Romance does not normally involve an 8-inch chef’s knife. Not outside the world of S&M, anyway.
But it appeared that more than margarita salt might be in the air at the “Mexican Magic” couples cooking class at the Calphalon Culinary Center in the West Loop.
“Invite your `amor’ to share an international adventure in cooking!” the course description exclaimed. “Work side-by-side and discover the secrets of the classic Mexican kitchen.”
The secrets of my kitchen are more likely to involve how many months that bottle of salsa has spent in the refrigerator. Working side-by-side? Unloading the dishwasher, maybe.
So, it was with some anticipation that we arrived at our cooking class, a pair of “amigos” and BYOB wine in tow, for an evening that promised to be part date, part tutorial and part cultural trend immersion.
Cooking just may be the new yoga. Once a discipline practiced by the dedicated few seeking knowledge and enlightenment through the acquisition of specialized skills, culinary instruction now has become a form of idle diversion. A little like “The Apprentice” but with burners, not brown-nosers, getting fired.
Throughout the country, people are flocking to cooking classes like kids to cupcakes. When New York-based ShawGuides published its first guide to cooking schools, in 1989, there were 177 listings for recreational (as opposed to professional) culinary programs in the United States and abroad. The current count on the Web site is 820.
“I think it’s a really neat way to socialize,” explains ShawGuides editor Dorlene Kaplan. “You don’t have to have special skills, it’s creative, it’s a good way to interact with other people. And you’re going to have a good meal at the end of it.”
In Winnetka, last weekend’s “Party in the Caribbean” class at Corner Cooks had a waiting list of 18. The Calphalon Culinary Center in Chicago filled its upcoming series of basic skills classes before the catalog came out.
Some instructors say cooking classes are becoming more popular because no one learns how to cook from their mothers anymore. Others say that the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, made people appreciate the pleasures of sharing a meal they have made together, rather than simply having it served to them.
Most influential, perhaps, has been the transformation of cooking into entertainment via the Food Network and Cook’s Illustrated magazine and other forms of meal-obsessed media. Emeril. The Iron Chef. Mr. Latte.
My cooking partner, Mr. Stainless Steel Coffee Mug, happily began our session by roasting vegetables for salsa.
Labor seemed to quickly divide along lines of gender. Calphalon’s marketing and sales manager, Brooke Bargar, has noticed that men tend to enjoy any aspect of class that involves fire (i.e. roasting peppers).
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In our class, it was the immersion blender. When it came time to puree those roasted vegetables, a glance around the room confirmed that mostly men wielded the whirring blenders. It’s a power tool, right?
It was also a man–though, thankfully, not mine–who made the inevitable joke about the oversize carrots destined for the corn and black bean salad. “That’s one big carrot you got there, buddy.”
But the romance did not come together as smoothly as the green chile sauce.
First, Mr. Stainless Steel Coffee Mug questioned the selection of the spoon used to scoop out avocado for the guacamole. Mrs. Mug retaliated by criticizing the size of Mr. Mug’s jalapeno dice.
We were in danger of becoming the class competitive couple. This phenomenon, observed by instructor and chef Tom McGinty, involves a pair who report on each other’s culinary failings, as in “Tom, she’s mixing this before you told her to.”
Luckily, the chef’s knife saved us.
Mr. Mug closely observed the chopping of the cilantro he had carefully destemmed. He issued a pronouncement.
“You rock,” he said.
Who needs S&M?
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Columns by Tribune staff reporters Steve Johnson and Louise Kiernan ([email protected]), who are husband and wife, appear in this space on alternating weeks.