The Runaway Cook

It’s raining . .AGAIN! Will providence ever dry out? On the 8-block walk to the library I stepped in countless puddles and drenched the bottom twelve inches of my denim flares. Wearing flip flops- may not have been the brightest idea. . . (hey! I didn’t want to ruin my shoes) Each pool of water seemed to team with life as the drops of rain made the surface flicker. However, the life found in these pools was not so pretty. Within a ten foot span on the sidewalk, I counted 68 blackish funny-looking worms. Each one was desperately squirming and squiggling around, looking for I have know idea what. By the time I got to number 68 I thought, “Gee. Is this what my weekends are coming to, counting worms in puddles?”

After about two hours in of nonstop printing for the trip, I was starving. I grabbed my 2 inch stack of papers, shoved it into the least likely to get wet section of my backpack, and headed out into the thunder. Luckily at this point the rain was down to a sputter. “Just do it Elizabeth! Go to the store and buy some milk and half & half so you can make risotto.”

Run to campus convenience, damn they only have pints of whole milk, I never buy anything but whole milk unless I’m dying. Then and only then I have been know to buy 2% but I hate it. Settling for less milk fat is like settling for Hershey instead of Dagoba or Terra Nostra; it’s just not even the same food.

Tromp home, hood up, hair down, and smell the charcoal from someone’s grill . . mmmmmm I will miss that. I will miss the smell of Iowa summer. I will miss how we eat sweetcorn for eight meals a week. I will miss how dad plants too much in the garden for me to keep up with. I will miss the farmer’ markets, the late nights at the bakery, stopping at grandma’s every Sunday after church, the way it rains and how my brothers and I still play in it.

Isn’t it odd how just one aroma can make you think about so much. It’s as if our whole lives, our memories and experiences, are all attached to this small thing. I think I am sad that I will not be home this summer. It’s my first summer to spend anywhere other than Iowa, and part of me is afraid. I feel as though I will miss something in not being there.

Recipe

1. Walk in the door, drop keys on chair, fling wet backpack over shoulder and onto floor, place dairy products in the fridge.
2. Squat in front of the fridge and survey the possible ingredients: mushrooms, tomatoes, parmesan, asiago, chicken sausage, fresh parsley, butter, half and half then to the onions, rice and seasonings.
3. Chop, melt, saute, dump, stir . . . and stir . . . and stir more. This is why Italian women sit when they cook. Oaf!
4. Portion and put extra in fridge. Smile and sigh because you have creamy mushroom-dotted pearls of heaven topped with glossy red chickeny tomato deliciousness.
5. Take a bite and realize you won’t be missing it all. Breathe in the steam, and breathe out the stress. Savor the flavor and let go of the fear.