Complementary

They say opposites attract.  I've always enjoyed that sentiment:  yin and yang, the masculine and the feminine,
the juxtaposition of two things that seem alien and yet clearly are better together.

I feel that way when I walk into a room and the colors are so right--a contrast that works on a cellular level within your brain, even your soul.  Put red and green together and there you are in your happy place. (They're Christmas colors for a reason!)

A great Haiku will do that for me--the simplicity of three short lines that manages to pair the unlikely in a way that's surprising, even delightful in your heart. 

When I'm cooking or baking, I find that a combination of opposites often creates the most intriguing synthesis, even when working with the most basic elements:  salty, creamy peanut butter with sweet chunky jam is great--we all know this one.  Spread it on toasted bread and it's elevated;  adding that warm crunch just raises the bar exponentially.  Treat yourself to thick, tangy yogurt with a dollop of that same sweet jam.  Stir in some great granola and you've got a love triangle of taste in your mouth.  What a way to start the day!

I recall my pastry chef in cooking school teaching me how to build a plated dessert.  We deconstructed, discussed elements and tastes, opposites and the problematic sliding scoop of ice cream.  "Where's your crunch?"  he'd ask, exasperated.  I was pretty sure he was a genius (I'm still sure!), so I watched, copied, and  learned to ask the right questions;  the most important became 'What Would Chef Do?'

I snuck roasted pears into my chocolate souffle, added a salted caramel garnish and watched the judges clean the plate.  I transferred this to cuisine and landed an A with tuna tartare, roasted tomato sorbet, garlic crouton glistening with my famous tapenade.  "Yes!"  I roared.  My plates looked and tasted like I was a French-trained chef!  My plates looked like I wasn't really that girl from Iowa...

...but I am.  I don't mind that I grew up among cornfields, took bowling lessons, smell 'that cow smell' and fondly think of home.  It keeps me grounded.   I am a French-trained chef, but I'm not a chi-chi kind of girl.  It's not in me, so I ponder quietly, 'What Would Chef Do?' and find the perfect compromise between the Chef in me and the Iowa in me:  creme brulee.

It's the simplest dessert:  eggs, milk, sugar. (Oh, yeah...let's not forget the blowtorch!)  A basic creme anglaise (ice cream, anyone?  bread pudding?), cooked, then baked.  Creme brulee:  burnt cream, but not really;  shake it: it doesn't move.  Cold, creamy, thick pudding with a slender layer of sugar sprinkled on top.  Light that blow torch and enjoy this moment!   At what other time in your life are you going to wrangle a blow torch and look quite so masterful?!  Tap that hard topping.  It breaks into tiny sparkling shards that sink their teeth into that cream.  Bite after bite you get it all:  cold, warm, creamy, crunchy, sweet, bitter. 

My genius chef allows a smile while he's spooning and I find that my two selves are smiling too.