A fork goes a long way
by Inês Francisco JacobScroll down para versão em português
Food has always lived close to my heart and was never just something we need to survive. I know we do have to eat, yes: it is a requirement for life, but I also see food as a blessing. I take pleasure from food. We need it, yes, but we can also love it, cherish it and seize it.
I grew up in a family that cooked with love, who taught me that food is a vehicle of affection, wisdom, and history. That a meal can be an event, a celebration. Our feelings of anticipation while trays, pots, pans, terrines, stews, and roasts flew over our heads. The sense of joy as our faces felt hot steam rising from our plates. The sharing.
This feast was never just about the palate. It is a celebration of aromas, textures, colors. Our saliva grows with gluttony. We learned that eating well is an art. We learned that everything the earth gives us is a gift.
On a walk through the Algarve mountains, where my grandparents are from, I remember the feeling of comfort and tranquility from each individual smell. Gum rockrose, wildflowers, rosemary, everything flooded my senses with the meaning of Spring. My grandfather, foraging wild asparagus, would harvest them for cooking. Rare, camouflaged, and with thorns around them, they were then sautéed in olive oil, seasoned with a pinch of pepper and salt, nothing more. The flavor is divine enough to make us feel something transcendent. It's one of my favorite tastes and in no way similar to the taste of the ones we buy at the supermarket.
The Algarve coast offers live postcards with beautiful smells and flavors. As a child, I played by the sea with my siblings, carrying buckets of sand, which would turn into castles, fortresses, mermaid tails, and turtles. My grandparents, they also spent the afternoon carrying buckets, with shellfish instead of sand. At dinner time, they would cook it in a pan with oil, garlic, and fresh coriander. The perfume was genuinely intoxicating. Now, it's the smell of coriander that instantly takes me back to my grandparents and the sea.
While my grandparents were preparing lunch, they would call the grandchildren to "have a taste." Carefully holding the spoon, they would blow on the hot food to cool it and gave us a taste of whatever delicacy it was. As children, we were also given the privilege of devouring the remnants of cake dough from the bowls, the pans, and the mixer…
Fish was abundant at our house. The fishermen brought in fresh mullets, still breathing from the waves, and my grandfather would grill them for us. So often, he would cook cuttlefish just for me, but also sea bass and sea bream with potatoes with tender skin. Everything so pure and honest, every mouthful ... a dream. I miss those summer lunches, the burning heat on our skin as we sat at the table facing the olive trees, and the fish soon turned cold on the plate. Our bellies filled with food and affection, offering us a thousand possibilities. A fork can do a lot, really.
At this particular moment, when we are all caught up in our homes, what is the role of food, and what time should we dedicate to it? Soup has been a real treasure at this time. It warms the soul and gives us great domestic comfort. In addition to being super nutritious, its texture helps us feel fuller and more attuned to ourselves in this era, full of surprises and unforeseen events. Having fresh fruit and vegetables is very important, and, today, almost a luxury, especially when we are all more "indoor" than ever.I have tried to respect, as much as possible, the schedule for each daily meal. As a family, we gather at the table to eat our meals and cherishing the routine.
So, please, do have breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and dinner. Eat well. A toast to you all!
Food has always lived close to my heart and was never just something we need to survive. I know we do have to eat, yes: it is a requirement for life, but I also see food as a blessing. I take pleasure from food. We need it, yes, but we can also love it, cherish it and seize it.
I grew up in a family that cooked with love, who taught me that food is a vehicle of affection, wisdom, and history. That a meal can be an event, a celebration. Our feelings of anticipation while trays, pots, pans, terrines, stews, and roasts flew over our heads. The sense of joy as our faces felt hot steam rising from our plates. The sharing.
This feast was never just about the palate. It is a celebration of aromas, textures, colors. Our saliva grows with gluttony. We learned that eating well is an art. We learned that everything the earth gives us is a gift.
On a walk through the Algarve mountains, where my grandparents are from, I remember the feeling of comfort and tranquility from each individual smell. Gum rockrose, wildflowers, rosemary, everything flooded my senses with the meaning of Spring. My grandfather, foraging wild asparagus, would harvest them for cooking. Rare, camouflaged, and with thorns around them, they were then sautéed in olive oil, seasoned with a pinch of pepper and salt, nothing more. The flavor is divine enough to make us feel something transcendent. It's one of my favorite tastes and in no way similar to the taste of the ones we buy at the supermarket.
The Algarve coast offers live postcards with beautiful smells and flavors. As a child, I played by the sea with my siblings, carrying buckets of sand, which would turn into castles, fortresses, mermaid tails, and turtles. My grandparents, they also spent the afternoon carrying buckets, with shellfish instead of sand. At dinner time, they would cook it in a pan with oil, garlic, and fresh coriander. The perfume was genuinely intoxicating. Now, it's the smell of coriander that instantly takes me back to my grandparents and the sea.
While my grandparents were preparing lunch, they would call the grandchildren to "have a taste." Carefully holding the spoon, they would blow on the hot food to cool it and gave us a taste of whatever delicacy it was. As children, we were also given the privilege of devouring the remnants of cake dough from the bowls, the pans, and the mixer…
Fish was abundant at our house. The fishermen brought in fresh mullets, still breathing from the waves, and my grandfather would grill them for us. So often, he would cook cuttlefish just for me, but also sea bass and sea bream with potatoes with tender skin. Everything so pure and honest, every mouthful ... a dream. I miss those summer lunches, the burning heat on our skin as we sat at the table facing the olive trees, and the fish soon turned cold on the plate. Our bellies filled with food and affection, offering us a thousand possibilities. A fork can do a lot, really.
At this particular moment, when we are all caught up in our homes, what is the role of food, and what time should we dedicate to it? Soup has been a real treasure at this time. It warms the soul and gives us great domestic comfort. In addition to being super nutritious, its texture helps us feel fuller and more attuned to ourselves in this era, full of surprises and unforeseen events. Having fresh fruit and vegetables is very important, and, today, almost a luxury, especially when we are all more "indoor" than ever.I have tried to respect, as much as possible, the schedule for each daily meal. As a family, we gather at the table to eat our meals and cherishing the routine.
So, please, do have breakfast, lunch, afternoon snack, and dinner. Eat well. A toast to you all!
Um garfo pode muito
por Inês Francisco JacobPara mim, a comida habitou sempre perto do coração e nunca foi apenas algo de que necessitamos para sobreviver. Sei que temos de comer, sim: faz parte dos requisitos para a vida, mas não costumo olhar para este verbo apenas como parte integrante de um hábito essencial. Gosto de retirar prazer da comida. Gosto de encarar a comida como uma sorte. Precisamos dela, sim, mas também podemos amá-la e admirá-la.
Ao longo do meu crescimento foi muito importante e determinante ter pessoas na minha família que cozinhassem com amor e que me ensinassem que a comida também é um veículo de afecto, de sabedoria, de tradição. Que uma refeição pode ser uma bênção ou um acontecimento. Que pessoas à mesa, juntas, são sinónimo de celebração, mesmo em dias sem festa, mesmo em dias sem causa especial. A sensação de me sentar à mesa, expectante, e ver a minha mãe ou a minha avó passarem sobre os nossos ombros os tabuleiros, os tachos, as panelas, as terrinas, os guisados, os assados, os panados. O fumo quente que saía das refeições acabadas de cozinhar. A cara de satisfação de cada um. A partilha.
Este banquete nunca se resumiu apenas ao palato. É uma comemoração de aromas, de texturas, de cores. A partilha à mesa é como poucas outras. Cresce-nos água na boca com a gula. Aprendemos que comer bem é uma arte. Aprendemos que tudo quanto a terra nos dá é uma dádiva.
Em passeio pela serra algarvia, de onde são naturais os meus avós, lembro-me de atribuir a cada cheiro uma sensação de conforto e de tranquilidade. Estevas ou marcelas, rosmaninho ou alecrim, tudo inundava de primavera os meus sentidos. O meu avô, ao encontrar espargos selvagens, colhia-os para mos cozinhar. Raros, camuflados e com espinhos à volta, eram depois salteados com azeite, pitada de pimenta e sal, mais nada. O sabor é divinal e basta para nos fazer sentir algo transcendente. É dos meus gostos preferidos e em nada semelhantes ao gosto dos espargos que encontramos no supermercado. Para além de que, tudo aquilo que os outros preparam para nós, com tanto carinho e cuidado, tem ainda mais sabor, claro.
A costa algarvia também oferece postais vivos de cheiros e sabores maravilhosos. Os meus avós, enquanto brincava à beira-mar com os meus irmãos, construindo castelos, fortalezas, caudas de sereia e tartarugas, passavam a tarde a encher baldinhos com conquilhas para, logo ao jantar, serem cozinhadas numa sertã com azeite, alho e coentros frescos. O perfume era divinal. É ainda o aroma dos coentros que me leva imediatamente aos meus avós. Um aroma que não deixa ninguém indiferente…
O peixe não faltava, nunca. Os pescadores traziam salmonetes, ainda respirando, das ondas e o meu avô grelhava-os para nós. Para mim, tantas vezes, era um choco que ele preparava com tanto cuidado. Também robalos e douradas, com mesa virada para as oliveiras, acompanhando batatas com a pele. Tudo tão puro e honesto. A cada garfada…um sonho.
Tenho muitas saudades desses almoços de verão, com um calor abrasador e o peixe arrefecendo na travessa. A barriga cheia de mimo e o paladar a oferecer-nos mil possibilidades. Um garfo pode muito, mesmo.
Enquanto os meus avós preparavam o almoço, era comum chamarem os netos para “provarem um bocadinho”. Sopravam, para arrefecer, e davam-nos a provar e a aprovar a iguaria que fosse. E claro que também éramos nós a acabar com os restos de massa de bolo nos alguidares, na forma, na batedeira…uma delícia!
Neste momento em que nos vemos todos recolhidos às nossas tocas, de forma imprevista e insólita, qual o papel da comida, qual o tempo para dedicarmos às refeições? Tenho tentado respeitar, o máximo possível, o tempo para cada refeição diária. Nesse sentido, temos tentado, em família, comer juntos, à mesa, com alguma rotina que nos pareça justa para todos. Ter fruta e legumes frescos é muito importante, e é quase um luxo, sobretudo se estamos todos mais recolhidos em casa.
A sopa tem sido um verdadeiro tesouro neste tempo de contenção e isolamento. Aquece a alma e dá-nos um conforto doméstico muito grande. Para além de super nutritiva, a sua textura ajuda a que nos sintamos mais plenos, mais em sintonia com esta era cheia de surpresas e imprevistos.
Tomem o pequeno-almoço, o almoço, o lanche e o jantar. Alimentem-se bem. Não comam apenas para “passar o tempo”. Um brinde a todos!