The Myth About Marinades

The Washington Post
By Andreas Viestad
June 11, 2008

Putting together my favorite marinade takes some time, not least because I allow it to.

I always start with red wine: one glass for me, one for the marinade. Then I set the two apart by adding garlic and chopped parsley to the wine I won't be drinking. When I pick some thyme from the veranda and rub the leaves between my hands, my kitchen fills with the smell of the Greek islands and never-ending summer. I throw the leaves in, along with grinds of black pepper, a crushed bay leaf and sometimes a drop or two of Tabasco, for temperament.

I taste and adjust, adding a little sugar, some soy sauce. When I am satisfied that the marinade is just right, I pour it over a couple of steaks.

While the meat is marinating, I indulge in a ritual to pass the time: I count to four. One, two, three, four. That's it. And finally I can dedicate myself to the masculine cooking technique that involves the burning of eyebrows, slight smoke poisoning and the charring of meat over red-hot coals.

Marinating meat is one of those mysterious fields in the world of cooking in which there are plenty of opinions and few facts; an area that many people -- mostly men -- claim to master but few can explain.

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