Breakfast: Ham and Gruyere Croissant, Columbia City Bakery.
I rewarded myself for my deep graciousness in allowing my husband to golf rather than do daycare drop off, even though it was a rare day off on which I might have slept in, with a trip the bakery up the street from the daycare. I ordered a ham and gruyere croissant, and then asked after some day-old bread, having failed to plan ahead for the bread pudding I planned to make that night.
“Sorry, we donate it, so we don’t have any,” the clerk replied. I must have looked disappointed, because he looked at me a second time and made a decision to be generous. “Do you want me to check and se if wee have any left?”
He came back a few minutes later, beaming. “I got you a whole bunch of goodies,” he said, handing me a sack full of three loaves of bread and 8 or 9 rolls. I was so overwhelmed, my brain slowed to molasses and I just thanked him and left. I certainly didn’t need all that bread, and could easily have paid for what I did need, but what really humbled me was his open heart in not making assumptions about me, or my level of need, and just reaching out to help.
With my extra bread, I decided to make a second bread pudding for a friend needing some meal support for her family as she undergoes chemo, and gave one loaf to a neighbor who’s struggling to keep up with her house payments.
Lunch: Salami Plate and Pesto Pasta, Il Corvo.
A friend picked me up for lunch. She’s just back from a month at her father’s bedside, as he recovers from a near-fatal accident. We wound our way downtown through the gray day. Sitting across from her, I found myself assessing her for damage. I heard on the radio that the structural engineers who check the Alaskan Way each year look for cracks smaller than 1/16th of an inch. I knew how they felt; she kept insisting that she was just fine, but I was looking for those finer cracks, the cracks that hadn’t showed up yet.
Our pasta arrived and our talk turned to the food itself, comparing the relative merits of my pesto and her pork- and chickpea-based sauce. I believe in the power of good food to heal, though. I believe that there may be no better way to heal those fissures in our hearts before they get to big than by lingering over food made with love, with the people who love us. At least, that is my hope for my friend.
Dinner: Butternut and Cheddar Bread Pudding and Strawberry Pie, My Dining Room
Friends for dinner for a belated birthday meal. They live close by, but between their toddler and ours, there never seems to be time. But, today, there was time to slow down and cook, and nourish our friendship with rich, (mostly) homemade food. We’ve eaten together many times in the 4 years they’ve lived nearby, and these meals are markers across our journey of getting to know each other.
The Thanksgiving that we converted to vegan-except-the-turkey 24-hours before mealtime.
The restaurant dinner at which I could barely fit at the table, I was so big with my first baby.
Taco night in their new house.
The Beast Mode, skittles covered donuts that we feasted on as we watched the Seahawks gallop to Super Bowl victory.
The Thanksgiving dinner at which their son chanted, “Nom nom nom,” throughout the entire meal.
Bedtime: A glass of water, My Bathroom.
I feel so very full indeed.