Screens

9.2.06

In John McPhee's wonderful essay, "Brigade de Cuisine", a delightful journey into the hearts, minds and kitchens of a chef and his wife, somewhere in New England, the closing paragraph provided a wonderful insight to relationships. The chef's wife tells the author, as they prepare to leave one kitchen or another: "You may have grasped this, but I don't know him [her husband] very well. If you're close to a screen you can't see through it. He doesn't know me, either. We're just together. People are unknowable. They show you what they want you to see." Yet this comes from a couple who seem to love each other dearly, who work closely together and combine their talents to create a passionate venture larger than their individual selves. He may crack an egg on her head in exasperation and she throw wineglasses in despair, but they both will then roll on the floor with their dog, egos mended and mess tended.

I see how her idea of screens, which can be seen through from a distance but not close up, could be a useful metaphor for how we view others. Standing back it's easier to see the whole picture, up close one can get tied up in the details. The closing paragraph to the story might seem out of place as it's largely about the chef, his past, his history in kitchens and how he prepares and shares food (along with some incredible menues and shopping lists). But in paying so much attention to the details, the ingredients of each plate, McPhee shows us the importance of what goes into something to create the larger whole. Taken separately, the spices, the textures, the flavors, the substances are one thing, just as when you list what you love or don't like about your partner; but put together, everything in their complimentarity creates something that can be truly exquisite (or awful) in an entirely new way.

I wonder if in this nation of specialists, individualized attention being paid to one thing at a time (despite multi-tasking) doesn't keep us from seeing the big picture. This administratino refuses to look at our enemies as anything but just that, and can't seem to see how we all fit into a bigger stew pot which is likely to scald all of us if it boils over. We don't seem to know how to fix our own cars, or negotiate a faucet without calling in the specialist. The chef in this story tells of a patron who had no idea where whipped cream comes from. If we grow up in a myopic environment we truly can't see how the pieces all fit together and where we belong.

A screen keeps the flies out and the cat in. It is made of wire, yet is soft and maleable to the touch. From afar it shades the view in dove grey; up close we are met with grids before our eyes as large as a prison cell. If we get too close to our loved ones, we're said to merge. Distancing can be helpful to see the context of screen doors, our friends and family. The key seems to be in recognizing when to open up, when to shut and when to leave a crack ajar. Slamming is never a good idea; it weakens the hinges and loosens the frame. Better to step back, sip a glass of Verdicchio and have some spiedino "slivers of prosciutto cotto and mozarella with capers and anchovy sauce in a casing of sauteed fragrant bread." I can think of very little that can't be mended by the sharing of a delicate, pink sheet of salty, succulent ham, the bite of a salty caper and a swallow of cold golden wine.