Recycling

I haven't written in a while. My husband has found that he is able to get more work done when he is using every computer in the house simultaneously. Thus, my time for being creative is spend being annoyed and waiting patiently (not really) for Joe to get his new laptop so that I can write when the mood strikes. In the meantime, I am going to cheat and post some of the newspaper columns that I wrote during my brief, but satisfying, stint as a published writer. I hope you enjoy.

The Joy of Cooking

I stand in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, arms laden with my favorite ingredients: sun dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, pesto, fresh parmesan. My mind creates flavor combinations that instantly cause my mouth to salivate. I search the vegetable drawer to see what is on hand. Fresh, thin, green asparagus –oh I am in heaven. I stop for a moment to consider the others I am feeding. Joe, my husband, would rather have a meaty tomato sauce with sausage and meatballs. Actually, he would probably even prefer Spaghetti O’s. Alec, who is 12, loves artichokes but not so much the asparagus. It is too late to reconsider; my mind is already made up. They will just have to deal with my taste for tonight.

The sauce begins with olive oil and sausage. These are not just ordinary sausage, but special ordered from Sausage Heaven located in New Hampshire. You can’t even compare these to any they have in the local grocery store. You won’t find any indistinguishable hard lumps in these. Cheddar garlic is my choice for tonight and the smell is amazing. When the sausage is gently browned, I toss in the vegetables and add some white wine and pesto. The smell begins to engulf the kitchen and then enters Kyle, my eight year old.

“Whatcha making for me?” he says, peering into the pan.

He asks this question every night, fearing that there won’t be a plain carbohydrate in sight. Kyle is one of those children who won’t eat anything. He has a plain palate and desperate fear of trying anything new. He is also extremely stubborn. We have consulted his pediatrician, who assures us that children will not starve themselves. I believe Kyle would starve before eating anything that has a trace of color.

We have tried everything. First we tried making him sit at the table until he ate his dinner. Then it became just sit there until you try it. He would sit at the table, in the dark, until it was time to go to bed before he would even put one taste on his lips. We have tried bribery, trickery, begging, and loss of privileges. We even tried Dr. Phil’s suggestion of giving him the same plate of food over and over until he eats it. Think about that. If they aren’t willing to try it when it is fresh and looks good, what makes him think they will eat it when it is three days old and dried up? Seriously.

Alec emerges from his video game induced coma to see what smells so good. He is quick to note that I have used artichokes and believing he is unnoticed begins to sneak them into his mouth. He would continue this practice if I didn’t tell him to leave some for the rest of us. I mean me.

“Mom, what am I going to eat?” Kyle persists.

“I don’t know, Kyle. What are you going to eat?” I sigh, adding pasta to a bubbling pot. Relieved to see there is in fact something he will eat being prepared, Kyle grabs a fist of the uncooked spaghetti and munches while waiting for the rest to cook. I add the fresh parmesan to the sauce and set the table.

Joe comes home from work just as I add some pasta to the sauce, making sure to leave some plain for Kyle.

“Good timing,” I say. “Dinner is ready.”

“Oh,” he says. “I’m not really hungry. I just had Japanese at a late lunch meeting.”

At this moment I am very happy I had to open a bottle of wine to make the sauce. Pouring myself a glass, I sit down and savor a meal I made for myself, which rarely happens these days.