eat and greet: lobstah

Monday, August 10, 2009

lobstah

steamed lobsters

boiled new potatoes

corn on the cob

drawn butter

mozzarella, tomato, basil salad

torn baguette

lemon wedges

chardonnay magnums

seltzer

friends

repeat

1 comment:

Unknown said...: couldn't have said it better myself (nor could anyone else); August 11, 2009 at 12:33 AM

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who i am

When faced with the question of what food means to me, conversation inevitably shifts to my Mor-Mor (Swedish for Grandmother): A phenomenal cook who refused help in the kitchen and didn't believe in recipes. The real deal, if you will.

Mor-Mor had a seriously strong hand with garlic (surprisingly for a Swede) and an innate knack for making anything taste implausibly delicious. There was always a jar of homemade garlic oil in her fridge which found its way drizzled on top of almost everything. Like one of her breakfast treats: homemade bread slathered with garlic oil, a few slices of granny smith apple, and topped with extra sharp cheddar. Into her beloved toaster oven they'd go until the cheese had just melted, lovingly, over the apples. The salty-sweet combination could make your head spin—a beautiful cohesion of flavors and textures from such an unexpected pairing.

And then there were her meatballs. With her homemade tomato sauce made from tomatoes grown in her garden, picked when perfectly plump and warm from the summer sun, a ladle of garlic oil, and tons of parsley (Mor-Mor may or may not have been secretly Italian), they sent eyeballs rolling to the backs of people’s heads. The thought alone of her in that kitchen makes my heart long, once again, for her cooking. For her.

Now when I'm cooking, I finally understand her insistence on navigating the kitchen alone. There's something about getting in there and winding down and having your own personal space to create that’s beyond therapeutic—it’s wholly fulfilling and soul-satisfying.

Monday, August 10, 2009

lobstah

1 comment:

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