So here we are, in the Merry Twixtmas, the time in-between, the pause between the whoosh before Christmas and the ramping up activities to reimagine and resume life in the new year. I love the pause. This year brings particular need for it because I need a minute to catch my breath and reflect on the last week, not to mention the last year. Let’s take food to describe the pace. In the last week, the following eating has taken place:
- Homemade-by-Tatum, ash-covered cinnamon rolls in a pot previously scrubbed out by a dirt-covered broccoli scrub brush, cooked within an improvised oven of coal from a cooled fire that Tatum got up early to make using juniper branches she collected from the Utah wilderness specifically to make this breakfast for Kevin and me.
- Pistachio-cherry macarons as big as a dollar coin and as delicate as a snow crystals, eaten underneath the original portrait of Abraham Lincoln that hangs in the State Dining Room of the White House–the same room from which Thomas Jefferson worked and Lady Diana and John Travolta dined before dancing.
- Perfectly roasted prime rib covered in herbs and slow roasted in a smoker and three-hour potatoes prepared by Kevin; Mary Ellen’s pistachio and pomegranate salad; and our traditional long-simmered French onion soup for Christmas Eve dinner.
- A greasy Eye Opener burger with bacon, cheddar and a fried egg (Finn), homemade potato chips (Heather) and a hazy IPA (Kevin) in Moe’s Crosstown Tavern in Charleston, sitting within a ring of tvs and video games, while discovering that tag is a professional sport that can be mesmerizing on tv.
- Burgundy escargot in a parsley butter sauce, bucheron tart with carmelized onions, fois gras with apple butter and and brioche and steak frite in a peppercorn-cognac sauce in a French restaurant that advertises “comfort accompanied by transcendence” in foodie Charleston. Tatum liked the escargot, Finn ate it, and Clara’s plate remained unmarred.
Keeping up emotionally with these experiences was almost as challenging as keeping up physically. I was grateful for the “hip dip” Tatum dug out for me under the juniper tree before the ground froze solid, appreciative that Mary Ellen had sheer panty hose to loan me for the White House Christmas party and that Tatum knows how to create a smoky eye, and entertained by watching the children’s reaction to escargot. It has been a good week. And I didn’t even mention the Golden Grahams for breakfast.
Wishing you a chance to chew on life slowly this week, whatever’s on your menu.
@theterrace 