My night to cook

I never took it for granted that an impeccable meal was placed before me nearly every night of the week. If you knew Tim and me, you know, that yes, I was spoiled when it came to food. I was the constant beneficiary of the final product of the shopping, prepping, cooking, plating, and presenting, as well as the practicing and the experimenting. I praised and thanked Tim for it every day.

In particular, dinner time with Tim wasn’t just eating. It was always an event, both in a restaurant and, of course, at home. We did eat out a lot. Tim loved to study menus and taste what chefs were doing. He enjoyed most things, often thinking about how he might make it himself and what he would do differently. Something I appreciated about Tim, who was such a critic of his own cooking, was that he never complained to a waiter or a chef about anything he ate in a restaurant.

There was only one exception to this that I witnessed. It happened while dining in a Charlotte restaurant with our nephew Bryan. We were all surprised by the taste of a brown gravy on a dish we were sharing. The menu said it was the chef’s grandmother’s recipe. Tim respectfully asked the waiter to take the plate back to the chef so he could taste it and determine if this was what he intended it to be, knowing that things can occasionally go wrong in a kitchen and the chef doesn’t know it unless he is told. The chef tasted it, and responded, “yes, that’s it.” Tim, still baffled, took him for his word and made a mental note to never order that dish again. Tim had great respect for the craft.

Besides enjoying a few meals in a good restaurant each week, the only other time Tim did not cook was when he was on call at the hospital. His call days were my call days. The only time I took care of the meal. But I didn’t actually cook. I wanted to and I tried, but it made Tim anxious. He never knew when he would be home or when he would get called out again.  He didn’t want my efforts to be underappreciated, and in truth, I am sure he didn’t want to risk a cold or dry meal. Food was important to him.

So, the preferred method for dinner while on call became take-out. Thai Marlee was Tim’s favorite. Either Pad Prig King or Spicy Basil Chicken, and he would always remind me, “three stars please.” Thai was one type of food he never made at home.  He appreciated that he couldn’t reproduce the complex flavors in the fish sauce.

When I called to place our order every week for Dr. Tim, they would say, “Mrs. Dr Tim, you are cooking tonight!” I would go pick it up and depending on what Tim was in the middle of, I would either meet him outside for a drop off or go in and sit in the lounge to eat with him. We could usually get a good thirty minutes, and often a colleague would walk into the lounge and chat with us. People were always interested to know what Tim was eating and what he thought about it.

I did have more food-related responsibilities than “cooking” on call nights. I was his sous chef, his catering kitchen manager, his editor/cooking partner/plating assistant in the creation of his cookbook, his handler at every Breakfast at Timothy’s book event, his personal assistant at every cooking class, and I was his social media specialist and relished sharing photos of his beautiful creations.

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Tim would mull over menus for weeks for a dinner party or a large gathering at our house. I knew that he would never end up serving anything that was on his original plan. I also knew that this was one area where my assistance wasn’t needed or wanted. My tendency was to want to simplify, and if I would even hint that he should do that, he would firmly say, “you are squashing my creativity.” 

But there I was always by his side in support of all things cooking. He took tremendous pride in teaching others about food and of course feeding them. It was an honor to watch him put the most important ingredient in everything he prepared and that was love. And everyone could taste it.

I did appreciate how spoiled I was by Tim’s passion for food and cooking.  The meals Tim served to me were never plain or simple. And honestly, on occasion, craving a break from all the richness, I would say, “can I just pour a bowl of cereal?” I could always feel the eye roll from across the room.

My eating habits have certainly changed without Tim. Now every night is my night to cook. I learned so much from Tim, and I often think of what he might say about my chopping skills, my choice of skillet, and my use of herbs as I prep my meals for one. And I am pretty sure he is very pleased that not once have I chosen cereal for dinner.

(For some of our cooking memories go to Timothy O’Lenic on Facebook, and if you are interested in a copy of Breakfast at Timothy’s, please comment below.)