A fork by any other name would still be a fork. Unless you called it your hands. Then the fork is rendered moot. Hands are more versatile than forks. They posses a way cooler gadget. The opposable thumb (come-up of all evolutionary come-ups) possesses some remarkable moves.
Unfortunately we don’t often get to put those moves into practice with familiar western cuisine. But why rely on some intermediary device to enjoy that most intimate sensation of eating? Some form of artifice, really, when we consider that we already have what it takes.
My earliest inclinations were to forgo tools and bound the gulf between food and eating (associations begin firing at Lacan’s l’hommelette, a slippery slope). My favorite foods (burritos, sushi) can technically and efficiently be eaten with one’s hands. Still, my lifetime eating career has been dominated by silverware.
Until my wife introduced me to her native cuisine. Nepali food predates industrial metal forgery and globalization. Silverware was not a concern when the recipes took shape, nor is it a concern today when they’re served.
I turned fifty-two last week. While I’m told that fifty-two is the new thirty-eight, no one told my metabolism. It seems to have slowed even more than I have. Knowing this, and knowing that the only way to really celebrate a birthday is to eat and then eat some more, my wife, Peggy, and I had been dieting from the end of the holidays to the big day – ten whole days. And when the big day came, we wasted no time in returning to our post-holiday fighting weight. Here is how we did it. 
For those of you that have children, I am sure you (like me) spend your Saturday’s and Sunday’s at the park or gym, watching children, small and large, playing with balls. Basketballs, soccer balls, footballs, baseballs, and lacrosse balls. Three boys, 3-6 games (depending on Isaac’s travel basketball schedule), spent at the park and gym.
When my oldest son left for his senior year of college in September, he was leaving the comfort (or more likely uncomfort) of on-campus life and trading it for a 4-bedroom apartment. No
longer able to rely on cafeteria food, he was going to have to cook for
himself. Over the years I had taught him a few basic things about cooking but
never really gave him anything resembling real lessons. I guess I was just
hoping he was going to pick it up by osmosis. Though he has watched me cook
over the years and picked up some basics I wanted to give him a little more
formal culinary send-off. Starting in early August I began to think about what
he liked to eat and what specific skills he would need to cook those dishes. We
spent a few days going over the basics – heat control, knife techniques, etc. I
also knew that there were certain basic tools and ingredients he would need for
his kitchen. Stuffed into his luggage were three knives, a spatula, frying pan
and pot. Finally, I drew up a few basic recipes and cooking techniques that I
emailed to him. The result was a sort of mini- cooking "Cooking 101."
