We recently subscribed to Netflix streaming, which I’ve cast aside for the last couple of years due to fears of speed and options. I’m addicted. Ally McBeal seasoned my 30s…I watched, and am LOVING rewatching, every-single-episode. It got me to thinking about mood and music and desires….what makes us feel good and what we want.
Last June someone (whom I rather dislike for, I’m sure, purely impractical reasons…I’m sure she’s probably a pretty likable person to everyone she knows) gave me a cookbook–Mystic Cookbook, to be exact. Because of my general distaste for this person, I’ve not considered even looking at it, though I realize it was a gesture of conciliation, perhaps (though I’ve never known this person to be conciliatory). Last night, I flipped through it. It’s a bit weird…all spirit and crystal-ish stuff. I was surprised that it didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.
Cooking, for me, always has been about being spiritual. It’s the place I can go to to find myself. Eating good food with those we love, music, lighting, smells; they all combine to be the gel that hugs everyone together. Tonight, as often is the case, candles are lit, Norah Jones is on the stereo, red wine has been poured, crab cakes are in the making. My husband had a long day at a wrestling tournament, and while the feminist part of me would say, “Why do you feel like you need to serve him,” the partner in me says, “He’s worked an extra day, I lounged and watched Ally McBeal for two hours, and he deserves a little extra.” Wouldn’t I love to walk into the house with sweet sounds, warm food cooking and a glass of wine greeting me at the door. We all deserve this.
Mood, music, desires…food. Good food, lovingly and carefully prepared…this has been my moment. Feminist, yes. Spiritual, yes…Satisfying…unbelievably so..
It’s Paula Deen’s crabcakes with a lemon-cream-dijon sauce, smashed red potatoes, broccoli and yellow squash.