Food is the one elementary need we all have, feeding a comfort we can share, especially in troubled times. I finally remembered this and slapped myself out of isolation funk. Then I pulled a large bag of bones from the freezer to make beef stock.
It’s not hyperbolic to say the world shifted a little in having to contemplate the possibility that a recipe core to my identity, that was passed from one woman’s hand to another and then another could not be the total of its sum.
Over the years, Margie has given me a license to be who I really am. Her life has become my guide to being what she calls a “curious woman.”
The son recently told me that he tasted his first burrito in a small storefront restaurant on Fourth Avenue. He and his friends were out gallivanting, up to no good, which can make fifteen year old boys very hungry and grateful to find a restaurant still open pass their curfew. That first burrito was buried under a salsa verde and he can still taste its fresh savory heft.
Last night I made them for the eldest but we all sat around the table too long and I wasn’t into writing until 2 AM to make my deadline.
Mom heard what went into a dish and immediately knew not only how to cook it but how it should taste, a talent she expected everyone to have and was appalled when she found otherwise.
I watched the snow fall on Saturday and wished I could go sledding. It’s horrifying to me that the last time was when my oldest son was around four years old and we lost control and rammed right into a lamp post.