12.02.2008 - 1:36 p.m.

The truck is fucking cold when I hop back up into it, but that's okay. All the bad thoughts dry up in the process of trying to keep myself warm, and that's the whole point of leaving the house.

At the grocery store, I wander aimlessly. I need to eat something, and I should probably make sure my husband has a non-leftover-turkey option too, but I don�t care about him yet. I am here to see where the spirit moves me. And the first few items it moves are pomegranates and baby portabellas.

The mushrooms don�t have a story. I just like them, and he doesn�t, so if I�m going to cook something for just me, they�re in. I consider the mushroom soup I�ve made on selfish nights before, and pick up plenty of mushrooms to do it, but I want something new, tonight; no pre-planned recipes allowed.

The pomegranates do have a story; beyond the fact that they�re such a mythical fruit, which has obvious appeal for me, I love them for my first week in college. Athlete�s week, when I was the only girl in the whole wing of my dorm, and hadn�t bought any posters yet, and my whole room was so cinderblock-bare that it would have been depressing had I had the energy to notice; but it was Hell Week, so I didn�t. All I did have was one pomegranate, the only thing in my little fridge, and every evening, when I dragged my aching body back to my room, I would treat myself to a few seeds, or a section. They were tart, and sweet, the simplest of pleasures, and I would look forward to them all day.

I grab a few onions, because I know I�m low, but I don�t know yet what I�m making. I wander over by the seafood and cheese; one of the luxuries that had occurred to me was maybe an omelet with crabmeat in it. But they don�t have any backfin, and I�m not in the mood to dig it out of snow crab legs, which I don�t really like as much anyway. I would dig it out of dungeoness halves, but they don�t have any of those, either. So I continue my ramble.

The international food aisle stops me too. Maybe I will try curry of some kind, or something with thai sauce. Though I already have peanut sauce at home, and a lot of the bottles here are either too finished, with nothing left to do but pour it over meat and noodles, or too esoteric; I don�t know how to frame them. I ask myself �How on earth do pomegranates, mushrooms, and thai go together?� and myself answers, �Um. I�ll get back to you on that one.� And hell, maybe I will�now that I write this, I�m intrigued, heh.

But I move on. And I remember a conversation about favorite soups, and it occurs to me that I�ve never seen a recipe for French onion� but I bet I know how to tackle it. I need beef broth, the onions I already have, some pumpernickel and mozzarella� and really, why don�t they make French onion soup with mushrooms? They totally should.

And I totally need caramel gelato to finish it off.

At home again I set my laptop to play my Pandora station, because my iPod dock has been broke for a while. I cut up onions and start frying them in a little oil� only then to realize I should probably caramelize them a little bit, so I throw in some sugar, too. And some paprika. Actually kind of a lot. And then some cooking wine, and the barely-chopped-up mushrooms. I seriously have no idea what spices go in French onion soup, so I am mostly going by the TSGT method. Which stands for �Uh� That Smells Good Together.� I add a bunch more stuff that real chefs probably wouldn�t, trying to balance the sweet with the other flavors. I cover it to simmer a while, which gives me time to marinate some meat for the husband.

I don�t have the patience to finish my soup in the oven, so I have to do without the burnt-cheese crust, but I toast up some pumpernickel and slice the cheese over it, and it melts, and the bread gets all soggy, and it is a wonderful, yummy meal. That I want to spice a bit differently next time. Which will be fairly easy, because I paid absolutely no attention to what I threw in there this time.

Before I'd headed out, a friend had IMed me to say that Venus and Jupiter were right next to the moon. I�d forgotten about it until I steppped out of the house at one point to clear the onion-tears. I looked, but I guess I missed her; the sky was dark, with thin streaks of cloud between the stars. I walked out to collect the trashcan, still looking, hoping she was behind a roof or tree. I was barefoot on the cold pavement, which was damp in places from an earlier rain, because I am heedless that way. It was nice, not uncomfortable at all. There was definitely no moon anymore, but there above me were the Seven Sisters; just below them was Orion; hung all around them were all the other constellations in their usual places.

The sky was no different than it ever is. It is as beautiful any other night. It is just that last night, it was hitting me harder.

-stonebridge

previous | next