"Have a little more," my grandmother would say,
"to fill the faraway parts!" She was a decent cook but a better
feeder, which kept her weight in the neighborhood of 85 pounds for most of her
life. She passed neither skill on to her only child. My mother
could make ice. That's it. Slicing a tomato was a task roughly
comparable to building an ark. In her
defense, she worked outside the home and had zero interest in the domestic
arts. Her occasional cooking adventures were always a tad bizarre: Sauerbraten in August? Polenta before
anyone had ever heard of it?
I always wanted to be the sort of person who can throw
together a meal in minutes from whatever's on hand - a "loaves and
fishes" sort of cook. My chance came when I married Patrick, a
person WAY more social than I am. I still remember the time I came home
and learned we would be eight for dinner. Imagine my surprise.
Nearly ten years later, here we are. I've learned to
rise to the occasion. He's learned not
to do that! (I think.) We have survived catering gigs,
restaurant ownership, puppy training, loss of loved ones, interstate
moves and assorted calamities you'd accuse me of making up. We
continue to fill the faraway parts of our bodies, souls and memories and, as
Sondheim said, we're still here; still hungry and hold-your-breath happy.
So I'll be sharing some recipes, revelations and the
occasional rant. Join me, won't you? There's plenty.
