Dominic cooked a couple of weeks ago. He made scallops mornay with an unfortunate amount of lemon. This is a fairly major event, given that he rarely fronts and up until recently seemed kind of uninterested in daily life.
Unfortunately, he didn’t clean up. If he has to be a mostly-gay-guy can’t he at least be stereotypically neat? We had a huge squabble over it. I realized that I have come to some new level of acceptance because when I walked into the kitchen and found a mess my reaction was not whathappenedohmygodIlosttimewhatdidyousay The End Is Nigh but: why didn’t you clean up the fucking kitchen and why did you have to use three pots?
He mostly laughed at me. Which is – good. Really good.
Food seems to be almost our marker for staying grounded in the present. The best sign that people are enjoying life in the now is that they start to appreciate food in some way. This might mean trying to get around the no-Cheeze-Whiz edict, or it might mean trying to make scallops Mornay. I have pretty much fully bought into what Lyr was/has been/will be getting at with her book, in that food is a basic connection to the body and to nature in some mystic way, and it seems that I’m not atypical of the system in that.
And breast feeding Noah is a lot like that too: a basic love-food-comfort-warm-mnn connection. And soon – at 6 months and not much before, on the advice of our family doctor who’s watched us struggle with various food sensitivities and a few full-blown allergies – we will be introducing Noah to food. And wow, won’t that be something else. It really will.
As one of this system’s “mostly-gay-guys,” I sympathize with Dominic. All the fun is over once the cooking is done! I hate washing up, myself.
It’s true, too, what Lyr theorizes. Food is a mystical thing. I believe this very deeply. Her book sounds right up my alley.
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