I owe you a new recipe. It’s been awhile. I know this – I have my eye on you, and I know that look. It’s the one that says that a complimentary picture of bread and olive oil [with cheese! and red wine!] isn’t going to smooth things over.
There was! But now that my pantry is not my mother’s pantry…we’re working with Dijon mustard, questionably cheap balsamic vinegar, and [not extra-virgin] olive oil. Lemons, too – when I remember to buy some.
I’m still cooking; my meals just haven’t been meals that I want you to know about. Exhibit A:
That dish may or may not be in my regular rotation. In all honesty, my kitchenette has become good for grains, chicken, [consistently overcooked] frozen vegetables, and not much else.
The weekends have become my saving grace. I have salmon every Saturday night. When I master smoking it myself, you’ll be the first to know.
And Sunday is fun too; Sundays are sample days. There are so many markets here. This week I tried edible flowers and black bass ceviche.
I also spent an inordinate amount of time observing pie pops and pretty pasta…
And just a little bit more time than I’d like thinking about The Road Not Taken.
A month ago I had a boyfriend and a job waiting for me in the south of France. I’d never ridden on a subway, dealt with a super, or cut a check. I’d never spent any length of time in a big city [couldn’t even have imagined it!], and I’d never taken an un-cushioned risk.
The jury’s still out on whether or not NYC was the right choice – but the struggle feels right. It feels absolutely right, even when it feels absolutely awful.
And when the day-to-day doesn’t feel like so much of a struggle anymore, I’ll get back to recipe writing. I can feel that too.