Food, glorious food

I don’t know when or how it happened. I’m just glad it did. I went from being a typically picky eater as a child (plagued by food allergies) to being a teen who wouldn’t eat salad to being an adult who eats pretty much anything and everything.

My name is Christine, and I’m a foodie. (Hi, Christine.)

Comfort food, fast food, slow food, home-grown, home-made, take-out, eat-in, Thai-Indian-Vietnamese-Chinese-Italian-Greek-Mexican-Ethiopian, off the vine, out of the box, straight from the carton, organic, laced with preservatives, grilled, baked, broiled, fried, braised, nuked, fish, fowl, animal, vegetable, fruit. It’s pretty much all good.

Why the food obsession today? Because tonight is a free food night! No, I still have to pay for what I eat, but because the hubs is away for the evening doing nice things for his parents, I can eat ANYTHING I WANT.

I’m giddy with the possibilities.

Sure, when I was single, I ate what I wanted all the time (and I was at least 10 pounds lighter, thank you very much). But in my married role as chief cook, I try to make meals that please both of us. But because I have a much wider array of likes than Mike, I’m limited, unless I want to make two meals, and I rarely want to do that.

And I don’t mean to disparage the love of my life — many, many people I know and cook for are what I consider food-impaired. I can recite a list a mile long of who eats and doesn’t eat what — “no cooked carrots, no bananas, no pears, no mushrooms, no beets, no cucumbers, no tomatoes, no tofu, no garlic, no onions, no seafood, no nuts, no beans, no coffee.” No kidding. And no allergies involved — just pickyness.

You know those recipe sites where you enter the ingredients you have on hand and they come back to you with recipes? I need the opposite — a site where can I can enter “forbidden” foods and see what’s left!

It makes planning dinner party fare quite challenging. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to tell people, “Grow up and acquire a palate.” Or how grateful I am when I’m around like-minded foodies who appreciate the vast number of tastes, textures, and gustatory experiences the world offers. Or how fun it is to listen to “The Splendid Table” or hunker down in front of the Food Network and watch the pros cook.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a gourmet, or even a gourmand. Nor am I out there chowing down on frog legs or snails or haggis. I wouldn’t excel at the “food challenges” on Survivor or The Amazing Race. I just consider myself a well-rounded eater (oh, that came out so wrong, but so right).

And tonight I get to indulge, within reason. No, I won’t be cracking into a lobster, but I’m considering that last frozen salmon steak I’ve had hanging around the freezer for too long (Mike won’t eat seafood).

Or maybe I could stop and get Chinese take-out — that delightfully mega-calorie eggplant (although I made myself baba ganoush last night because eggplant was on sale at Wal-Mart — it’s heavenly!)

Or maybe I’ll just eat the marinated tofu I have in the fridge that I sometimes sneak into stir fry but Mike doesn’t really like. Or make that tofu and broccoli in peanut sauce I like.

Or mushrooms, something smothered in mushrooms!

Sushi? Sushi would be good, but the Giant Eagle out here doesn’t have it (I know, I know, sushi from the grocery store. But it’s the best I can sometimes do).

I better decide soon, though, or I’ll squander the opportunity. You know what happens…suddenly famished, must have food, so you eat whatever you can shove into your mouth, standing over the sink.

Maybe I should go low-tech. There’s a Subway in the hospital where I have yoga class tonight. A $5 tuna footlong with everything (no onions, no jalapenos — not because I don’t like them, mind you) might be calling my name. Ooooh, or tuna casserole! Yes! I have the tuna, noodles, mushroom soup, peas, cheese…

It’s good to have a plan.

There is no love sincerer than the love of food.
~ George Bernard Shaw

Then and now

Today’s excitement: a trip to the salon (formerly “the beauty parlor”…if only) for an overdue haircut and 20 blissful minutes of “me time.” (Is there anything better than someone else fixing your hair? Not in my world. Lamenting the $5 price increase, though.)

My stylist (formerly “beautician”), a 30-something mom of 2 girls, age 15 and 8, and her other client, also a mom, were talking about how much they worry about their kids all the time. Both encouraged their kids to text them throughout the day to let them know they arrived OK, got home OK, were generally OK, etc. Client mom mentioned her daughter even texted her from a slumber party to let her know they were going to sleep. (“Hi mom, love you…”)

I sat quietly in my chair, partly because I go nearly comatose when someone messes with my hair and partly because I’m not a mom and have nothing to add to conversations like those. But I kept thinking conflicting thoughts.

Angel on one shoulder: “Isn’t that nice — they’re so close to their kids.”

Devil on the other shoulder: “Are you kidding me? Can you say HELICOPTERING? I would have no more called my mom from a slumber party than I would have dished with her afterward about the Ouija board-‘she looks dead, she IS dead’-first girl asleep hand in warm water rituals that went on.”

Then, it was all about getting AWAY from your parents and grabbing whatever breathing space you could. Now, it seems all about keeping your parents around, even when they aren’t and you aren’t.

I’ve mused about the helicopter parents phenomenon before, and still don’t understand it. Is it a matter of today’s parents (my generation and younger) wanting to escape the heavier hand we were raised with? Is it a product of the scarier times we live in? Is it because the ability to communicate incessantly is instant and omnipresent? Is it about wanting to be the “fun parents” you didn’t have?

What kind of mom would I have been? I’ll always wonder. I’m sure I wouldn’t want to be like my parents (definitely not the fun kind), so maybe that means I’d automatically be more of a friendly hoverer. I wonder if it’s possible to raise independent, self-sufficient kids (i.e., able to survive in the “real world” — the one that involves working for a living, not the MTV house) who love you, but love their own space, too?

I can’t help chuckle, though, at the thoughts of what “texting” my mom would have been like — “Hi mom. At Lisa’s. Trying to figure out how we can go to boarding school to get away from you all…” (Seriously, we found one in the phone book and called to ask how much tuition was…$2080…in 1976 or thereabouts…we were astonished.) Or “Hi mom… Annie and her sister and I were at Houlihan’s (we got served!) and missed the last bus home so we hitched from the bus garage to Annie’s. Everything is fine.”

Not that being in constant contact means your kids tell you everything. But why do I think they’re telling WAY more than I ever would have?

Things ain’t what they used to be and probably never was.
~ Will Rogers

Halfway? Maybe.

We were at our neighbor’s yesterday for a delicious “Irish feast” as she called it — corned beef, cabbage, taters, & carrots; colcannon (decadent mashed potatoes); baked potato soup — it was soooo good. Her sister-in-law gave everyone a glass shamrock “favor.” Pitt managed to eke out (more like eek out) a tournament win. I drank apple wine from an Eastern PA winery (an amazing shade of lime jello green), and ate way too much dessert.

We almost didn’t go, though, because it meant leaving our DIY projects in process and losing several precious hours of work time. We’re making progress on the powder room, but it’s slow going. Both of us are so tired of it (Mike especially, as he does the majority of the work). Our neighbor even asked, “So, are you going to throw a bathroom party when you’re done?” “Sure, ” I said. “Everyone can come on over and have a tour — and a flush.” (As it will be “one of” the world’s smallest powder rooms, akin to a phone booth, it’ll be a very quick tour.)

Here’s where we are…doesn’t look like much, but we really have come a long way. So far, we’ve:

  • Remodeled the kitchen, which allowed us to move the refrigerator that used to occupy half the powder room space
  • Researched and found small fixtures, without which the project couldn’t happen
  • Stripped off plaster and lathe from walls & ceiling (multistep, multimess process)
  • Plumbed for sink and toilet
  • Installed plywood underfloor
  • Installed electrical for exhaust fan, light, and outlet
  • Framed out, insulated, and installed 3 walls

(Sorry for the funny angle. I have to take this from outside the house, while holding the storm door open and keeping the cats from getting out. This is looking toward the powder room door. The front hall is beyond that door. We won’t have this view ever again once we get the last wall up.)

32309-powder-room1

We’re far away from being able to party in it. We still have the fourth wall to install, ceiling to install, electrical to finish, platform to build to raise standard-height toilet to “comfort” height, trim to add (kind of elaborate), everything to be stained/painted, floor tile to install, more trim, fixtures to install… it’ll be a while yet.

So, as much as I can’t wait for the weather to get warm and stay warm, it better stay uncomfortably cool for a while longer yet. Otherwise neither of us will be able to stand to be indoors, laboring in what will be a 38″ x 45″ space. Especially not when there’s a big, bad, beautiful sunroom to be built out of what still looks like this (the ground has sunk so much where we had to dig it up for the sewer repair that Mike’s had to re-prop the porch up three different times).

frontporch32309

But…it’s all progress. We’ll get there.

Perseverance is the hard work you do after you
get tired of doing the hard work you already did.
~ Newt Gingrich

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