Eagranie Yuh is a freelance writer based in Vancouver, Canada and is the author of The Chocolate Tasting Kit. Before landing in food and travel writing, she was a chemist and pastry chef. She is easily distracted.
A few years ago I visited Tofino, a remote surfing town on the west coast of Vancouver Island. One Sunday morning, I headed to one of the town’s best restaurants. Perched on a bar stool in a packed room, I spotted the bartender assembling the telltale ingredients for a Caesar: Clamato juice, vodka, Worcestershire, hot sauce. As a server took that lone drink to the other end of the room, heads turned. For the next hour, the bartender tended to an assembly line of Caesars.
When my family’s apartment flooded, we — my husband, 10-month-old daughter, geriatric rabbit, and I — decamped to my parents’ house. As we waited for insurance companies to settle the bill, we divvied up dinner duty: My mom and I took turns during the week and on weekends, my husband would cook, or my dad would get takeout. In some ways, it was easier.
I used to be one of those people. I didn’t just make homemade chicken stock — I roasted chicken bones until fragrant, then gave them a long, slow bath. I didn’t toss stuff in a slow cooker — I sautéed and seared first, in the sincere belief it made a difference. And then I had a baby. I’d been organized enough to stuff the freezer, anxious that the baby would arrive early.