A Monthly Obsession

Can we talk for a sec about the magazine Bon Appétit? It is a monthly treat delivered to my house that I enjoy with great relish.


I am hooked by a mere glance at the cover. Questions and exclamations tear through my mind with ferocious speed, often unchecked by reason or logic. What is the $5 secret ingredient?!? - If we don't have it I will find it - Meatballs?!? I LOVE MEATBALLS! - What? No, I don't - A vegetarian feast? - Behold recipes for my friends! - What is goulash? - I NEED TO MAKE AN ALL-AMERICAN PIE IMMEDIATELY!

Every month.

I salivate as I turn the glossy pages with Steve, who enjoys browsing BA nearly as much as I do. It has been the source of a few decidedly epic recipes. This pizza dough, for example, and how did I live before I had tasted scalloped potatoes and fennel?

My very stylish aunt, who is an incredible chef, almost unknowingly bestowed this obsession when she gave me a cookbook along with with a year's subscription to the magazine.  Steve and I weren't trained chefs but, under the watchful eye of BA, we elevated our cooking to a new level of deliciousness.  We tried out more adventurous dishes.  We became fearless as we learned to view recipes as inspiration rather than verbatim. And though we were buying higher quality ingredients, we were saving money by not chronically dining out. 

So Bon Appétit has been, I daresay, life changing. From its pages I took on a completely new culinary attitude.  I have control over every element that goes into a dish. Incredible food can come from my kitchen. Culinary magic ensues.     

On Soul Searching and Stroganoff

Recently, I had a freak out. Not a large one, mind you. Call it a medium-sized existential bump in the road. It left me feeling cold, lost, and like an identical snowflake rather than a special, individual one. I started thinking about being un-extraordinary, and quickly became overwhelmed by how (gasp) normal I am. I haven't started up a company, or become famous, won awards, or made filthy amounts of money garnering me a life of leisure. So what am I doing with my life, exactly? This equated to:

My life - incredible achievements = pointless

Leave it to Steve to bring reason into my excessively emotional and hyperbolic equation.  He proved through the transitive property (remember that guy? if a=b and b=c then a=c):

If  My life = Our friends' lives

And Our friends' lives - incredible achievements = awe inspiring, important 

Then My life - incredible achievements = awe inspiring, important

It made sense. It's the transitive property for pete's sake. Even though they are (gasp) normal, my friends are incredible. They are important to me and have made a huge difference in who and what I am. They inspire me to be a better person. And we're all on our way to Somewhere. Shouldn't I grant myself the same appreciation I have for my friends? So after I finished blubbering, Steve asked "What do you want to do tonight?"

"I want to have friends over for dinner." Some friends were heading out of town the next day. They had mentioned their fridge was nearly empty in preparation for their trip. They'd be stressed from packing, and a hot, home cooked meal would probably be low on their priority list. Obvious candidates. We looked around our kitchen and that magic happened where an unplanned meal falls into place, like when clouds clear up and you see the sunset that's been hiding the whole time. Baked brie with Ficoco and crackers, salad, and mushroom stroganoff.

We had a great dinner and I once again felt comfortable with my place in life. The world felt warm and bright, and small. As though I could be friends with anyone and everyone if they would just come over for dinner.