Demoted to Dishes

My family was visiting our Navy Yard apartment in Washington DC. It was a little over a year ago that we sat down to a beautiful breakfast. James made a four course masterpiece, effortlessly. I started to cry at the table; just a quiet sob. My mom asked me what in the world was the matter. 

"James doesn't let me cook anymore".

My sister looked as if she wanted to leap over the poached eggs and smack me. Needless to say, she thought I was out of my mind. Mom and Nana just shook their heads. After twenty or so years of my typical reactions to stimuli (crying), they had seen it all. I realized I was being silly, and tucked in to another delightful meal. But I still felt a pang of unease. Along came this man, a whiz in the kitchen, and my position was threatened.

After two and a half years of sharing the load of meal preparation, oftentimes not cooking at all, I have grown quite accustomed to being fed. Assuming the role of sous chef. Being taught. Realizing how little I know about technique. While I'm still ever so fond of cooking, I'm equally fond of sitting in the passenger seat, admiring the driver as he hones his craft.

I have even learned to embrace dish duty. Pots and pans amount with an uncanny speed when the master is at work. Piles of plates and utensils are left for someone to wash. Being that we live in an older home, there is no dishwasher. When Mom eats over, she makes her way to the sink despite my repeated assurances that I will get to the dishes. All other times, it's me. Demoted to dishes.

Cooking is an act of love, of creating, of sharing. That is why I'll always find my way to the kitchen. The best memories of my childhood were had at the table. Rolling meatballs with my great grandmother or watching Nana prepare pizza piena at Easter. The smell of apple pies after a day of picking.

We continue to make memories at mealtimes, memories that amass regardless of who cooks. Laughs shared. Bread passed. The clang of glasses. While I am an average cook, I am an above average eater so my life has become richer having a chef around. I never dreamed a man would upstage me in the kitchen but I'm fine with doing the dishes. And there is always dessert.

Our Daily Bread

I shared a meal with two dear friends from college this past Sunday. It was the perfect suburban getaway for gals living and working in the Big Apple. We gathered wood from my parents' backyard so we would be able to build a fire later that day. Next stop was Fairway Market for ingredients: a big baguette, three types of cheese (New Zealand Cheddar, Pepper Jack, and Fresh Mozzarella), fresh basil, some cream, chicken, and vegetables for a tossed salad. It took us realistically three to five minutes just to navigate the big basins that comprise the olive section. Angela picked sun dried tomatoes, I grabbed an olive medley, and Mary tracked down half sour pickles to accompany the bread and cheese. Groceries- check. We snuck in some munchkins and coffees for the ever so brief drive home.  I am of the belief that there is always time for a Dunkin run.

After settling in at home, we chopped and chatted. Munched on bread, olive oil, and too much cheese, if there can ever be too much cheese. Next came the main course, creamy pesto over fettuccine with chicken. We never really made a dent in the salad which is to be expected when there is bread and cheese to be had. Olives count as vegetable intake though, right?  All the while, we had refreshing conversation. Scratch that. Let's call it what it was - a frantic vent session. It was also refreshing though,  long overdue, and entirely necessary.

It had been quite a while since we were all together in one place, probably since graduating actually. Granted texting and email allow for people to stay quite connected these days, but still pale in comparison to interaction face-to-face. Actually hearing what it's like to LOL together. We covered a wide variety of topics. Put girls in a room together and this is bound to happen. Guys, parents, jobs, friends, body image, weddings, dreams, fears; you name it and we probably discussed it. The pressure we either self impose or feel from others to succeed, to have everything all at once. Our desperate attempts to prioritize goals all the while trying to remain grounded and calm. How we fall short of the staying calm part. Thus is early adulthood.

It is characteristic of our generation to expect a lot, and quickly. I think Charles wrote "Great Expectations" about us. Sounds about right. By 24, we feel like we should have it all mapped out. The next decade if not more carefully delineated in a step by step list. Who we'll marry and where we will be professionally and geographically. There are external factors at play, too.  Mothers with baby fever asking about grandchildren or at the very least checking in on the latest adventures in finding a mate. Friends walking down the aisle and siblings enrolling in grad school.

While all of our concerns vary slightly, there is a common need for reassurance. A quote or a consoling gesture is often enough to quell anxiety. I discovered I am not the only one who Googles "inspiring quotes" when I feel disconcerted or lost. The right quote can typically calm my nerves for like an hour, or at least distract me enough that I forget what provoked anxiety in the first place. Needless to say I am quite frequently in search of the perfect words of reassurance. Some daily bread for my soul. I have no problem finding and eating actual bread, obviously.

Robert Louis Stevenson was on to something here:

"The best things in life are nearest:  Breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of right just before you.  Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life's plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things in life." 

The girls and I discussed lighter topics once we got through the rough stuff. Football, country music, and the anatomy of the perfect S'more. We grabbed skewers, jumbo marshmallows, Reese's cups as well as Hershey bars, and roasted them as the sun went down. For a moment, we huddled around the fire, forgot about expectations and indulged in the here and now, the path of just right before us.

Eat and Be Merry

"Eating, loving, singing and digesting are, in truth, the four acts of the comic opera known as life, and they pass like bubbles of a bottle of champagne.  Whoever lets them break without having enjoyed them is a complete fool." -Gioacchino Rossini

Truth! How complicated we make everything. Eat, love, sing, and repeat. Pretty much sums up a few of my favorite things.

Maybe it is my own doing, but I feel this consistent pressure. I cannot really identify it other than a lingering feeling that I may be missing out if I don't achieve something worthwhile, and make a hefty living. Granted, I expect a lot of myself; many of us do. I would argue though that two additional things contribute to this urgency to be a "success". First off, the education system, focuses on sweeping successes rather than small gains. This generation expects immediate gratification for every effort. Our forefathers dedicated decades to an ideal or craft, and may have not ever done more than just survive day to day. And even that, was good enough.

Secondly, social media is readily accessible, in our faces even. We are reminded of others' every activity, thought, success, and happiness. A rat race to get more, be more, do more, and keep up. Funny though, I doubt people would post anything to a social media feed if it did not portray them beautifully. Accomplishments, noteworthy milestones, and super cool meals they are eating at awesome places. My mama always says rejoice in what you have. She is right. Someone else said comparison is the death of joy... and it is.

At the core, though, if we really drill down, there are very few activities vital to our contentment, and I for one want to ride on the Gioacchino's train and never get off. If can I put in an honest day's work, pick up some fine ingredients, and enjoy a meal with people I love, then that was a successful day. Note to self: Eat and Be Merry. Strive to reach your potential but have faith in the process and give thanks for the small miracles we all too often overlook. Nourishment is a gift to be appreciated.

Peace, Love and Pasta

The only thing in the world that is comparable to dear, unadulterated friendship is a good dish of pasta! Well actually, I should rephrase that. The only thing I can conceive of in the world that can enhance an already stellar get together among dear friends is a good dish of pasta. Needless to say, senior year has been dreadfully busy, hence the month or so since I last posted my thoughts. Yet, I have been eating, obviously, my fair share of good food and I will try my very best to maintain my sanity and post some adventures in eating. Luckily, I found some time to share a nice quiet evening with my three girlfriends to chat and catch up over a deep bowl of fusili with peas and smoked sausage.

It had been entirely too long since we had all spoken and it was incredibly rejuvenating to reconnect. The hustle and bustle of scholastics, extracurriculars, jobs, and social encounters keep us occupied seemingly incessantly. Among us is an Army officer applying to medical school, a passionate science student contemplating a career in research, and a pleasant, RA dreaming of her next trip to Italy. In finding time to share a meal, we discussed our latest concerns and frustrations but more importantly we shared our most recent victories, big and small. We dished about guys, lack of guys, or shall I say lack of good guys and our aspirations for the upcoming years. We giggled about 21st birthday blunders and even planned a repeat in the upcoming weeks. We can finally, legally share a drink together in a fine establishment rather than grabbing a bottle of wine and sitting in someone's bedroom on a random Saturday evening. With a little brother's coming of age, a handsome railroad economist meeting my lady bug pillow pal :/, a Dad settling into a new city, and a surprise visit to Wisconsin.... there are plenty of special adventures to look forward to. Senior year is tumultuous and disconcerting as we embark on the next chapter in our lives but one can be certain that the transition is less anxiety provoking with the help of fine food and finer girlfriends.

So grab your favorite girls, a box of Barilla, some tomato sauce, and a package of Pepperidge Farm's cookies and relish in the blessings of peace, love, and pasta.

Cookies in the Kitchen

What do you do when there are cookies in the kitchen? Well I know what I used to do. I would pour a nice tall glass of milk and grab four or five cookies. Get to dunking them and licking my fingers clean, crumbs in my lap and some chocolate around the corners of my mouth. My puppy Maggie Moo loves when there is anything on our faces, especially something sweet. But I cannot have four or five, can I? I'm not sure I should even have one. They are freshly baked and God knows how many calories they have. I imagine the number must be rather large...

So I walk inside from a long commmute, with a bit of a hunger headache starting to manifest. My nana went food shopping and bought me some fresh spinach, mixed baby greens, dried cranberries, sweet corn, and cucumbers for a nice salad. I love that combination for some reason. I anticipate a lovely salad as I open the door, and what do I see, or smell rather? Warm Toll House chocolate chip cookies. On the cooling rack for all to see. Obviously I had one...I had to. My will power was formidable at one point but it just broke down; so I had one and I felt bad but it was wonderful. Food-gasmic I like to say.

I tossed together a beautiful filling salad and added some tuna. Nana made my favorite dressing with olive oil and a bit of fresh lemon; it goes great with the crunchy greens and tuna. Paired with some lovely cherries, I had a yummy healthful meal but the cookie smell lingered. We happened to be babysitting, so I was diverted from the kitchen to take the baby for a walk. It was a little brisk outside and the sun was just setting, so it was a pleasant walk. I get home to see the cookies remain; I think they must be taunting me

Or perhaps my skinny mini sister that I adore does not realize just how much it sucks to cut back on the things you love to eat. If it was up to me, there would be no cookies in the house, but again that is not realism. So I have one cookie, brush the guilt aside since this lifestyle of living healthfully should be constant and not some fad or passing trend. Thinking of the end goal, I know that cookies in the kitchen will often happen, and other assortments and combinations of foods I should not have too, but life goes on... We all do.