The Perfect Drug
Let us begin this journey in conflict, shall we?
Simon and I are at gastronomic odds with one another. Tragic, isn't it?
I like tomatoes and olives and asparagus and my fish served in the style of Chef Filet O'; he will have none of it, prefering artichokes and beans on toast (he once lived in England) and some kind of grody chutney substance, not to mention fish in tacos, where they DO NOT BELONG. He eats salad and tofu and junk like that while I eat fast food and cereal and everything that comes in a "snak pak."
"You are my gateway to heft," he says to me. "Yucky," I say to him and crinkle my nose.
When I say BFF, I mean best friends forever (natch), but when he says it, he means "big fat fuck," which is what he says he'll be if he starts to eat like I do. (Let it hereby be known that although I eat like crap, I do so in moderation. It's all about portion control, people. Two doughnuts instead of three. Just say no to SuperSize.)
And because this is my website, let me take this opportunity to say that since we've been doing this togetherness thing, he has been the instigator of the majority of our indulgences: whereas I have demanded only one midnight doughnut run, he has sponsored a handful of pancake-egg-sausage breakfasts and kielbasa-calabrese-bockwurst dinners, and this week's official theme song goes "One burrito, two burrito, three burrito, four." While I was out a few weeks ago at a concert with Gayle making BFF with Eric Bachmann of Crooked Fingers, Simon was home enjoying a dinner of beer and M&Ms. Now, how, I ask you, could I be holding his mouth open and force feeding him candy and alcohol when I was all the way across the bay swooning inappropriately over a minor rockstar? Exactly.
To combat the appearance of curves in all the wrong places, last weekend we bought him his very own pair of rollerblades (silver and fast like a bullet!) and skated (me in my baby blue sparkly wheeled skates) along the bay between the Berkeley and Emeryville marinas, the Golden Gate Bridge a gray silhouette at sunset. It was ever so lovely and my buns and thighs hurt ever so sportily the next day and the next.
Another thing we're doing to combat the bulging of the flesh is stuffing ourselves to the earlobes with healthy healthy sushi. O sweet, silky fish, you may actually be better than french fries. Especially you, Tuna, mercury poisoning be damned. Until having sushi with Simon, I hadn't known the ecstasy of raw sea creatures, and ever since that first tasty nibble (we smuggled some takeout into a movie theater and ate it with our fingers), I have been a shameless devotee. So now sushi is kind of our "thing" (one of many, actually), and we have resolved to eat it as often as humanly possible, which we figure is about three times a week (not counting leftovers). Thing is, sushi is ex-pen-seev, and regularly dropping $75 bucks for dindin is beyond our humble means. And thus was born Sushi Night.
Twice now we've taken matters into our own hands and cleaned our own rice, sliced our own salmon, and rolled our own rolls (who says fish isn't sexy?). A few weeks ago we spent an afternoon in Chinatown (yeah, I know) adding to our supplies and collecting a sushi-oke (a big wooden bowl for cooling the rice), wooden paddles (for spanking!), the most wonderful curvy plates and trays, extra chopsticks, and a samurai-chic sushi knife. Sure, it's still expensive to buy a block of albacore (not to mention maddening to have to buy it at Berkeley Bowl (click here for my very first blog entry (also featuring George the Jockey!)), but it's what we do because 1. it's still cheaper than going out to a sushi bar, 2. it's NECESSARY TO EAT SUSHI AS OFTEN AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE, and 3. when you cook at home you don't have to wear pants.
Right now we're still mastering tuna, salmon, and unagi (and I'm trying to remember not to overstuff my tofu bags), and last weekend we added scallops and salmon roe to our repertoire. Also, I've taken a pair of chopsticks to work with me so I can practice to proficiency and not embarass myself and others by dropping my catch into the soy sauce every. single. time. Also, I think my Seinfeld "What's the deal with chopsticks anyway" routine is getting a little tired. I mean come on.
So that's what I'm doing these days--eating fish, maintaining a healthy BMI, and staring into dreamy dreamboat's chocolatey brown eyes.Previous Next