. It is absurd to me that you can take ingredients - which are pretty unimpressive when raw and alone - combine them and add heat and get cookies (or whatever). Magic.

The other day Ina cooked halibut with Caesar dressing. The recipe itself sounded (and looked) awesome, but what stuck with me was the very last step in the process.

She used a beautiful chunk of fresh fish. This fish was caught, descaled, deboned, cleaned and sold. Ina bought it, brought it home and went to work. She rinsed it, dried it and laid it out on a cookie sheet. Previously, she mixed together the ingredients for the thick, homemade Caesar dressing. As the fish lay on the pan she spooned this mixture over its top and put it in the oven. While the fish baked its color changed from a translucent pink to a flaky white. It looked delicious when it came out of the oven. However, it was not yet ready to eat. Ina covered the pan tightly with foil and left it to rest for ten minutes. She explained that by allowing the fish this time all of the sauce and juices would soak back into its flesh.

She could have eaten the meal straight out of the oven. Everything was cooked. It would not have harmed her. It probably would have been delicious – no one would have turned it away. But Ina, a trained chef, knew that for the fish to reach its full potential it needed to rest.

That fish offered its body to this process. From the moment it was caught, and arguably before, it was journeying to the moment that it would become this meal. Inedible parts were discarded. Germs were washed away. It underwent a time of intense heat surrounded by foreign ingredients. And then it was allowed to rest. Ina gave its new identity time to solidify. The halibut sat in the dark under the foil and felt the heat begin to fade and the fragrant juices soak into its meat.

I have a hard time resting. It feels like I should always be adding new ingredients for the sake of my formation. I want to experience new things, meet new people, and engage new thoughts. But there are seasons when I must sit under the foil and rest. I must allow the juice to soak in and get comfortable with who I am now.

This half of my summer is a much slower pace and much more familiar than the half in India. But I think this time is vital to the experiences that I had in India, and thus far in seminary in general. I don’t know what comes next in my journey. So, in this time of rest I choose to be thankful and make the most of where I am in this moment. I will enjoy a summer with minimal work surrounded by so many friends and family. I will lay in the sun on the lake or river. I will wander shops and look for deals. I will cook good food and read and write. I will wait on the master chef to make the call as to how long this season of rest should last and when I am ready to take the next step in this journey.