But I can cook.
Food is another artistic medium to me. You can chop, slice, dice, puree, reduce, boil, freeze, bake, saute, sear, grill, and broil. Any combination of these elements can produce a colorful and delicious meal, but it's up to me to find the right combination. Occasionally, I want something simple and easy. Like tonight, grilled pork chops, corn on the cob, fresh watermelon, and an ice cold whiskey and diet coke to wash it all down. The hardest part of the meal was lighting the grill! Other times, I am willing to spend 6 or 7 hours preparing a meal for just two people. I was cooking when I decided I wasn't going to move to Florida until August. I had defrosted the ground beef a day earlier and had to use it before it spoiled. I meant to make pot stickers for Charlie and I, but he decided to go see his friend's band play and I didn't really care to go, although this meant spending the evening alone, something I had been avoiding and will soon elaborate on.
So I mixed together the beef, cabbage, soy sauce, sesame oil, chives, and garlic by hand. Then spent the next 45 minutes hand rolling 50 wonton wrappers into little dumplings. They're called pot stickers because they, well, stick to the pot (and each other)! That makes them hard to turn, and sometimes they rip apart, spilling everything, which is frustrating because it takes so damn long to make them into little dumplings. As I was pan frying them on the first side, doubt and anxiety attacked. All the thoughts I had been avoiding rushed over me like a tsunami. "Why are you moving now?" "You can't afford to move yet." "You spent the entire winter here, you deserve a beautiful Alaskan summer." "What's the rush?" "You don't even have a job to go to." It was crippling. But I had to finish the dumplings.
I survived the first attack, but the seeds of destruction had been planted. Charlie and I had been spending so much time together I was able to ignore and block out all the negative thoughts I knew were lurking in the recesses of my mind. They showed themselves occasionally but I denied them. That night, however, they would rear their ugly heads and turn my plans upside down. I knew that if I chose to stay it would mean the end of Charlie & Melissa. We decided months ago we could not do long distance, and when I made my final decision to attend FSU he was up front with me about not wanting to stay together through the summer. As insulting (he can throw away a year and a half, just like that?) and infuriating as that was, I said I understood. Why argue? I was leaving, right?
Pot stickers are one of my FAVORITE things to eat. It takes hard work and dedication to get to the end product, but man! They are soooo worth it! Pot stickers are a labor of love.
After I cleaned up I went to bed. It was there that I was defenseless and my brain staged an uprising against me. "I'm not ready to leave." There. It was out. I finally acknowledged what I had been ignoring for 3 weeks. I needed to talk to Charlie. I texted him. He said he would call when he got home. Three agonizing hours later my phone rang. I spilled all my thoughts and tears, but the sympathetic boyfriend I longed for was no where to be found. He was adamant about not being together. I swore at him. "You don't really love me" I shouted through my sobs. "Yes, I do" he said so quietly I could barely hear him. I knew he did. Maybe that's what made it hurt more. I knew he loved me, yet he's choosing to not be with me, an idea that is so foreign. I have never not wanted to be with someone I loved. I don't understand. This makes no sense to me. An hour of crying later we hung up. He, I suppose, still thought I was moving in 2 weeks. I thought it was obvious I wasn't. Oops. Next stop: Miscommunication Central Station.
Charlie and I are like pot stickers. Sometimes, the temperature of the oil in the pan is just right, and we cook flawlessly together, our different flavors melding into the perfect bite, we turn seamlessly and come out of the pan beautifully. Other times we stick to the pan, and when the spatula attempts to get us out our wonton wrappers rip, spilling the insides of our delicate dumplings. But just because a pot sticker tears doesn't mean you throw it away. Oh no. You might have to scoop the meat up and throw the torn wonton wrapper on top, but you eat it. Why? Because you love them. You labored for almost 2 hours from start to finish because they are WORTH it. Because despite their appearance they are still the tasty little dumpling you worked so hard to make. Their flavor hasn't changed, just their form.
So Charlie and I, well, our love is like a pot sticker. Sometimes we cook perfectly and other times we fall apart, but no matter how you cook it, we taste damn good.
"I believe baking is an expression of love--not only for the person being baked for, but also for the person who taught me how to bake, for the person who gave me the recipe, for the past and tradition. I believe baking is the best way for me to express my love for people in the present, and honor the people of my past, all in one batch."
Food is art.
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