Food II

Back in the days when Bob and I were first married, we established a tradition of celebrating “hump day.” (I’ve just realized that when discussing newlyweds, this term might conjure up something other than what is meant here. Those of you who are headed in that direction with it, have fun.) I wasn’t particularly unhappy in my job at that time, but I also wasn’t particularly challenged or thrilled by it, either. Bob, on the other hand, was pretty miserable. Weekends were a godsend, and we looked forward to them with relish. Thus, making it halfway through the week to “hump day” was a true accomplishment, something worth celebrating. Wednesday night became Mai Tai night. Bob had found a great recipe for Mai Tais that reminded us of our honeymoon in Hawai’i, and even during the winter months, we came to appreciate this mid-week treat.

I’d truly forgotten what it was like to have a need to celebrate being halfway through the week (with Bob in school the past three years, and our be separated most Wednesday nights, “Mai Tai Night” has sort of disappeared), until recently. In an earlier blog about my various psychological diseases, I mentioned my obsessive-compulsive exercise schedule. What I didn’t mention is that I absolutely despise almost all forms of exercise, and I only do it for two reasons: 1. I have a very mild heart condition that requires it, if I don’t want this condition to go from being very mild to ruining my life and 2. I love food, don’t particularly want to live off carrot sticks and Slimfast, and would be a good candidate for the fat lady in the circus by now if I didn’t have an exercise routine. What I don’t do is exercise every day. During the work week, I exercise four times a week, and weekends are for taking long walks, nothing else. My new hump day has arrived.

Wednesday is the day I don’t exercise. On a Mai-Tai-hump-day-comparison scale, there’s absolutely no contest. A no-exercise-hump-day wins hands down. But I’ve discovered something even more wonderful about this new hump day. It gives me a full hour for lunch. This means, now that I’m home with a kitchen, I can actually cook lunch! (Those of you who hate to cook can stop reading this here.) My approach to cooking, based on my hero Mark Bittman’s philosophy, is to get the most flavor out of the fewest number of ingredients and not to waste too much time on the process (something that was very important back in the days when I often didn’t get home from work until 7:45 or so). Thus, I tend to cook things I can make in half an hour or less.

One of my favorite lunchtime treats is mushroom stew. I created this alternative to oyster stew (one of my all-time favorite soups) when I married a man who didn’t like oysters and who loved mushrooms as much as I do. It’s the same recipe, taken from The Joy of Cooking, only I sauté some mushrooms and use them instead of oysters, and it can be prepared in about twenty minutes (I now know why oyster stew was a Christmas Eve tradition in our house when I was growing up). During these summer months, I’ve taken to throwing things on the grill for lunch. I’ve created a killer barbecue sauce whose secret ingredient is Diet Cherry Pepsi (a repulsive drink that Bob sometimes buys out of the soda machine. An unfinished bottle had been hanging out in our fridge far too long one day when I remembered reading about someone making a barbecue sauce with Coke). I especially like this one, because cooking with soft drinks (we’d never call them “sodas” down there) sounds so Southern, and I like to remind myself it’s important to stay grounded in my roots.

Another thing I like about Wednesday lunch is just being able to make things like a grilled cheese sandwich, corn on the cob, or mashed potatoes. Office lunchrooms, especially those whose only source of heat is a microwave, don’t lend themselves to this sort of food. Granted, mashed potatoes can be reheated in a microwave, but they’re never quite as good. I can also make myself a hotdog (one of those foods I know I shouldn’t eat, for all kinds of ethical and health reasons, but which I just love to have every now and then. I don’t feel quite so guilty now that I can buy organic).

None of this really sounds too much like “cooking,” per se, but when you’ve been tied to microwave lunches for over fifteen years, you can afford to be a little less than rigid when defining the term. And if I do decide I want my favorite baked ziti recipe for lunch, fresh out of the oven, well, it’s now an option.