Dinner
Tonight Ed and Jodi had all the college kids who have been coming to our church over for dinner, along with another professor who has been attending, and me. I stopped eating about 3 hours ago and I'm still almost uncomfortably full--it's really delightful.
If I were telling this story to Julie, she would ask, rapt, with a quiet that would belie the casual question itself: "What did you have?"
So, here goes: we had a fruit cup, vegetables and dip (my little contribution), pot roast sliced very thin and as tender as prime rib, chicken breasts wrapped in proscuitto or some kind of ham and cooked in white sauce just until they were about to melt, green beans with bacon and brown sugar, very rich and creamy mashed potatoes (they apparently have sour cream and cream cheese in them, plus lots of butter I'm guessing), and three kinds of pie (Julie would not let me get away with not saying which three kinds): banana fudge, peanut butter, and apple cream. All unusual and delectable choices. Plus the table was beautiful--there were candles everywhere, on the table, in the centerpiece, on the mantel and the fireplace, all around the room, and garlands on the backs of the chairs--all those things that feel like home and Christmas.
At one point, I walked by Jodi as she was getting some dishes out, and I felt so much about her the way I feel about my own mom or sister that I almost reached out and smacked her on the rear end as I went by. Luckily, I remembered just in time that this might take her--not to mention all the college students--by surprise.
But the thing that reminded me of my mom was the extravagance of it--the sheer lavish unnecessariness of the many kinds of food and lovely decorative details. Even when I was making the little vegetable tray, I felt irritated because the store didn't have grape tomatoes, which my mother always includes on the tray when we make this dip. I did get the obligatory carrots, broccoli, and celery, plus a cucumber, three kinds of peppers, and two kinds of olives, but my mom would also have had cauliflower (which I forgot while I was in the store) and green onions (out of season I think).
Since I'm not in the environments that my mom creates as much anymore, I think my standards are slipping. I cook one entree and one dessert. I cut back a little at a time, use a little less butter and salt, and then I forget how wonderful it is until I go home--or visit somebody else's.
If I were telling this story to Julie, she would ask, rapt, with a quiet that would belie the casual question itself: "What did you have?"
So, here goes: we had a fruit cup, vegetables and dip (my little contribution), pot roast sliced very thin and as tender as prime rib, chicken breasts wrapped in proscuitto or some kind of ham and cooked in white sauce just until they were about to melt, green beans with bacon and brown sugar, very rich and creamy mashed potatoes (they apparently have sour cream and cream cheese in them, plus lots of butter I'm guessing), and three kinds of pie (Julie would not let me get away with not saying which three kinds): banana fudge, peanut butter, and apple cream. All unusual and delectable choices. Plus the table was beautiful--there were candles everywhere, on the table, in the centerpiece, on the mantel and the fireplace, all around the room, and garlands on the backs of the chairs--all those things that feel like home and Christmas.
At one point, I walked by Jodi as she was getting some dishes out, and I felt so much about her the way I feel about my own mom or sister that I almost reached out and smacked her on the rear end as I went by. Luckily, I remembered just in time that this might take her--not to mention all the college students--by surprise.
But the thing that reminded me of my mom was the extravagance of it--the sheer lavish unnecessariness of the many kinds of food and lovely decorative details. Even when I was making the little vegetable tray, I felt irritated because the store didn't have grape tomatoes, which my mother always includes on the tray when we make this dip. I did get the obligatory carrots, broccoli, and celery, plus a cucumber, three kinds of peppers, and two kinds of olives, but my mom would also have had cauliflower (which I forgot while I was in the store) and green onions (out of season I think).
Since I'm not in the environments that my mom creates as much anymore, I think my standards are slipping. I cook one entree and one dessert. I cut back a little at a time, use a little less butter and salt, and then I forget how wonderful it is until I go home--or visit somebody else's.
posted by Tara | 11:27 PM
7 Comments:
Way to write for your audience, Tara! Actually, I'm a sucker for good food-lit, too.
Ha ha, Lee . . . as if! Dottie, in reviewing my blog I find an almost embarrassing number of posts devoted solely to recounting meals I have eaten.
Frank, recently another friend witnessed my ordering a sizable sundae and observed, "Tara, you eat foods that probably should have their own zip code."
Still, maybe the very fullest I've been in recent history was Joan's birthday that one year . . . I can still feel the pain!
Yeah! how the HECK are you so skinny, woman? Do you just pick and choose your moments?
(see my blog soon for one reason I'm not.) :)
I think I might have seen you eat that cheeseburger with Frank!! You can really haul down the food sister! Being in my late 40's and on the "chubby" side I would like to know where you put it all. It's a good thing that I'm such a "mature" Christian and have no envy or jealousy.
Kate: I haven't seen you in a while, but I don't know what you could be talking about, especially with those gorgeous wedding photos!
PJ: I would never have described you as chubby. You are radiant. :)
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