EastGirlsWest

The Last Supper

I mean, our dinner was nothing short of a religious experience.

Did they have pumpkin roll at The Last Supper? Probably not. Then again, I’m pretty sure my sister isn’t Jesus.

(photo taken by Angela, of course)

I could have posted a photo of the turkey, or the stuffing, or the potatoes, or the apple pie. But let’s be honest - it all comes down to one essential, delicious ingredient!

There are so many things I’m thankful for today I don’t know where to begin: my amazing family, my wonderful friends, The Betrothed, the abundance of food we’re cooking, the Democratic majority in Congress, The Wire, the cocktails my sister just whipped up, the cute green dress I’m wearing, Southern California weather, and so much more.

Happy Stuff Yourself Day to you and yours!

I’ve been writing this blog long enough that it’s surprising I’ve devoted very little time and space to one of the most important things in my life - food.

The first time The Betrothed joined me for Hanson Family Vacation (a week at my mother’s house in Cape Cod) he was stunned by our daily, family ritual. It goes something like this:

8am - wake up, drink coffee
8:30am - starting talking about what we’re going to make for dinner
9-11am - further refine dinner plans
12-3pm - shop for dinner
4pm - cocktail hour
5pm - begin cooking dinner
7pm - eat dinner

Next day, repeat. Unless we eat out, which requires just as much research and planning, minus the shopping and preparation time. When I say “family ritual”, by the way, I mean me, my mother and my sister.

Left to my own devices, I’m not that bad. And let’s face it - only during vacation does ANYONE have that kind of time to focus on dinner. The Betrothed appreciates a fine meal, good cocktail, and civilized dining in general. But he made it quite clear that he would not participate in discussing dinner before mid-afternoon. We were on our own, he said. There was no reason to spend an entire day thinking about dinner.

Now my sister lives with us, and she’s a true partner in crime when it comes to food obsession. She’s also an excellent cook, and has graciously taken over much of the dinner preparation…which me and The Betrothed have become quickly accustomed to. Our nights have gone from just dinner to a culinary event. One night we might sit down to fresh spring rolls with home-made sauce. Another night, seared ahi with black sesame seeds. Every salad has fresh fennel. Every salad dressing is made in the kitchen moments before we sit down. Food used to be important. Now it’s a delight.

Two weekends ago, at the early hour of 10:30am, The Betrothed turned to me and asked, “so what’s for dinner?”

One of the cute and charming things about my sister: she’s occasionally out of the loop on some of the basic, cultural touchpoints that bond those of us in our socio-economic cohort.

Like ordering coffee, for instance.

We woke up the other day to the painful realization that we were out of caffeinated beans. I discovered this when I stumbled over to the coffee maker to pour myself a cup of the sweet nectar that The Betrothed prepares for us every morning, and he said “we’re out of caffeine.” He drinks decaf, and did not share my devastation.

Tay and I modified our pajama outfits just enough to pass public muster and shuffled up to Starbucks a few blocks away.

Upon arrival Tay has to spend a few minutes actually reviewing the menu over the counter. There is some evident indecision, and the distinct look of unfamiliarity in her eyes.

“Um, do you have soy?” Tay asks.

The barista smiles at me, somewhat conspiratorially, as if to say “duh, of course everyone in the whole world knows Starbucks has soy.” And the thing is, she’s right. EVERYONE in the whole world knows Starbucks has soy. Except. Tay.

“Okay. Um…I think I want a chai, but with soy, and cold.”

“So, you want an iced soy chai latte?”

“Yeah…I think so. Is your chai green or black?”

At this point, I have to jump in. Barista is looking confused, because obviously the entire concept that chai is an actual tea that comes in different varieties is lost on her.

I say, “Tay, it’s a actually a mix.”

Tay now looks terrified. She’s still pre-coffee, has barely been able to communicate her needs due to the language barrier (she does NOT speak Starbuckese), and clearly can’t face a reorder. In the meantime, the barista has pulled out the box of chai mix so Tay can inspect the ingredients. She reads and reconsiders.

“I mean, I guess just some kind of decaf, iced.”

The barista leans over quite seriously now, and in a low voice queries, “Where do you usually go?” - with a look of pained disbelief on her face.

Again, the communication falls apart here. Tay is oblivious that the real point of the question is the woman’s shock that there is anyone on god’s green earth who doesn’t have experience ordering a grande iced decaf at the most ubiquitous corner establishment ever.

“Oh. We’ll, I don’t. I just moved here.”

“Really? From where? Mars?”

I’m not kidding. She actually accused Tay of being an alien. And while it is most likely true that Tay is indeed the LAST Earthling in the universe who can’t use the word venti in a sentence…I actually think it’s kind of cool.

Bike rides: 2
Lobsters: 1
Lobster rolls: 2
Ice cream cones: 3
Marriage proposals: 1
Wild animal sightings: 2 (large turtle crossing the road, and a coyote in the yard!)
Yoga classes: 3
Hours of TV: 0
New Yorkers read: 6
Books read: 1
New freckles: countless
Visits to places where The Pilgrims landed: 1
Naps on the couch: several
Oysters: 8
Walks on beach: 7
Steamers: 10
Glasses of wine: many
Mosquito bites: none!

Okay, I know it was a week ago, and I promise this is the last you’ll hear from me about my birthday. But I just got this great photo from Angela, which was taken at my birthday brunch, and requires some explanation.

Reflected in my sunglasses are the five incredible women I shared brunch with. Not sure I can list them exactly from left to right, but they are Angela, Michelle, Aaryn, Pam, and Gayle. We dined at Cafe Chloe, and I sat in the midst of more talent, brains, wit, charm, kindness, insight, generosity, bravery, vibrance, creativity and stunning beauty than I’ve ever seen.

All I could do was look at these women around me and revel in the good luck that helped me get to know each of them since moving to San Diego. I felt very fortunate, and inspired, and it was the best possible way to begin my 35th year.

P.S. Nice photo here of me and The Boyfriend later in the birthday, which he also played a significant role in making absolutely perfect.

And when I say east, I mean almost as FAR east as possible without leaving the country. I’m in Eastham, Massachusetts - located just below the elbow of Cape Cod, about 25 miles from Provincetown which is at the very tip of the peninsula.

And geez, it took us a long freakin’ time to get here. One of those epic, nightmare travel days, which specifically involved sitting in Dulles for eight straight hours. But wait, it gets worse: THERE WAS NO WI-FI AT THE AIRPORT. No. Wi. Fi. In the busy international airport that serves our nation’s capital. What the?

At least there was sushi.

This extended stay at Dulles was due to freakish rain in Boston. We were supposed to get in at 5:30, at which point my mother was to pick us up for the 90 minute drive to her house from Logan airport. Instead, we landed at midnight and endured a harrowing shuttle ride to a hotel in the Back Bay. We then ordered room service (burger, fries, alcohol) at 1am, wolfed it down at 2am and were asleep by 2:30.

When we woke up at 4am to begin our travel day in San Diego almost 24 hours earlier, I vowed I would eat healthy in the airports. Well, I did. Yet still managed to end the day falling asleep with fried food in my mouth and red wine dribbling down my pajamas.

The silver lining is that we got to spend some time in Boston the next day. Began with brunch at Trident on Newbury Street. I used to live in Boston during college and for a few years after. During that time, Trident was my absolute favorite place to eat, read, shop, and drink coffee. It’s this not very slick, overcrowded, vaguely new-age-but-still-kind-of-hip bookstore/cafe. I haven’t been to Boston in a few years, and I was worried it might be gone - replaced by Starbucks or Jamba Juice or - god forbid - Walgreens. But it’s still there! Most of the menu was even the same, and I couldn’t have been more comforted, eating my egg white and smoked salmon scramble, regaling The Boyfriend with stories of my misspent youth.

Next stop was Newbury Comics, followed by a stroll through the rain over to the Christian Science headquarters. Our destination was the Mapparium, which is an amazing structure best explained (and seen) here. Of course, I didn’t tell The Boyfriend why we were headed to the religious complex, and he looked at me with one eyebrow up and extreme suspicion as I pulled him past the ginormous Christian Science church and actually into the library next door. Ultimately, he realized I wasn’t plotting a surprise pitch for conversion. Instead, I took him to the center of the earth, and we stood on a glass bridge immersed in the geopolitical sphere of 1935.

After catching a bus from South Station, we finally made it to our final destination. It’s still raining here, but it’s supposed to clear up tomorrow. And really, it doesn’t matter, because I’m perfectly content to catch up on my New Yorker reading, watch the birds flitting on and off of the feeder outside the window, look at the tide rising in the marsh across the street, stretch, yawn, eat fresh strawberries and just BE on VACATION.

Unless you are really enthusiastic about the whole theme park thing, I can’t recommend a visit to Orlando. While I have to admit I spent most of my time there in the confines of a very chilly Marriott, I’m not convinced there were many good reasons to venture out.

Meal highlight was at bluezoo, the Todd English restaurant - which was also, coincidentally, the ONLY restaurant I went to that was not in a strip mall. It was in the incredibly tacky Dolphin Hotel.

There’s much to catch up on - including my sleep, about 20 hours of programs on the DVR, three issues of the New Yorker and a week’s worth of news from Angela.

It’s good to be home.