A Note on "Browning"

I always look back on my Saturdays in the small town of Bowmanville, Canada and think fondly of my time with my brother and mother.  In the early 90's my father worked two jobs to make ends meet, and my mother stayed home as a babysitter whilst raising my brother and I.

I'm sure it was not easy being my parents, being spread so thin.  Doing the best they can in the only way the knew how. Hard work.

But weekends were different.  We got 100% of our mother's time and affection. We were very lucky.  She did a good job too especially since dad's second job took him into the city and kept him away from us from 11am to 1am the next morning.  

She did the job of both mom and dad on Saturdays. This made Saturdays both frustrating and fun.

"Young ladies need to know how to clean," she said, so I was given duties to fulfil once the Saturday morning cartoon roster ended at 12:00pm. "Or else who will want to marry a girl who cannot keep up the house and family?"

I was 12.

"10-50 Chhhuuuummm! Oldies from the 50's, 60's & 70's Right here on your favourite radio station! 1050 Chum! Next, Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones!"

My brother would pause, drop his toy golf set and run over to the Casio Boom-box and turn the volume up. 

Once again that poker straight mushroom cut hair would start flipping and tossing as he bobbed to the music.  His squeaky voice, "Can't get no! Sas-sis-fac-shun! Doo, doo doo!" 

I applaud his excellent taste in rock and roll, however I considered myself a Beatles fan. 

Mom pops her head out of the kitchen to check that his head wasn't bobbing too much - poor kid was just accident prone! The little guy was just notorious for bumping into things or tripping over himself while playing, guess its a boy thing.

But soon it was sunset, chores were done, radio had been turned off. My brother, most likely digging a whole in the dirt in the backyard and me in front of my mirror trying desperately to braid my own hair that extended passed my bottom.

Then, creeping up the stairs and around the corner, was the aroma of something mouth watering.  I strain my ears and I can hear the sizzle and pop of oil heating up in a frenzy. That oniony-gingery scent mixed with the delicious smell of 'browning'.  You know what I'm talking about, right?  Brown :)

The smell of 'browning' equates to the scent of something developing a golden crust. The caramelization of the outer coating - something that is usually not 'good' for you. Going from pale and unappealing to golden and desirable.  Maybe this is why tanning is so popular, although I doubt it's as appetizing as something being deep fried. Then again, my own mocha flesh tone is built in so I cannot really say how desirable it really is.  Let's focus.

In a more cerebral sense, the smell of 'browning', is the indicator of how yummy something is becoming. The richer the smell seems, the chances are the more you'll want to sink your teeth into it.  However, too much 'browning' smell can lead to disappointing results which will then be identified as the smell of 'blackening'.  Not good eats.

The smell of 'browning' in the more practical and raw sense, is best described as the following:

(a) It is the tasty bits you pick off with your forefinger and thumb. 

(b) The primal instinct that forces you to immediately lick your fingers one at a time, while your lips make that infamous 'smack' sound as it reached the end of each digit. 

(c) Makes you eat shamelessly, no cares in the world.

(d) The sensation that makes you ignore how full you are, just to squeeze in that last salty, fatty, crunchy, oh-so-mm-mm-MMM piece...Oooh! How good...

The Smell of "Browning"

So what was browning in the kitchen? It didn't matter.  We knew it was going to lovely, full of flavour, and really just for us <3

Taking the time to brown something means taking the time to put some love into it. This is why Saturday dinners were the best.

Happy Browning...

A Girl who Likes to Cook xoxo