Last summer was a bad time for me. A baaaaaad time. After I got out of the hospital I was anxious to get home but smart enough to know that wasn’t the wisest choice. That’s one of the things that people who loooove the freedom of living alone don’t often consider. Long story short, particularly because I wrote about it often enough last summer, I spent several weeks at my daughter’s getting my feet and other body parts used to stepping in time for themselves. And even after I ventured back to my lonesome life, the child of mine continued to assist with daily activities that eventually morphed into weekly activities that now ultimately has settled at one weekly activity.
It’s been seven months, 3 minor procedures, two rounds of physical therapy, and one new ongoing exercise routine since my reentry into “the outside world” and if I say so myself I’m just as good as new! Or at least as good as the average slighty used, only driven on Sunday, new inspection but no warranty, as is, all sales final, yet you’ll still get some decent use out of it. Certainly well enough that household chores aren’t much problem as long as I stay away from “the big vacuum” and split my grocery shopping into no more than 10 pound bags. As far as cooking is concerned, especially since the last round of therapy, I can stand in the kitchen and slave over a hot stove as well as I ever could (as long as I don’t use the big cast iron skillet) (that weight limit goes in the kitchen too you know). Still, yesterday my daughter was over for our weekly 4 hour cooking extravaganza and we prepared a week’s worth of meals for the both of us – me because I need the help and she because she is so busy during the week. Except neither of those is true.
Why do we still do this? Because it’s fun! I’ve always been good in the kitchen but as a 60-something Italian-American it most often involved red meat, red tomatoes, and fresh cheese. Add a glass of wine and I had the 4 basic food groups at every meal. The daughter has always been good in the kitchen but as a 30 year old urbanite her refrigerator has things like leftover pad thai, vegetables of every color, and a token chicken breast to satisfy the occasional meat craving. Fortunately wine rounds out her fourth food group also. Different color but still it was a common starting point.
I firmly believe if you want to put people together, regardless of how different they spend the rest of the week there should be one day each week they must cook together. It is much too difficult to complain about trivial matters like politics and religion while you’re trying desperately to whisk fast enough to make mayonnaise knowing no store bought stuff will make a good enough base for your Romesco. And when you can’t get your point across about why you think your way might be better, an immediate taste test removes all doubt and answers all questions.
After 7 months of cooking with each other we’ve both expanded our tolerances and are practicing cultural inclusion through yummy dishes from every continent except Antarctica. (Being involved Pittsburgh hockey fans neither of us is in a hurry to add penguin to our meal prep.) (Another common point.) Oh if only the rest of the world could come over every Sunday afternoon we’d all be doing so much better.
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Oh hey, not that it has anything to do with anything else but today, the last Monday in January, is Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day. Thought you might want to pop that in your calendars, you know, just for the heck of it.
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