The Joy of Not Measuring
Many years ago, I studied architecture in college. Architecture requires a certain compulsion for meticulousness, and I learned this the hard way, over many late nights hunched over a cutting mat. I would shift my stainless steel ruler this way or that, millimeters at a time, until it was positioned where it needed to be. Then, holding my breath, I would slice through the foam core with my X-acto knife, sliding it along the ruler in one smooth motion to achieve the perfect cut. With these foam pieces, I would then build tiny scale models with microscopic dabs of glue. Measure, cut, repeat.
It was gratifying to see the pieces line up exactly as they should, but the whole process was exhausting. At the age of 19, I had developed some rather insistent shoulder and neck pain.
At the same time, I was learning how to cook in my first apartment. Driven by a desire to impress the housemates, I picked up The Joy of Cooking and treated it like gospel. Half a teaspoon of thyme, 3 cups of stock, 1/4 cup of cream — I would run back and forth between the pot on the stove and the book on the table, checking and double-checking and fearing that I’d missed a step. Measure, pour, repeat.
Dinner was almost always delicious (the housemates were duly impressed), but I would be too exhausted to have an appetite. My friends sometimes wondered why the harder I cooked, the less I ate.
Fast forward to today. For many reasons (some of which may be obvious to you by now), I am no longer in architecture. I also no longer cook the same way. My copy of The Joy of Cooking sits on a friend’s bookshelf hundreds of miles away, and I reference my own tightly curated collection of cookbooks only occasionally. What has changed?
Mainly, I discovered the joy of not measuring.
Why?
Because not measuring is more fun. It allows me to move with fluidity and grace, relying on my instincts to achieve what I know is good. On good days, I’m in a state of exuberant flow. Like a downhill skiier who knows exactly how to orient his body to fly down the mountainside, I feel totally in control, even as I let go of the control freak that wants to use exactly an eighth of a teaspoon.
Not measuring is also much faster. When I’m hangry after work, the last thing I want to be doing is carefully leveling a teaspoon of cumin. Now I just sprinkle spices directly into the pot, stir, and taste. It doesn’t always come out the same each time, but it does tend to come out good.
Not measuring also helps me learn much faster. It trains me to trust myself and my own senses to evaluate what’s happening, rather than relying on the past written experiences of another person (the recipe author). Of course, there will be times when I over- and under-shoot, but because I took resposibility for adding each ingredient myself, I know exactly how to fix it.
Last but not least, not measuring makes clean-up easier. No one has to wash all those pesky measuring spoons. For that, my partner is grateful.
To be sure, there are times when one should measure: baking breads and pastries, for instance, or making certain dishes where balance of flavor is crucial. (Thai and Indian foods come to mind. You don’t want to accidentally set your mouth on fire by doubling the amount of chili.) But making your everyday dinner shouldn’t be one of them. In fact, I encourage everyone to insist on not measuring as much as possible.
This sounds hard, but with practice, cooking this way will become your default, as it did for me. You will feel like you are downhill skiing. And your cooking will really sing.
So how does one learn to cook this way, to cook without measuring?
The first step is to toss the recipes. Instead, acquaint yourself with basic techniques. Learn to sauté, sear, roast, boil, and, in the winter, simmer. Learn how to determine done-ness and to stop cooking as soon as that critical point is reached. As a bonus, learn to make a darn good vinaigrette, because understanding how emulsions work will give you a whole new appreciation for the magical powers of chemistry.
Studying techniques instead of recipes makes you flexible and resilient. You’ll be able to proceed with any kitchen undertaking, knowing that you’ve got a firm grasp what’s happening and, if it goes awry, how to fix it.
Secondly, build flavor literacy. This is the key to being able to add “a dash of this” or “a pinch of that” without thinking too hard about it. Everyone has an existing memory bank of flavors that work well together due to a lifetime of… well, eating food. If you have set taste preferences and love to eat the same foods over and over again, that’s great — you already have all the knowledge you need to make the kind of food you like! For everyone else, if you get sick of eating the same foods (like me) and crave variety, then you should be constantly adding to your memory bank of flavors. One way is to pay attention to what you’re eating when you’re in a restaurant. See if you can tease apart the components that give your food that special taste. Ask the waiter to list out all the ingredients if needed — most are happy to entertain a customer’s curiosity! If your flavor bank is well-stocked and up-to-date, you’ll always know how to pick things out of your spice rack and put together a dazzling meal from basic ingredients.
Thirdly, train your palate. By palate, I mean your ability to judge whether food is delicious or not. Part of this comes from having the vocabulary to describe what’s happening (so keep investing in that flavor memory bank), but another is simply training yourself to recognize when something gives you pleasure. We come equipped with 5 distinct types of taste receptors on our tongues, and keen noses that can distinguish between thousands of scent compounds. Train those suckers! Notice what the right amount of salt is. Notice when the perfect balance of sweetness, sourness, and heat is achieved. Notice when something tastes perfectly seared, but falls just short of the acridity of burnt food. Notice these things, and apply them to your own cooking.
Not everyone has the same preferences, so there really is no such thing as “perfect palate.” Just focus in the beginning on training yours so that you’re happy — and over time you can tweak it to make others happy, too.
Unlike architecture, in which following a blueprint is necessary for important things (like, oh, structural stability), cooking is a far more forgiving process. There are multiple opportunities to adjust, play and simply express yourself. Think of it as being in conversation with your materials. Get to know them over time— their personalities, temperaments, and allegiances — and you will have a lot more fun. You might even be able to ditch those measuring spoons for good!
Learn to cook without measuring at Scratch House. Every week, I post a new cooking Mission featuring step-by-step tutorials that teach techniques, not recipes. Complete the Mission, and you could win a prize. Join us!
