Gambling on Dinner

by Jodi ~ November 2, 2009

Dinner, at the roll of a die

Sometimes, I just don’t know what to make for dinner.

Such a quandary should be impossible, what with my kitchen bookshelf stuffed with upwards of 100 cookbooks in regular use, my utility closet bulging with food magazines, a blogroll that scrolls on and on through sites showcasing food from all over the world, and an imagination that occasionally spits out a not-bad original creation. Yet every so often you will find me in my kitchen, leaning against the centre island, fingers drumming its burgundy surface, waiting for inspiration to strike and dictate what we will eat.

It is in these moments of indecision that I reach for the food die. Red and about the size of a walnut, it sits atop the shortest in a constellation of glass jars we keep on the counter to store frequently used dry goods such as pasta, lentils, and rice. The die’s six surfaces are imprinted with types of cuisine: Italian; Vegetarian; Indian; English; Chinese; Fish and Chips. The latter category reveals two facts: (1) the die is clearly meant as an aid for settling on take-out (does anyone really make fish and chips at home?) and (2) the gadget originates in the UK, as only there does fish and chips count as a cuisine unto itself.

I bought the die in Scotland, actually, at an eclectic accessories and novelty shop tucked away near the Edinburgh church where our friends were married in February 2007. Immediately recognizing this little trinket’s potential to solve many a cooking crisis, I put it through a few test rolls while Michael debated buying a piggy bank in the shape of a keyboard key labelled “Save” (he bought it; to this day it holds the loose change from his pants’ pockets).

As a tool for focusing my mind on what meal it might coax out of me, this little die transcends its original calling as a gag gift — it can be a saviour. Our busy lives see us eat out more than I’d like already, and without something to rein in my mind, which some days has a tendency to gallop off in multiple directions, it’s quite conceivable that without it there would be stretches in which we’d never eat homecooked food, my passion for the kitchen notwithstanding. On a night when I just can’t bear to make one more decision, it’s time to turn off my brain and let the die roll.

Over time, each of the cuisines represented on the cube has come to mean a certain thing; one of those six sides lands face-up and presto — I know precisely where to look for the stuff dinner is made of. There’s probably an argument to be made that this ritual could be used to steer me into new territory: to discover as yet unexplored recipes, to inspire directions for my culinary creativity. But when I reach for the die it’s out of desperation; as I cradle it in my palm and then set it skittering across the counter, I’m in the market for pat answers, deliverance at the hands of the tried and true.

1. Italian.

Honestly? I’m eternally relieved when this side wins. There is almost always homemade pesto of some kind in my freezer, and while taking a container out to thaw and then mixing it with hot pasta can seem too easy, scoring “Italian” at the roll of the die reminds me that I freeze pesto for just such occasions — when anything other than dead easy is cause for tears. I also find that Jamie Oliver’s cookbooks have really useful pasta sections; most of the recipes come together quickly, and there are some nice touches that put a special spin on otherwise straightforward dishes (e.g., toasting ricotta cheese in the oven and then crumbling it over pasta sauced simply in tomatoes simmered with shallots and herbs).

“Italian” will often also prompt me to make risotto. The basic recipe and proportions never change, so after a few go-rounds a cookbook isn’t required. Also appealing: the possibilities for flavourings and additional ingredients are endless. A combination I make again and again includes wilted greens (kale, chard, or spinach are my favourites), toasted walnuts, and goat cheese in place of the usual parmesan.

2. Vegetarian

Donna Hay’s The New Cook, which I got as a gift a decade ago, convinced me that it is indeed possible to make a delicious dinner in about a half hour with a very short list of ingredients. The “Vegetables” section of this cookbook has long been one of my go-to places for vegetarian cuisine. Hay’s red lentils cooked risotto-style and served atop a bed of baby spinach remains a steadfast favourite in this household. Hay’s spinach pie, made in a phyllo nest was also a revelation — I’d never thought to layer phyllo with olive oil in a pie plate (without regard for neatness) and then roll up the ends to form the edge crust. And remember that this basic phyllo nest is accepting of almost any filling you can think to plunk inside.

3. Indian

I’m a little out of my element here. Michael is the Indian cook in this pair. He loves to bend over a mortar and pestle and pots on the stove with the intensity of a mad scientist, bashing, stirring, and tasting his way through experiments with spices and textures. I remember letting myself in to his apartment one night in our early days of togetherness to find the stove groaning under pots filled with no end of delicious things: chickpea curry, butter chicken, tumeric potatoes (we nicknamed them “nuclear potatoes” after their vibrant yellow-orange hue). If I hadn’t decided that I loved him already, one glance at that stovetop was all it took.

For my part, when I roll “Indian,” I tend to default to a trusty standby reminiscent of my favourite Indian dish, palak paneer. Eating Well’s saag tofu mimics those flavours, and in no time flat.

4. English

Perhaps I think too stereotypically, but when the die hands me “English” as my fate I always feel a bit whiny, thinking, “But I can’t cook proper pub food at home — I’ve no deep-fryer!” Thankfully, then, I’ve come to equate “English” with “Jamie Oliver“; since he seems to churn out at least one book a year, which we often receive as a gift for the holidays, there’s not shortage of tasty recipes to turn to when fate dictates we eat one of the most maligned cuisines in the world (former French president Jacques Chirac was quoted as saying of Brits, “One cannot trust people whose cuisine is so bad”).

If I roll “English” on a Sunday, one of Oliver’s fish pies might be in order, or perhaps baked meatballs. There are also stuffed baked potatoes (with pickled beets, sour cream, and freshly grated horseradish? Oh, yes) and leek and chickpea soup. Since I’m feeling frazzled when I roll that die, comfort food like this is generally a perfect antidote.

5. Chinese

I find this face of the die a little limiting, so I stretch its meaning to include all Asian cuisines, opening the door for red Thai curry or anything else enrobed in that ambrosial combination of thick, sweet coconut milk, hot spices, and salty fish sauce.

Confession: “Chinese” also gives us license to run up the street and let someone else do the cooking after all. What can I say? We live in Toronto’s Little Chinatown at Broadview and Dundas.

6. Fish and Chips

Roll again.