Time and Temperature are ingredients
Food is a much needed creative outlet; it’s an opportunity to be inspired and use one’s hands on a daily basis. Not everyday ends up being like this, but I often find myself thinking about a meal I’ve had at a restaurant and how to recreate it at home. I can’t always be bothered to, or work out how to crack it, but there are a few that I have and I’m happy with that. This creative process can be a touch frustrating in a small London kitchen without gas hobs or specific equipment for certain dishes (I really should get myself a dutch oven) but the constraints can often offer a fun challenge (or result in me completely messing up a dish, it can be a coin flip sometimes).
10-15 years ago I wasn’t much of a food lover and as a child I was, much like many others, a fussy eater. Textures and flavours were strong and often off-putting, I couldn’t appreciate the delicate balances or nuances in a dish because something else would likely be overpowering it. I’m glad to say I’m past this, and whilst there are still some flavours that for the most part I don’t enjoy (typically lamb, seafood and coriander - the devils very own lettuce) my palate continues to expand much to my delight; living in London with all the culinary options it offers has opened my world whilst emptying my wallet.
Beyond just flavour and fuel, food is an opportunity for community; to ‘break bread’ and enjoy the more important aspects of life - slow down, enjoy the flavours and the company. It is one of the few experiences we share as part of the human experience after all and by far the easiest way to look into another culture, make new friends, open up conversation and more; It’s so easy to forget the beauty of food and the associated impacts it can have when you’re wolfing a wrap down over a brief lunch break, or dispassionately chewing on something whilst watching Netflix after a long day.
Maybe it’s something that’s particularly apparent in my life as I write this, but I feel this disconnected way of eating is one of the worst aspects of my modern cuisine. I notice how infrequently I find myself eating at a dinner table with those I care about, or focusing purely on the food I’m eating (phones away please). It is easy to see the many reasons for these circumstances but in general I think it’s because its easy to lose track of these little delights in our day when surrounded by a world vying for our attention (or a world who’s attention we’re vying for through the instagramification of food), leading us to often see meals as inconveniences, sharable social posts or simply ‘fuel’ for the grind.
I have over the last decade or so come to love cooking and food. The process, the research, the gathering of tools and ingredients, the culture behind dishes, ritualistic preparations and meditative states of focus whilst cooking invigorate me; it is a uniquely human experience to cook. Consequently my partner often refers to me as “The Bear” when I’m in the kitchen because when things start to go wrong and my expectations are not met with the reality of the textures, flavours or finish I was hoping for, I start to resemble an image similar to that portrayed in the TV show ‘The Bear’.
For all the good and the bad of the process my enjoyment of food and cooking has become one of the metrics I use to measure how happy I am in life. If I’m cooking up a storm and I’m noticing flavour, then typically things are going pretty well; the green flags are being waved. If I’m not, well then I’m probably in a bit of a slump and I need to sort things out so that I can bring a fresh perspective to my life; It’s a signifier, a litmus test - red and yellow flags for my internalised experiences are shining through my sensory networks.
It’s perhaps no surprise that in late 2018 I found myself seriously ruminating on the idea of applying to culinary school. I think this really stemmed from a deep dissatisfaction in my work, stagnation of professional progress, a lack of practical and physical application of my creativity alongside an excitement around the social, collaborative, gamifiable pressures and aspects that come from within kitchens - this did all co-incide with Netflix’s growing library of food programs , which likely had an influence on me. Ultimately I never did pursue this and instead took time off to travel around South East Asia instead to clear my mind first (with events happening during this putting an end to my thoughts of going back to education, but that’s a story for another day).
Coincidentally whilst I never went to culinary school a neighbour of mine did - after a similar set of pre-cursors. I still have an ambition to get into food professionally, open up a kitchen or food company someday (I’ve got a snack brand I’ve been thinking on for a while). I could think of nothing better to do with the rest of my days than to just make pizza. Experimenting with doughs, bases, toppings and whatnot all day long - A never ending process of creativity and experimentation that feeds the stomach and the soul. A daily opportunity for new successes and failures where the stakes are low and then rewards are plentiful.
Let me cook
One thing I find interesting is how analogies are pervasive as metaphors. More recently the phrase “Let him (or her) cook” has become synonymous as a means to say “let someone do their thing”; and I promise you I’m going somewhere with the post that’s using up precious minutes of your life that would otherwise be spent doomscrolling (you’re welcome).
Metaphors have a power to penetrate learning or communication barriers where other methods may fail because of their abstraction. Most recently the phrase “time and temperature are ingredients” has become part of a lexicon I use more and more often. I cannot for the life of me remember exactly where I heard or learnt this phrase but it’s been a common metaphor recently. Its literal application is obviously with food, where it’s easy to think that temperature is temperature and time is time, but it’s not even a little bit like that because it’s all application based, the nuance of the flavour you’re trying to achieve is often only achievable by the time and the temperature combinations that you use and their relationship with each other.
As such, one should think of time and temperature as ingredients. As with many things, once you really get the hang of cooking it become less exact and you work a bit more by feel than by literally following instructions. That being said, there is undoubtably an 80% goldilocks zone you’re looking to get within and the remaining 20% is feeling it out.
It’s so simple and so obvious but I don’t think many of us (or at least I didn’t) view time and temperature as ingredients. It wasn’t until I was in my late 20s that I learnt this and started to really focus on understanding not just the ingredients and preparation methods themselves but the time and temperature that was going to turn them into a sum that was greater than its parts. Now I focus much more on pre-heating a pan, or bringing meat to room temperature before cooking, removing moisture with kitchen towel; processes that are a little less obvious to the novice and relate more with technique.
Since I’ve been running my own consultancy to help people resolve their myriad of problems I’ve found myself drawing parallels between cooking and the creative process for design. There are often times where you can whip something up quickly and easily (something you’ve done many times before but there might be slight changes to the metaphorical sauce or garnish) and then doing something completely new and different. As such I’ve found myself uttering the phrase “time and temperature” as an analogy for why we can / can’t, should / should not, do something at a certain pace.
In many ways it similar to another phrase I like that is a touch harder to pull off in professional circumstances - “If you have to force a fart it’s probably shit”.
Applying this to life
I think I find myself looking at this a touch philosophically; time and temperature are important aspects of life. It’s certainly true that sometimes in life you need to crank the heat up and get everything plated as fast as you can. This thrill and pressure can be where the magic happens, tolerances are finer here and it can leave one stressed, anxious and sweaty at times too. But have caution, to find oneself putting the heat on high for too long is only going to result in being burnt (out).
Other times you need to go low and slow; give the ingredients of life time to mellow into a rich blend of flavours and melt in your mouth textures; this can only come from taking one’s time at a lower more consistent temperature. Giving oneself time to clean up as you go along whilst you wait for the goodness to be ready. But hold caution here too as going too low on the temperature will result in nothing cooking through.
The real trick is to find the balance of effort / input (temperature) over time. And much like cooking, taking the time to prepare everything before you need to cook can take a lot of the pressure off. Everything sits at either end or in-between these two variables, you can’t cook a great steak without a ripping hot skillet and you can’t cook pulled pork without going low and slow - and sometimes you get funky with it and combine the two sequentially.
It’s easy to view life as a race, a competition with those who have more than what you want (and at a younger age too!?), but we’re all cooking in different kitchens, with different set ups and different ingredients. The only two things we all share is time and temperature, everything else should be up to you, it’s your dish (life) after all.
