It's come to my attention that I've been a little lax in updating the blog lately. I apologize profusely for such callousness, and shall endeavor to remedy the situation presently, as have decided that attending "Chemistry of Art and Artifacts" this morning would be a waste of time. Hey, I had a 'phone interview' for a job this summer, so I'm justifying it that way. As if I ever needed to rationalize things, ha!
I didn't do anything this weekend, in the same way that I haven't been doing anything for the past two weeks, which is to say I've been busy as hell. I remember having remarked what seems like ages ago that "I probably wouldn't even have time for a relationship" this semester, so now that someone actually wants to spend time with me (shock of shocks, I'm still having trouble processing this...), my ordinary schedule thrown together with nuts and bolts, barely able to withstand minor alterations, goes to hell. That said, I can't imagine a more pleasant way to destroy my monotonous routine.
Occasionally, to soothe away the weekday tradition of hurriedly prepared and eaten meals, running out the door to [insert meeting here], I have to remind myself that cooking makes me happy. On Friday, after a long day at Hot Soup, I dozed off on the train. An inauspicious start to another Hot, Hot Friday Night? Yes, perhaps. Famished by the time my partially frozen fingers managed to pry open our off-kilter door, in about 6.7 seconds I set up the kitchen for dinner.
Grabbed the "Tango" soundtrack from deep within my desk drawer where it had been buried all semester, cranked up the stereo, and lit a burner on the stove almost before I'd finished chopping up the quarter onion that I needed for risotto. As the percussion swelled and the accordion wailed desde un país muy muy lejos, my diced onions, garlic, and pine nuts sizzled away on the stove. Then, once the inital rush of sauteeing and deglazing the now aromatic pan was over, I took some time do wash the dishes. At the sink, a sense of calm enveloped me along with steamy risotto fumes. Its so relaxing to stand there knowing that the rice would sit there beside me tranquilly, absorbing the scents of thyme and sage as the chicken broth bubbled away. There's a fantastically uplifting feeling involved in finishing up a meal in my slippers, grating some salty parmesan over a bowl of hot ristotto, puring myself a glass of wine and twirling out of the kitchen to a heartwrenching tango, dinner in hand.
I sat there in my rolling desk chair with my yummy meal, Tango blaring out of my computer, kicked my feet up on the couch, and read a few pages of "The Soul of a Chef," feeling extraordinarily content, gastronomically speaking. I get a call telling me to expect company, who arrives conveniently as I'm enjoying dessert: a small chunk of Ghirardhelli dark to go with last of the red wine, and who proceeds to give me a shoulder massage. I almost fell out of my chair, I was so relaxed. Fantastic.
Then, on Saturday I got to actually blow glass for the first time since August, neatly negating the icky feeling that was hanging over me due to sinus infection and nearly missing my trains. Even went for run outside on Sunday, which, while it nearly killed me on the hills, was envigorating. I even remembered to
1. go grocery shopping (and even succumbed to the temptation of the holiday Martha Stewart Living)
2. call my sister to organize logistics of next weekend's adventure
3. have quality chat with roommate, of whom I have not seen much lately
4. attend film screening of "M" for class
5. get 8 hours of sleep.
And now it's Monday, so work begins again. I've got to be on the ball this week if I am indeed going to be gallavanting all over the Northeast corridor. Ha, yeah, like that's likely. In any case, I should at least pretend like I'm on task. Hasta pronto, todos.
Good enough, Charlie? =)
No comments:
Post a Comment