Friday, June 17, 2005

Domestic Fight

I’ve fought this foe before. Last night, I spied upon it and thought less of it than it was. I slunk away, my ass beat, my feelings hurt and laid a trap for the second battle.

Tonight, I returned. Did the warm water and detergent do its work, I wondered? I worked my way towards her, still shy and wincing. In a moment that shocked me, I pushed Dutch ovens and pots and fryer pans away and attacked her, savagely.

Her beauty is one seductive and sure. From the moment I saw her, I imagined creating comfort foods from my youth, food that made me think of Mama, made me think of being a child and those rich foods I enjoyed in my youth. We discovered my Mama’s macaroni casserole together. We flipped it adding cheeses that would have made Mama faint and grab at her heart. We used soy milk, then vanilla-flavored soy milk, and then, sacrilege of all sacrilege, put vanilla extract in it to expand and sharpen the taste adding a depth to the cheese and soy milk and yet melding perfectly with coarse ground pepper and thyme.

I think I heard Mama scream that night.

So fly, so fabulous is she, she made the artichoke heart dish I made for Ryan, the Meat-Eater, birthday, look fly. She didn’t skip a beat! But in the six years I have known her acquaintance, I never battled, as I did tonight getting off: stick-on cheese.

Ryan made this one. He didn’t add the gobs of butter and you know what? I didn’t miss it. (I never used as much as Mama, but I like a good bit. Come on, I love Ina Garten: The Barefoot Contessa!) However, I was fighting the battle of my life. Planting my feet, centering my spine, bringing my sway-back slightly forward, you know, fighting as if on molten fire to save my Glorious Gal. Then, she pointed to my weapon and laughed at me. I “ahhed” and got the right weapon and she came clean in a sweep. It was beautiful. Wish you were there.

1 Comments:

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