Living with new life of any kind is not necessarily restful. Our puppy (just barely a year old now) is proof enough of that, barking from his kennel at 7:00 am on the first day of spring vacation. (Doesn't he know the one thing a teenager really wants to do on break is sleep?!) I took the morning watch so Kate could luxuriate in the freedom of no school, and found myself after a couple of hours searching the cookbooks for a special "First Day of Spring Break-fast".
It may seem strange, but now that I am not able to eat a regular diet, I want to cook. I crave the creative process, the sights and smells of cooking, the feel of food in my hands, if not in my mouth. While Kate is appreciative, she is also a bit incredulous, and keeps asking "Doesn't it bother you to cook and not eat, to see me eating in front of you?"
Perhaps what I am discovering is something which real chefs understand in their bones: the visceral connection we all have to food. It carries so many emotions, memories, and meanings for us culturally and individually. But when you get beyond all that, we are touched by that which nourishes and sustains us. And we need somehow to touch back.
So the menu for the morning included granola pancakes, crispy bacon and one poached egg, fresh orange juice and hot vanilla tea. Tonight I'm thinking it will be mediterranean marinated salmon, artichoke pasta with feta and kalamata olives, and steamed asparagus. Anyone free for supper?
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