By now I'm certain that you dear readers
are tired of reviewing my social calendar.
Let me assure you that I was even more
exhausted. Then suddenly... it came to an
almost complete halt. You see, my better
half has returned to Manhattan and now
I don't have to go anywhere but HOME.
The fact is there is nothing better than a
home cooked meal. A little bit of love
served chez moi simply makes one happy.
Frank loves to cook. While I prefer to
stick to a fairly standard repertoire of
tried and true recipes, Frank's always
searching for something new. Much
like other aspects of our life together,
many times his trial runs become my
standard issue. It's wonderful that he's
willing to test the waters for both of us
and the majority of the time, he hits the
meatball out of the ball park! Given
I rarely have time or patience, he does.
That fuels his capricious culinary capers
that add quite a bit of spice to our lives.
As a boy my Dad cooked the bacon on
Sunday mornings. That scent reeked of
love! Upon exiting the elevator, getting
a sniff of one's impending dinner is just
as intoxicating as a trip to the JAR shop
at Bergdorfs. It immediately signals that
time and effort has transpired. You know
that somebody has been thinking about
you while you were out. Most important,
the floating fragrance of a home cooked
repast confirms that you are loved. Little
else makes you feel as welcomed, and
little more satisfies one's hungry heart.
Don't get me wrong. We both enjoy an
evening out on the town. However like
anything else, if repetitious, it quickly
becomes banal. As expected, I do have
my favorites and Frank occasionally is
able to convince me to try somewhere
new. Invariably he's right. Given what
I enjoy most is his company, any old
place is fine with me. However if asked
to select between Le Bernardin, Marea,
Le Grenouille, or Twenty One, I must
admit that my preference would be to
enjoy a quiet meal with Frank at home.
When I first met Frank I was certainly
not the most adventurous of foodiphiles.
Ethel preferred to serve classic WASP
fare. That meant that if it wasn't boiled
or broiled beyond recognition, she didn't
like it. Mother's weekly menu rarely if
ever changed and therefore offered little
interest for those subjected to it annually.
When I learned to cook, Julia Child was
my teacher and so for many years after
anything French was de rigeur. A classic
Taurean, I found my groove and had no
intention of wavering from it.
Over the years Mr. V has gently pushed
me to expand my palate. While I'll never
claim to enjoy juicing, macro biotic fare,
or uncooked cuisine, I do love trying new
things. We've found that our recipe for
happiness is a balanced relationship. The
ultimate comfort food is sharing anything
with your beloved. Suddenly even the most
mundane fare becomes gourmet due to
who is sitting across the table from you.
Partnership simply adds a little extra spice.
No matter what's on the menu, I'm ready to
enjoy a heaping portion of love anytime!
