Healthful cooking 101

Vegetarian Times, July, 1996 by Catherine Censor Shemo

I know I'm a great cook. After all, my mom told me so and mothers are never mistaken about these things. Of course, even accomplished chefs burn rice, make yeast breads that come out like lead-lined pita and forget that "clove of garlic" usually means one small piece--not an entire head. That's why I found myself registering for a week of beginner's cooking classes at The Natural Gourmet Institute for Food and Health in New York City. My already considerable skills (garnered mostly from the back labels of spice bottles) needed a little honing.

Given the rather intimidating name, I figured the institute would be housed in an ivy-covered building with a discreet brass plaque. I expected chef's toques and lots of shiny kitchen toys that would make me feel like the hapless amateur that I am. On Sunday, as I rummaged through my kitchen in search of a knife to bring to Monday's first class, I became ashamed of my Farberware collection. I made a mad dash to a department store to buy something flashier (and much more expensive): an 8-inch, professional-quality chefs knife. A fellow shopper, who happened to be a caterer, admired my selection. I felt better.

On the first day of class, I stood in the lobby of a well-worn loft building where The Natural Gourmet is one of several tenants. So much for brass plaques and white toques. The institute physically resembles the modern dance studio I frequented in the '70s. Exposed brick, listing wood floors and battered furnishings brought back memories of rolling around in a leotard pretending to be a rock. Thankfully, despite the physical resemblance, The Natural Gourmet is very much a '90s kind of place.

Here, food is valued both for its taste as well as its nutritional value. Whole foods have pride of place in the curriculum and all classes are vegetarian (except for an optional fish class taught in the professional chef's training program). But as rigorous as the school is about nutrition, it's also serious about cooking. In the student bathroom, a poster of vegetables titled "Cancer: Reduce Your Risk" has been slightly altered by an anonymous wit to read "Reduce Your Sauce." Chef humor. Clearly, I had a lot to learn.

DAY ONE

Tim Aitken, my instructor, is a former chef at one of New York's famed vegetarian restaurants, Angelica Kitchen, and he was French-trained-a big deal in the Francophile cooking world. His services have been sought by celebrities (he recently turned down a gig as Michael J. Fox's private chef) and he's been courted by restaurateurs. But, luckily for me, Tim, in baseball cap and chefs jacket, likes to teach.

From the outset, Tim made it clear that he had no interest in helping students perfect their creme brulee. Like other instructors at The Natural Gourmet, he won't cook with white sugar, dairy products or white flour. My fellow classmates clearly appreciated his dedication to healthful foods. When asked what brought them to class, most reported various ailments or concern about their health. Bob, an older gentleman, admitted that he wanted to learn to cook because his wife (the family chef) had recently passed away and he was tired of take-out. He was the only one (other than me) who seemed to be in this for the eats. I worried that Bob and I had fallen in with food phobes.

My anxiety increased when Tim explained the day's agenda. On this first day of class, we weren't doing any cooking ourselves--we were learning about the evils of refined food and the quasi-macrobiotic philosophy of the school. Founder Annemarie Colbin, I learned, believes tofu is a "fun food" to be eaten as an occasional treat. She's considered too liberal by most macrobiotic practitioners. By this reckoning, I'm speeding down the highway to hell, throwing empty tofu boxes out the window as I go. I relaxed as I watched Tim cook our lunch which, I was delighted to learn, consisted of Curried Split Pea Soup, Baked Yams, Sauteed Greens With Mushrooms, and Raspberry Almond Torte Cookies.

The pea soup was a lesson all by itself. I had always wondered what "sort beans" or "sort peas" meant in recipes. My usual response to either directive was to buy canned beans where presumably someone else had figured it out. Today, I watched Tim sort the peas, throwing away any tiny pebbles that had snuck into the bag or peas that looked off-color. Once the split peas were washed and put in the pot, he added a garlic clove pierced with a whole clove (that spice that resembles a little rusted nail). The assemblage, he explained, was an aromatic, something that adds a background note of flavor without really seasoning the dish. Tim said he'd fish it out of the pot before serving. He also added a 3-inch piece of kombu to the pot, explaining that the dried seaweed was "nature's form of MSG," a sort of all-purpose flavor-enhancer that also makes beans easier to digest.

While the split peas simmered, Tim tackled the soup's vegetables and curry seasoning. I didn't learn anything new about sauteing the veggies, but I was impressed with what he did with the spices. Instead of just dumping them in the soup, he first fried them in a skillet until they foamed. Cooking the spices, he said, made them more flavorful. From the smells rising from the pan, I knew he was right.