About
Food is all about balance. Not too salty, not too sweet, with just enough spice to knock at the door, but not so much as to overstay its welcome. It’s a push-pull tug of war on the palate, but when the right combination is struck, few other things can compare. Like food, my life right now is about hovering around an invisible median: Be polite, but don’t be a pushover. Be feminine, but don’t be helpless. Be hopeful about the future, but don’t be quick to make plans that are surely subject to change. Be smart, but don’t be a know-it-all. But sometimes I wonder if my middle-of-the-road attitude about everything doesn’t actually inhibit me from being totally passionate about any one thing. Maybe my supposed favor for logic and reasoning is really just a disguise for my fear of total spontaneity. Maybe one day, in a moment of total clarity, I’ll decide the answer. For now, less thinking and more eating. And cooking. But mostly eating.Following
“I have never seen [my mom] in such a state than when my ex-husband left. Just two days before he left she had made him her special roast and potatoes. He ate it all as he was hatching his devious departure. When he left and I was sobbing on her shoulder, she kept muttering, “He ate my roast. How dare he eat my roast right in front of me while he was planning on leaving!””
[Yup]
