Katerina Dalavurak

I used to be a food snob.

Domino’s? Devil begone. Taco Bell? Tangentially Mexican, rather like Cinco de Mayo. McDonald’s? Sorry, honey, I’m vegetarian. Fennel and parsley salad with fresh mozzarella? Ah, now I’m interested.

And then I came to college, where prepared meals were provided in abundance, and all I had to do was show up and eat. Sure, I had plans to make a nice squash risotto, but then there was that problem set, and East Side Marketplace is, like, nearly a mile away, and can I really justify buying a whole package of Carnaroli rice when I’m only going to use half of it?  And so I became one of those people that Mama warned me about when I left for the big, bad city—an undiscerning eater.

Since I have yet to cast off the chains of culinary oppression known as the Brown University meal plan, I can’t really justify regularly spending time and money cooking elaborate meals for myself. It’s an economy of scale thing: because I rarely cook, I have to buy common pantry staples each time I want to cook, and complex recipes usually result in leftover ingredients that I no longer have any use for. Faced with the not-insubstantial investment of time and money required, I more or less gave up on cooking my own meals.

Enter Alice Waters, chef extraordinaire, pioneer of California cuisine, champion of the locally grown and patron saint of fresh food. A sweet-faced sexagenarian who famously does not own a microwave, the owner of the renowned restaurant Chez Panisse has become an instructor of and advocate for minimalist cooking. This style is characterized by fresh and often locally grown food, simply prepared, often using a small number of exceptionally flavorful ingredients. Minimalist cooking relies heavily on the quality of the basic ingredients, and less on the cooking process.

As it turns out, minimalist cooking is perfect for the college student who rarely cooks for herself, is often pressed for time, and uses a kitchen lacking all but the most essential equipment. Call me lazy, call it a cop-out, but I’d rather invest in a few choice ingredients than random odds and ends to be used once and then left to rot. And if minimalist cooking tends to be simpler and quicker, so much the better.

For example, take Alice Waters’ recipe for tomato sauce, found in the minimalist’s bible, The Art of Simple Food. Two pounds of freshly picked, ripe tomatoes, three cloves of peeled and diced garlic, and one-fourth of a cup of olive oil. Basil, oregano and chili flakes are listed as optional ingredients. A pot, a knife, a few embellishments and some really f*cking good tomatoes are all you need for a freshly prepared, delicious sauce.

The theory of minimalist cooking is that the success of the dish depends primarily on the ingredients, so you’ll get back what you put in. But for me, a sporadic cooker, it seems worth my while to spend judiciously on high-quality, fresh ingredients, awakening my long-dormant snobbery with some sensational, simple food. So don’t you worry, Mama, I’m a foodie still.