Thought for Food

how-tokissdistinctly-american (via pleatedjeans)

People are either dog people or cat people. It’s sometimes difficult to tell how much of the other species someone can tolerate or welcomes.

Yeah, I’ve never gotten that whole dog person vs. cat person thing. If you’ll forgive me, I think it betrays a lack of imagination. I would as soon declare I prefer cats to dogs or dogs to cats as I would claim I prefer men to women or women to men.

I want both in my life.*

And for the record, if we’re gonna simplify it, dogs = women and cats = men. Just think about it for like five minutes, you’ll understand. (And if you don’t, ask me in my ask box and I’ll tell ya what my dad told me when I was 14. )

*Not being into animals at all, though — that I can understand: they’re called my parents.

Bryan Cranston (via somethingchanged)

Oooh this is good. This, in a nutshell, is probably why M. and I fight approximately 90% less than we did four, three, two years ago. There was a time when we just wanted the other to recognize The One True Truth and how bout you fuck off if you don’t. Not the best way to build a relationship, not the best way to get through life.

But now, we can negotiate. There’s room for that. There’s room for feeling differently about things. There’s even room — maybe — for Two True Truths. Most important, there’s room to recognize we’re still pulling on the same end of the rope, to steal a terrific phrase from Emily.

Mind you, we’re still working on it, but we’re getting there.

(The other reason we don’t fight nearly as much? You just get tired of it. It’s sort of like how there was a time you thought you would never not have sex with him every time you got in bed with him. Hell, every time you got near a flat surface alone with him. And then, over time, you find you can. You don’t think it’ll happen to you, but it will. It happens to every couple. it’s unfortunate and it’s inevitable but the other side of that coin, for us, is we also fight less, and that is good. No — it’s essential.)

Interesting, though I would say that true friendship is actually commitment + intimacy.

PS: Once when we were in college Liz made Julie promise she’d be her friend for ten years. I’m not gonna promise that! she said, I’m not sure why, I think it was just the way Liz was demanding it. (She can be rather … forceful … at times.)

Well, Liz got her wish, and now we’ve locked her in for life.

(Source: yimmyayo, via darklamb)

On the first day of spring, we brought Zoe home.

And today we celebrate M.’s birthday with dinner at home — I’m thinking duck ragou — because we can hardly be away from her.

Best birthday ever or best birthday ever?

Me and M. ‘til the end of time.

(Source: mrslong12, via balancingegoasaleo)

Look at my smoochypants parents! Look at ‘em!

Isn’t it GROSS?

Isn’t it ANNOYING?

Shouldn’t there be a RULE against this sort of thing??

Twenty-two years ago, when we moved in with Shelley, I thought so.

Rules of the Family, I wrote.

At the top:

NO KISSING.

And you better believe I enforced that shit. Nothing like a nine-year-old to kill the mood.

…

Several years later, my little sister made her own Family Rules.

She wasn’t a kid dealing with a dad getting re-married and a woman who maybe wanted to be her mom.

No.

Her concerns were more straight-forward, perhaps, but no less important.

At the top of her list:

NO BOTHERING PEOPLE WHILE THEY ARE IN THE BATHROOM.

And I gotta say — its her rule that stands the test of time.

‘Cause it warms this here heart to see my parents makin’ kissy-face now.

But leave me the eff alone when I’m in the john.

(Photo by my Aunt Tami.)

Marina Abramovic meets Ulay

“Marina Abramovic and Ulay started an intense love story in the 70s, performing art out of the van they lived in. When they felt the relationship had run its course, they decided to walk the Great Wall of China, each from one end, meeting for one last big hug in the middle and never seeing each other again. at her 2010 MoMa retrospective Marina performed ‘The Artist Is Present’ as part of the show, a minute of silence with each stranger who sat in front of her. Ulay arrived without her knowing it and this is what happened.”

(via carlosbaila)

(via asie)

If you’ve been reading this for quite some time, you may remember the February when M.’s friend Elizabeth came to town. She had a memoir she was promoting, something called Lunch in Paris.

I was very much looking forward to meeting her.

Here was a published food memoirist (it’s a thing, trust me)…

Here was one of M.’s dearest, oldest friends…

Here was a woman living the dream — the married-to-a-Frenchman, living-in-Paris dream….

But I was apprehensive, too. M. and I had been together only a year. I was seven years younger than them, possibly foolish, definitely not as accomplished. What would she think of me?

Turns out I needn’t have worried. I’ve met few women as generous with their support and easy warmth as Elizabeth. I’ve even come to love her.

There was one moment of weirdness, though.

On the way to Elizabeth’s book party, I picked up M.’s ex-girlfriend (we’re modern like that). As we arrived, it seemed like all of Elizabeth’s family and friends were fawning over her. 

“You’re famous! You’re in the book!”

Wait, what?

She’s in the book?

I was caught off guard, to say the least.

Turns out, she’s in the book.

So is M.

It’s a heart-breaking, beautiful chapter. Ostensibly a chapter about New Yorkers in Paris — but really, a chapter about grace, survival, and love in the face of unthinkable tragedy.

If you’ve read it — and I know many of you have — you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about (though you may not have realized it was him’til now).

If you haven’t — you should.

To be honest, it took me a long while to come to terms with that chapter.

It took me a long while to come to terms with the life M. lived just before he met me.

I am here to say it was all worth it.

Tonight, when he returned from Maine with lobster and saucer-sized scallions and announced that he was “making one of my published recipes!” and then he showed me our copy of Lunch in Paris, cracked open to his chapter, I didn’t even wince.

I rejoiced in this familia putativa we’ve created.

Herewith, a recipe. Adapted with love.

Scallops with Champagne Custard

Adapted from Lunch in Paris by Elizabeth Bard 

… who got it from some guy named Mayur.

12 scallops, in their shells (or 4 gigantic Maine ones)

1/4 cup champagne (or wine-like, mead-y beer, such as Dogfish Head’s Noble Rot. It was what we had on hand, and if anyone can experiment with this recipe, I’m pretty sure it’s M….)

1/4 cup seafood stock

1/4 cup heavy cream 

3 egg yolks

Shell and thoroughly rinse the scallops; set aside in a bowl on the counter. Line 1-2 baking sheets with aluminum foil. Rinse the top half of each shell and set aside for baking and serving.

In a small saucepan over medium heat, reduce the champagne/beer by half, then set aside to cool.

Meanwhile, in a second small saucepan, combine the fish stock and any scallop juice collected at the bottom of the bowl; reduce by half. Lower the heat and add the cream. Bring just to a boil and then take off the heat. 

Transfer the cooled champagne to a medium mixing bowl, add the egg yolks, and whisky until foamy. Slowly add the hot cream mixture, whisking continuously. This is the beginning of your custard. Transfer it back to the saucepan.

Over low heat, whisk the custard until it coats the back of a wooden spoon. This will take a good 10-15 minutes. Don’t attempt to rush it by turning up the heat, or your custard will separate. 

Preheat the broiler.

Optional: cut each scallop in half horizontally, so you have two even coins. If they are especially thick, you might want to cut them in thirds. (Note: ours were huge and we chose not to cut them at all; it’s a matter of how well-done you like your scallops.)

Arrange scallop shells on the baking sheets. Arrange the scallops/scallop slices in each shell. Top with a tablespoon or two of custard. 

Put pan under the broiler for 1-2 minutes; serve immediately. Repeat with remaining pan of scallops, if you have one.

Elizabeth’s note: “Prepared this way, the scallops will remain almost raw, like a lightly poached carpaccio. I love them, but if you prefer you can sear the scallops in a small frying pan and spoon over warm custard just before serving. The custard almost makes a superb sauce for pasta.”

Yield: 3-4 as an appetizer.