I’d heard that once you start cooking as a career, you completely lose any desire you once had to cook meals at home. I was hopeful that I might avoid this fate since I work in pastry, but so far, it has been a struggle. I’ve discovered that the reluctance has nothing to do with what you are cooking, and much more to do with the act itself, particularly the part about having to stand up while doing it.
One rainy afternoon this week, however, I found my muse. Having faced day after day of gloomy,wet commutes on steamy subway trains reeking of wet dog, I decided that, tired feet be damned, I needed something braised. I wouldn’t rest until I had a pot filled with rich, savory goodness, slow cooking in my oven and filling the apartment with warm, drool-inducing smells.