My mother is what you might call a culinary cryogenicist. Long before the crew at the Noma Food Lab grew their first flavor spore, my mom was experimenting with the effects of age and temperature on all kinds of foodstuffs: the last two bites of some mac and cheese. Four shrimp. One-third of a pork chop. Three matzo balls. Half a bag of green beans tied shut with a trash bag twist-tie. An old joint. Eight slices of rye bread. Raisins. So. Much. Ham.
In my mind, freezing things ruined their precious molecular integrity by turning them into rock-hard cubes. Meat is normally prized for its “freshness.” In the fields, crops are carefully covered to prevent freezing, so why put them under such duress in your own home? Having kids a few years ago loosened me up a bit — show me one child-rearing American household a without a frozen bag of dinosaur-shaped chicken blobs lurking somewhere.
Even with a family of four eating three-plus meals a day, the kind of inventory I was sporting needed to be able to hang out a while. And so, it was with deep reservations that I finally began freezing things — though the real miracle didn’t occur until I began un-freezing them. After that I started throwing everything in the freezer just to see: ground turkey, chicken thighs. All were fine. Then I moved into pizza dough, shredded cheese, blanched vegetables; then on to chili, tortillas, pancakes, whole loaves of bread, coffee . Pretty much every single thing I froze — and later unfroze — emerged as relatively unharmed and tasty as the day I bought it.
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