It will be so.
2007-03-22 @ 9:20 a.m.
So yesterday I just had the strangest path of thought. Because I was hungry, but didn’t want to leave to find my lunch yet, I decided to see if I could find out what soups Lunds had from their deli, because last week they had this wild mushroom soup that was super decadent and creamy like the best chicken wild rice soup, only it was wild mushrooms, and it was thick, but no rice. And it's got to be super fattening and everything, but since I knew I could enjoy stress savior in a bowl, I was at the Lunds website looking to see if they listed their soup of the day. (They don't) So then I looked to see if they had the recipe for it, even though I knew I wouldn't make a big batch of soup that only I would eat and it didn’t matter because they didn't have the recipe either, but I saw they have cooking classes, and I thought of the Mina, who professes she wants to be a chef, even though she mostly wants to be using the chef knives. Lunds does not have childrens' cooking that I could see, but they had several classes that I thought were interesting. And their classes are all cheap too, because they are probably more demonstrations with tasting and coupons, and so I thought maybe I should register for one of these. And then, the scary part was that then I thought, and maybe I will meet a guy there and I swear that creeping into my subconscious was enough to make me not even go grocery shopping anymore. If there’s a part of my subconscious that wants to meet men, it’s a big surprise to me. I guess if I were going to meet a guy a cooking class would be a decent way being that watching the Food Network seems to be all I do, but yikes. Upon closer examination it would only actually be a compelling way to meet men if any of the classes were at night or were actually located at the Lunds in my neighborhood. Because to say that imagining the condo-living guys that would be in the neighborhood the classes are in doesn’t exactly set my heart aflame. But few things do these days other than, y’know, a class on Spring Greens . Watercress. That’s what sparks my attention.
I know that now that the idea is aroused that I could actually look into classes that ARE in my neighborhood blah blah blah expensive, futile, and just because my subconscious would apparently like to meet new people doesn’t mean that I’m willing to go through the effort of doing any of the things required to pursue that notion. Trust me, the effort of thinking about it alone is more than I can imagine.
I did say recently that if I had anything to say about it I would want to date a butcher or fishmonger. Because they would have gifts readily available that I would appreciate. Gifts of roasts and skirt steaks and whole fish carcasses to try to make stock from...
When you google “butcher” or even “hot butcher”, the results aren’t exactly inspiring if you are looking for anything more interesting than a blood-spattered apron and a backdrop of hanging carcasses. Clearly there aren’t any message boards devoted to single mothers meeting the meat industry workers of their dreams.
I’m guessing that I would have to go to France to find what I’m looking for, and why not because you can’t deny that meeting your boyfriend at la charcuterie, or la boucherie sounds pretty romantic. Of course in French, bouche’ also means “plugged up”, and that even sounds romantic, as well as tres amusing since I am sinus challenged.
Of course I just remembered that movie named The Butcher’s Wife, and I wouldn’t want to end up blonde or clairvoyant like Demi Moore is in that stinker. Not to mention I wouldn’t want to end up with Jeff Daniels either. Jeff Bridges? Yes. Jeff Daniels? No. There’s not specifically anything wrong with Jeff Daniels- except for that I am not hot for him, and we could all pause and wonder about the idea that I can be hot for oh- Bob Saget, or Oliver Platt but not for Jeff Daniels and wonder if there’s a deeper truth embedded there somewhere, but I doubt it. It’s just chemistry. Or shall I say “chimie”? Il en sera ainsi.
I don’t think I am going out on a limb blaming this entire train of thought on Tony Bourdain.