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Scientists could analyze my preferences and give me a list of phenols, flavinoids and chemical compounds present in my favourite foods. Likewise, psychologists could ID my emotional connections. But I prefer not knowing on those levels. My own body tells me what ingredients agree with my gut, and beyond that, cooking, to me, remains one of the Great Mysteries. As Iris Dement sang, “I prefer to let the mystery be.” Cooks are the Magicians whose capes conceal the transformation of matter. But for more pragmatic souls, the soup pot is the easiest spot to imagine common ground with my grandmothers. Both used dried pulses in their cooking: my southern Ontario Gran made Boston-style baked beans, and my prairie Gram made lentil soup. Let’s leave off analyzing our palates’ mysterious preferences. First we eat!
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