Love from the Garden

Sending a little love from our summer garden to you!

Picky Eaters Need Not Apply

If love is a transcending experience, then I’m convinced food is the barometer for it.

I’ve theorized about this subject in the past, but pushed it aside when I stumbled upon dating prospects who lack an interest in food. I almost saw this as a redeeming quality, for perhaps I could be the one to give them a new appreciation. I now realize what a mistake that was.

My last few dating attempts proved this theory and could have spared me a lot of time and heartbreak had I recognized it at the time.

Most recently was Jim, your classic meat and potatoes guy- but way down at the Hamburger Helper and boxed mashed potato end. You all know him- this is the guy who orders chicken parmesan at a nice restaurant and it’s the most exotic thing he’s ever had. He refuses to eat anything green besides Caesar salad, but thinks he’s health conscious by drinking protein shakes and eating egg white omelettes. 

Being with him made me think of the cowboy’s credo from City Slickers, that food should be “hot, brown, and there’s plenty of it.” He cringed when I made him runny yolk scrambled eggs cooked in bacon fat. Even when he couldn’t deny how much more delicious they were than his bland, low cholesterol preference, I could tell he was calculating how many extra miles he’d have to run to make up for the damage.

He also hated dessert. I can’t even get started on this. 

Next was Adrian, who had the palate of a 5-year-old. Though I must give him credit for trying new things, he would squeeze his eyes shut upon tasting the tiniest speck of something unfamiliar as if it was burning his lips. He’d then promptly announce, “I don’t like it.” He hated everything.  

I must take responsibility, for even on the first date, I was forewarned. After singing the praises of cheese due to my Wisconsin upbringing, he paused before flatly responding, “I don’t like cheese.” This alone was worthy of being a deal breaker. As I let the statement fully resonate, he turned to me and reassured me, “But I do love pizza.” I ignored my intuition and forged on, since his snarky puns were priceless and mozzarella cheese is only four bucks a pound.

Danny was the most difficult to pin-point. He loved food and cooking new things, he was open-minded to food adventures and curious about trends and the buzz. For this, my hat goes off to him as he coins himself a “wannabe foodie.” Going out to eat with him was a blast, so long as I discreetly added a few bucks to his tip on our way out, but that’s another story. We never went to the same place twice, he was humble and not afraid to ask questions about the menu, and there was nothing he wouldn’t try. 

For me, the mismatch lay in how he ate. He was someone who would eat a candy bar with a knife and fork. When we cooked together, he would gingerly roll up his sleeves over his delicate corporate wrists and touch food with his fingertips to avoid getting too dirty. He hounded me when I added things to the pot, asking “how much salt was that?” or “is this considered a small dice or a brunoise?” I don’t know, it’s an 8-o’clock-and-we-haven’t-had-dinner-yet chop. He wasn’t amused.

And why did you continue? you ask. I have no excuse. Maybe I didn’t want to discriminate against anti-foodies or be a food snob. Maybe I wanted to be the mentor they needed to break the chain of being a bad eater. Or maybe I was just following my heart when I should have followed my stomach.

Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon, they say. Can you do one recklessly and not the other? If one can’t comfortably rub a chicken in butter or do blind taste tests when I hold out a spoon, how can they possibly love me when I come home from work with flour in my hair and chocolate on the backs of my arms? 

The beauty of love is in spontaneity and the adventure of the unknown. The beauty of food is trying new things, exploring another culture and breaking from pattern and comfort. In a busy world of routine, food can be the most accessible way to make each day different and memorable. What other way could a relationship deepen than with a dose of dining together with a little spontaneity in the menu? For many couples, breaking bread is the only quality time they can get on a daily basis.

So gentlemen, I implore you. Let her eat off your plate. Try what she has when she holds out her fork. Order dessert. Bring home that weird thing you saw at the grocery store. Even if it turns out to be terrible, you will probably have a new inside joke or learn something about your loved one.

The Kiss

Warning: this post doesn't really have much to do with anything. It's just an excuse to show you something cute. Namely, my roommate's puppy kissing my friend, Chuck.

That's all.

A Friend Surprise

This week has been a whirlwind of celebrating birthdays, love, new projects and inspiration. Yesterday, I had my first session of physical therapy. Success! In one five minute exercise of resistance and deep tissue massage, I recovered 10% of lost range of motion in my arm. It was exhausting, but very encouraging- it means I only have 10% to go! My stiff broken wing is on its way to healing and with a little patience, it will get there.

One does get a little blue with injury or sickness. As minor an injury as it may be, being limited can get ya down in the dumps at times no matter how positive you keep your outlook. The good news is that returning to yoga can come before climbing, and with the okay from my doctor, I can return to one of my other "physical therapies" and get back into my regular routine. Just a couple more weeks if all goes well!

As I drove home, I got a text from long-time friend Amber, asking if I was around. I wrote back, half-thinking she had sent it to my by accident, since she lives an hour away and was unlikely to have business at the coast. I turned onto my road, just as she was turning around to find me in town. Surprise!

It had been close to 5 or 6 months since I'd last seen her, but we picked up like it had only been days. We sorted through months of relationship, professional and emotional clutter. We swapped books and laughed. We went to a dive bar and drank beers out of cans while discussing exercise routines and quotes from Portlandia. We filled up on friendship.

Amber is the no-nonsense best friend who calls it like she sees it and respects people enough to give them all honesty, all the time. She will let you know when you have something stuck in your teeth or when you need to be told something you don't want to hear. She gives the best hugs that only a big sister knows how to give. Everyone deserves an Amber in their life.

I'm so lucky I've already got one.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I was this close to feeling the sting of singleness this Valentine's Day until my roommate, Sugar, knocked some sense into me with a reminder of how the love in your life is not dictated by your relationship status.

So instead of getting lonely, we watched Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead (how did I survive childhood without ever seeing that movie?) and made valentines. At last, I found a use for the intricate paper cuts I brought home from China!

Dad, can you guess which one is yours? 

As if Sugar wasn't already one of the most talented and driven ladies I've had the privilege to know, she's also a tremendous artist. This was her valentine to her parents, which moved me to tears. Yep, I'm a gal with a lot of feelings. (Of course, Sugar humbly declares she's had little experience with portraits.) 

Wishing you lots of love today and every day.

Just for Today

"The intellect cuts things, the heart sews them together." Mata Amrita- andamayi

Sometimes we just need a little reminder of this.

 

A Picture I Saw on Facebook that I Really Love

This makes my heart smile.

I'm such a cornball. So lucky there are people who love me for it!

Puppies!

I'm just want to warn you right now, there is some ridiculous cuteness about to follow. 

That's right, puppies! My roommate just adopted two sweetie pie huskies who moved in on Wednesday (which ended up being one of the happiest days of my life). We've been overwhelmed by the cuteness these last couple days and the house is full of love. (The cats, of course, are less than pleased.)

 Sugar will keep one of the girls at our house and the other will go to her parents so they can still hang out every day. We just have to decide which gal goes where, and what to name them.

 I'm secretly calling this one Bear, and may have whispered it into her ear once or twice.

I'm not even kidding. They are seriously this cute.

I'm determined to be the best dog auntie ever!

I'm trying to keep from falling into a puppy coma, but if you don't hear from me for a while, you'll know where I am.

Absolutely Scrabulous

I'm 30 years old and I just learned to play Scrabble.  I know, it's like meeting a college kid who doesn't know how to drive.  I've resisted board games for years because of my propensity to being a sore loser. Since I'm trying to cross things off my list, it's time I got over it and join, even if I can't beat 'em.

The women in my family have a gift for Scrabble playing, but I never got that gene.  My mom is particularly strategic and can crush her opponents by over a hundred points.  She is so cute and seemingly harmless when she plays games, so new opponents never see it coming.  She learned from her mother, who was especially merciless at games.

I asked her to teach me.

I love vocabulary, language and word games.  I played the app with my best friend on Facebook and always got creamed.  Turns out there were a lot of rules I didn't know.

"Mom's really good," my brother warned me.

"I'm really bad," I warned her.  So we played an open hand and took it step by step with her Mr. Miyagi to my Ralph Macchio.

Did you know that different tiles have different point values?  And that you can tack one letter onto places that can make it two words, giving you points for tiles that weren't even yours?  Here I thought it was just about getting rid of all your tiles!

I got a seven-letter word in that open hand (so what if it included a trade with my mom) and learned some clever tricks.  Like always respect the two letter words.  You can't go wrong with the X tile.  No looking up words before your turn.  And if you put down a made up word and are challenged and proven guilty, no points for that round.

I'm sure my grandmother up in heaven is smiling down on the birth of a new Scrabble player.  I still have my work cut out for me.

Cleaving

What amazes me about reading is when you find that perfect book for that perfect time in your life.  Since I've been slowly trudging through books ever since I moved here from New York (where commuting gave me over 2 hours a day for reading), it is always incredible to find a book I don't want to put down and can get through in less than a few weeks.

For me, that book was Cleaving, by Julie Powell.  You may remember Powell from the heartwarming Julie and Julia.  Well, forget her.  Cleaving is the evil twin, the story of a dark time when Powell worked in a butcher shop while she was in a wrenching affair.  The parallels she draws between breaking down meat and tumultuous relationships are poetic and relevant.  Though dark and ugly, the writing is brutally honest and vulnerable, which takes a lot of guts (did I mention the parallels?).  At a time when I couldn't be more disenchanted by food and love, this was the absolute perfect read.  This takes something as rudimentary as butchery or love, and shows the multi-layered complexity through beauty and ugliness.

At last, the part of me that always found butchery to be intriguing is finally understood by another.  I am this close to walking into Willowside Meats and asking for a job.