Word: gastronomy

 

gastronomy

\ ga-STRON-uh-mee \  , noun;

1. the art or science of good eating.

2. a style of cooking or eating.

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               The aromas of various herbs and spices wafted through the house.  The sounds of a young boy humming a tuneless song filtered through from the kitchen, eliciting small smiles from the boy’s parents who were reading quietly in the adjoining room.

                “He gets it from your side of the family.”  Lora, the boy’s mother said.  Her tone was that of complaint, trying to call her son’s cooking habits out in a more negative way.  Her amused expression betrayed her though.

                “Well I can’t take all the blame now can I?”  Frank, the child’s father, said.  His own tone of voice and amused expression mirrored that of his wife. 

                “Now, now, I only taught him how to eat properly.  You were the one who got him in the kitchen.”

                “Only because he asked me to.”  Frank said.  He couldn’t help keep a smug grin off his face, which he promptly tried to repress, sticking to the little blame game they played whenever their son some form of culinary inspiration. 

                Their son’s desire to practice cooking came from both of them.  Frank was head chef at an upscale restaurant, and loved his job immensely.  It was because of him that their son had gotten into cooking at such a young age.  Lora occupied the other end of the culinary spectrum, working as a well respected food critic.  She had gotten the boy into what she termed proper eating early on, sparking his interest in quality food. 

                Thanks to their respective professions, the boy had been raised to see food as an almost religious thing.  Even though he was so young, he already scoffed at the ready made microwaveable dishes that his classmates and friends so readily enjoyed, preferring fresh made meals.  But after he had gone to his friend’s house a few times, he noticed that many families used those very meal options.  He could stomach them in needed, but he didn’t actually like them.  Because of this, he had asked Frank to help him deal with what was to his young mind a serious problem by learning to make his own food. 

                Both his parents readily encouraged their son’s endeavors, even when they didn’t turn out so well or came at odd hours.  Of course, since he was still so young, his creations were often times somewhat more creative and often times less palatable then desirable.  This came from the child’s rather unique methods.  It mainly involved picking things out seemingly at random and mixing them together in various ways.  Lora wouldn’t let her son use the stove or oven without supervision, so there were some limits to what he could make, but he still managed to do some interesting things, if not good tasting.

                Franks had, of course, tried to teach him from recopies of all kinds, but his son had proven resilient to the notions of measuring and picking out already chosen ingredients, and so had simply chosen to select his ingredients on a whim.  Frank had chosen to go along with this by trying to help his son choose what he used based on taste and texture instead of simply picking things out of drawers and cabinets. 

                Once the boy had learned there was a method to cooking and selecting ingredients, he had studied the science of food as much as such a young child could ever hope to.  It had improved his dishes greatly, but he still insisted on making a few things up out of the blue at times. 

                “Yes well, thank god that someone’s here to make sure things don’t go horribly wrong.”  Lora said.  She had helped guide her son’s culinary endeavors by teaching him proper eating, telling him that anything he made, he would have to eat.  For her, this was a very European method of taking small bites and savoring each bite.  She taught him to roll the food around his tongue, teaching him that each part of it tasted things differently, and to use the entire thing to get every bit of flavor possible. 

                She had also made sure that he knew about nutrition, doing her best to make sure he made balanced meals whenever possible.  It was something she also made sure her husband did.  For her eating was as much about health as it was about taste, and she tried to get those important to her to at least make an attempt at healthy eating.  Her son had responded to this desire as well as he could by using lost of fruits and vegetables in his dishes, even when he was allowed to use the stove or oven.  It lead to some of his more interesting ideas that had been put on the plate.

                “Aren’t we all glad to have you around to keep us on the right track.”  Frank said. 

                “And don’t you forget it.  Now then, shall we see what our little chef came up with this time?”  Lora said, already standing.  Frank made to follow his wife’s lead and started to rise from his chair.  Before he did though, their son bounded into the room carrying a plate of his latest creation.

                “Mom, dad, look what I made!”  He said excitedly holding the plate out to them.  The dish in question consisted of various kinds of fruits that had a fine coating of herbs and spices on the surface.  He had put them on small skewers.  In between the fruit were small chunks of meat that Frank had made the day before and was now leftovers sitting in the fridge.  It seemed like the boy had done some dressing up of these as well.  It was colorful though, and was arranged as nicely as a child could hope to do.  The two adults looked at each other and smiled, each taking one.  They already knew their son wanted them to try in before offering any kind of opinions.  Each of them held their portion in front of them and took a bit.

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Food is serious business, am I right?  Seriously, there's a whole field of study about just eating it, let alone making it.  Now go and have something tasty, ok?