Growing up I can recall one of the major elements that differentiated my feelings about meals at my father's house and meals at my mother's. Away from my mother's, I ate whenever the adults felt like it... except on Saturday mornings. My sisters and I inevitably rose before their parents, so I would take it upon myself to climb up the kitchen counters to get the cereal and the bowls. At the time, I was lactose-intolerant, so I ate my cereal dry with water or Pepsi... the only other two beverages in the house (and the reason I'm a Coca-Cola girl). With Mom, there were three meal times and options for afternoon snacks.
As an adult, I haven't necessarily replicated either routine or lack thereof... I try to eat whenever I get up... lunch between 12:30 and 1:30... and I prefer dinner around 7. I used to follow my French friend's program... dinner, coffee, and dessert. Now I rarely eat dessert because I put most of my effort into making an interesting meal...
Tonight I made a recipe not my own but one of the few I've repeated in one year. It's a different sort of grilled cheese made with fig preserves, prosciutto, and brie... I served it with an impromptu salad of harvest grains, lentils, peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, and a pinch Cajun seasoning... and of course, red pepper and tomato soup. After all that fun (and the Cabernet Sauvignon that Caro kindly brought over), my planned sweet of cherries, plums, and watermelon just slipped my mind.
Still, today I was offered one of those wonderful moments that require no planning... maybe the opposite of planning...
I was a little upset this week and it took me some time to get up this morning. When I realized I was terribly late, I dashed out the door without making at least my daily cup of green tea. I arrived at Anya's tired, weary, and un-caffeinated. She poured me a glass of red, put lunch in the oven, and then made the announcement.
"I think we should have out dessert first."
She pulled out her tray of brownies and warmed up two of them in the microwave. She's one of the truly great hostesses that always has a little something special to offer you... brownies, her own recipe of cookies, some vegetarian delicacy better than anything you'll find in the restaurants... I aspire to having a kitchen more like hers... someday when I grow up...
Reminds me of the one time food was a pleasant issue at my father's house.
I had just come down with this nasty cold. The day before he was supposed to pick me up, Mom had given me the usual... chicken soup (probably a healthy dose of Ramen), orange juice, and decongestant. I was stuffy, tired, and really didn't speak on the car ride over to his house. Upon arrival, I slunk to the dining room table, dropped my bag, pulled out a chair, sat, and flopped my woozy head on the table. I heard some rustling in the kitchen... I started praying to Gd that it wasn't more juice or cold medicine for me...
A plate clinked on the table and tapped me in the head.
I looked up and saw a white plate with a brownie and a fork. I was pretty confused. "Is that for me?"
"Yeah."
"But I'm sick?"
"Exactly. It'll make you feel better."
And that's true. Brownies out of order make everything better.
No comments:
Post a Comment