Patience in cooking is something I’ve gradually learned to appreciate over the years. There was a time when baking something twice or using more than one pot was a deal-breaker as to whether or not I would try a recipe. I loved to cook – to an extent – but anything that went beyond those ridiculously stringent standards was not for me. Leave the twice-baked potatoes to Dolores. Let Diana do the biscotti. If you need the dough to be chilled before you can bake it, give it to Andy. I just didn’t want to be bothered.
Now that I’m getting older (as we all are – yes, even you) I’ve come around to appreciating these steps in cooking, particularly in baking, and I find that they are calming. It appeals to my Virgo nature to follow instructions in precise ways, to take one step at a time and appreciate and enjoy every methodical pause along the process. There is a certain peace and tranquility in faithfully executing a recipe, a sense of satisfaction at every marker on the way. The simple sifting of dry ingredients, for example, a step I’d omitted as frivolous for years mostly because I didn’t want to wash the strainer, now feels like an integral and worthwhile action, not only for providing consistency and removing hard, unwanted clumps or detritus, but also for the mental conditioning of completing a smaller task in service of the grander scheme. Such little accomplishments build upon each other, and when you break life down into these smaller chunks, almost anything can feel surmountable.
Biscotti is one of those recipes I’d never wanted to try because you had to bake it twice. It was also something I’d never gotten into until recent years, when my palette could appreciate the strong texture and subtle, not-too-sweet flavor. The recipe I used called for dried cranberries, another addition, like raisins, that I’ve gradually come around to in my old(er) age. There were sliced almonds too, accentuating the almond extract that gave it a traditional biscotti flavor (at least, the biscotti I tend to favor). The only slight snag came with the stickiness of the batter. Though I’d floured my hands as instructed, it did little to mitigate the difficulty of working and shaping the batter into two long logs. I opted for one larger loaf, which spread out slightly more than expected when baked. That made for larger slices, but also for more impediments in slicing them after the first bake.
(There was more room for cracking and breaking, and I need to figure out the best time to cut – I tried just as soon as they were cool enough to touch, as guided by the recipe, but it felt a bit too soon.) These are the little nuances that come with practice, and such imperfections are the best way to improve. It’s a good lesson for me.
