My mother calls me her Nancy Reagan daughter. If you heard the tone of voice she uses when she says it, you would be certain that this is not a compliment. I was born the week Reagan was inaugurated and my life has always been tied up with his presidency in my mother's mind.
I am the family priss. I see things too often as black and white, whereas my mother sees the world in a soft gray haze. It never helped that my sister was rebelliously cool from age two. She was the one insisting on wearing a Hawaiian print t shirt instead of a dress and I was off crying that we wouldn't match in our Sears portraits.
If you looked into my messy cheap apartment or saw me on the street, you would see a scatterbrained and entirely normal woman in her late twenties. Still, the role chosen at birth sticks in Mom's brain.
I have deviated so far from that role but one thing keeps pulling me back. I am a total snob on a few fronts. I am a food snob (tm my best friend W). I am a restaurant snob. I am a party snob. Working in restaurants and hotels will do it to you but I've always been this way. It's the reason I ended up in those restaurants and hotels.
This explanation leads up to today. I drove Bill to work and was wide awake. I was thinking of a fun activity to do on a Sunday at 8:00 am that didn't involve Jesus and I decided to go to Whole Foods while it's still empty. Being a recent young person turned old person, I had no idea what time a supermarket opens. Luckily, it opens at 8:00. I was car number four in the parking lot.
I had decided to try pie again. I made a very good first berry pie over the summer but I wanted to surprise Bill with pecan. He likes desserts in general but his favorite flavor is sugar. The sweeter the better and I thought pecan pie was the perfect thing. For it I bought a premade pie crust. Oh, did you think I meant cut-frozen-butter-with-two-knives pie? Silly me, I wanted to make it's-my-day-off-lazy-smells-good pie. I also bought dreaded High Fructose Karo syrup for the first time. (What is with those stupid commercials anyway?) .
The couple in front of me at the check out had about a dozen of the really cool guilt inducing reusable bags in all bright colors. They were buying organic produce that they carried, unbagged, to the register. I imagined they were the happiest and nicest people ever - shopping early to have plenty of time to volunteer. I was buying four types of sugar while the sun was barely up. They won, hands down. Ringing up my processed crap and bulk nuts with no hip cloth bag, my inner snob twitched.
Still, I smiled and bought my fructose, sucrose, dextrose and molasses. I went home a made pie. While the pie was finishing and I spent a few minutes peeking to be sure the crust didn't burn, I thought of how nice a freshly baked something would be-right now. But, it was 11:00 am. I had to save the pie for Bill and that meant after 9:00 pm when I get back from writing class. I wanted something hot right now.
I dug around the pantry. It's pretty deep. I recently found some beef soup purchased before I gave up meat in February 2007. I pulled out a little box of Jif pizza crust. It required water and five minutes to make dough. I was thrilled. Two convenience foods on my day off? Two carbtastic dishes made together? My snob yelled from within but I suppressed her with fantasies of surprising Bill with a note that says, "Your dinner's in the fridge. Heat in a 350 degree oven for ten minutes. Love Ya!" How fucking cute, right? Just like a housewife off on an evening adventure.
So, I made four small calzones. I steamed the last of the aging broccoli and mixed in cottage cheese, shredded cheddar, basil, parmesan and garlic. These were not authentic in any way, but I was winging it. The dough was too sticky and I kneaded in flour. It wasn't relaxed or risen, but the box said it was ready, I shoved the filling in, pinched and baked. They turned out great. Each one leaked somewhere, but after baking for only 15 minutes, the ooze was gooey and only browning on the edges. Man, is baked cheese good. I ate two as soon as they were cool enough to only burn me slightly. I wrapped two in foil and put them in the fridge, so later tonight I can write that note.
I think I am always wishing to be perfect. Wishing I were skinny or acclaimed or wealthy. I want a marker of my goodness that will show to everyone. I want to feel worthy of what I already have. I have so much love and such good things in my life. I couldn't want anything else and yet I do, all the time. I want to be better. I want to be comfortable. I want to win but have everyone like me and I want to do it without trying.
It seems that the only thing I actually do instead of wanting, is cook stuff. That makes me happy.
