eat and greet: sushi is sensual

I was thinking about my V-Day rec's last night, and it crossed my mind that perhaps a heavy meal is not necessarily the best way to go. For a few obvious reasons I don't feel the need to go into. You're all "adults."

I think.

That said, am I serious? Sushi! How could I be so totally oblivious (rhetorical question, folks)?! Sushi is undeniably sensual, it's all absolutely share-able, and the option of cozying up to the sushi bar is undoubtedly the way to go. If you're in the NYC area, these are my suggestions: Tomoe Sushi, Kanoyama, Takahashi, or Sushi Azabu.

Of course there's always the option of surprising your special someone with sushi served...on you as the platter. And it is with hilarity, abhorrence, and confusion, I can tell you this actually exists.

Call me plane jane but I happen to love my sushi on inanimate objects that I can't have awkward staring contests with. But hey, that's just me.

xoxo.

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.

eat and greet

Friday, February 12, 2010

sushi is sensual

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