The Innocent can, "with a child's bland happiness, do the most God-awful things with his meals and manage, by some alchemy of warmth and understanding, to make an honest gourmet pleased and easy at table."
This was more than an essay about a cook who prefers recipes with gelatin or Miracle Whip. The Innocent built meals in memory of his late wife and observed all the rites from their time together -- the music, the types of food, the place at table. Through that he elevated his belching beloved's preferences into something more grand than they were. Don't you think of people no longer in your life (alive or not) and romanticize any of their habits, tastes and mannerisms? Is there a person you would immortalize at table or elsewhere because sentiment would sway you to do things "their" way?
Fischer had more than a meal; she participated in a ceremony to honor the departed.
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5 comments:
I LOVED this one. I was all teary by the end.
My dad, clearly, is my answer to your question. My mom and I often find ourselves recreating meals we ate with him and reminiscing about his particular gastronomical loves.
This was my favorite, too.
I thought this guy would was Ignatius, if Ignatius had ever settled down to be a widower. Ignatius was quite innocent.
My friendship with kc has changed the way I look at lots of things. When we're together, I'm infected by her ability to appreciate things, especially little things. And when we aren't together I feel her presence, and her absence, and I try to be more like her.
We are apart much more often than we are together, so I often find myself thinking about her habits, tastes, and mannerisms when she isn't there. And I sometimes find myself acting as though she is there when she isn't.
Erin, of course, has even more of an impact on the way I do things and see things, but we're together so often that I don't often give much thought to how she does things. But it really strikes me whenever we are apart just how much I depend on her habits and taste.
Don't you think of people no longer in your life (alive or not) and romanticize any of their habits, tastes and mannerisms?
(Thanks, Ben, but I'm stiil in your life, aren't I, dear?)
I often think of the things Steve enjoyed making. We always cooked together. He especially enjoyed grilled, spicy foods. After a meal he would frequently ask me, with great solicitude: "Are you all garlicky and happy, babe?"
Oh God, the first meal he made for me (before he became a really good cook) was one of those box spaghetti dinners. We had walked from campus to his apartment, midafternoon, and he whipped out this box of Kraft pasta and powdered cheese, and afterward we had some instant chicory coffee with yucky coffeemate. It was divine.
I also worship how elegant my grandmother was at table. Everything was silver and porcelain. She was extremely attentive to all guests, even little kids like me, constantly refilling drinks and passing around seconds and checking on everyone's happiness. She also observed the cocktail hour every single night — with club crackers and little cubes of cheese. She made sure we kids had a mock cocktail of some sort so we didn't grow up to be teetotalers. Hehe
Of course you're still in my life, dear! Part of my point was that the question is somewhat applicable to you since I see you so infrequently!
And what's wrong with teetotalers?
Um, they teetotal, for one.
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