In the abstract

Eric's been craving bacon for a while now. (I call couvade syndrome. Aren't I the one who's supposed to be having cravings?) He finally bought some over the weekend from Andersons, where he prefers to get meat (and we both prefer to get produce), and fried it up last night. "It smells good," I said, and as he always does whenever I say that about meat, he offered me some. I declined, and something occurred to me that hadn't before: I don't really think of meat as food. For me, that is. It can have a nice smell that reminds me of a good restaurant or (in this case) Sunday breakfasts when I was a kid, but that doesn't make me want to eat it. "It's like the way I imagine a gay man feels about a pretty woman," I told Eric. "Abstract admiration, but no interest in partaking."

I had a long weekend, since I was taking my February days off this week so that I could be here next week while one of my coworkers is traveling, and we spent Monday and Tuesday doing household things (shopping and trying to repair a leaky spigot--we need insulation protection gear before proceeding) and sleeping late. It was lovely. I asked Eric what time he was getting up this morning, since he planned to visit a couple of school district administrative offices, and he said, "We should probably try to get up before nine." I reminded him that I had to go to work in the morning, but I thought wistfully that it would be wonderful not to have to. Would we get tired of each other? I don't know. Would I get more done? I hope so. I did some quilting and some writing and some laundry, so it wasn't a wasted couple of days by any means (not to mention the shopping and household repairs), but I always think I could have done more than I did.

This week: finish the spigot repair, write, quilt, plant broccoli, plan my planting schedule, make sure Eric does something every day. He really seems to want the structure that having work gives to his day; he's not enjoying the time off as I wish he could, though I understand why. Also, the sooner he figures out the substituting thing, the sooner we can decide whether I can buy plane tickets to go visit my family in April.

Eat my vegetables

We have a holiday party at work this year, and I, naturally enough, inquired as to whether there would be a vegetarian entrée. This was the reply:

We are still working on the menu; therefore, I'm not sure if vegetarian food will be available. While, it is difficult to tailor the menu to meet each persons specific request, the meal will include several vegetables.

Whereupon I e-mailed my department coworkers telling them that my drink tickets were up for bid, and a really good bid would get double the tickets, since spouses are allowed this year and I could bring Eric along for the two minutes it would take to show up, get the tickets, give them to the appropriate person, and leave.

Seriously. I acknowledge that vegetarianism is not the standard American diet and requires a little bit of accommodation. However, it's not that uncommon, and anyone who could eat a meat dish could eat a vegetarian dish, so it wouldn't be funneling food money for the benefit of just one person. (Or however many there are in this company. I don't know.) "Several vegetables" gives me no confidence at all: no one wants to eat just crudites; just vegetables is generally not a good entire meal (and when it is, the vegetables are generally an entrée, which these obviously aren't); there's no guarantee that these "several vegetables" won't show up under gravy or swimming in beef broth or accompanied by bacon or shrimp.

We had a company picnic at the zoo this summer. My choices were a cookie and a bag of chips. (I had a little of both, but neither were very good.) I wanted to stay at the zoo, but I left early partly because I was hungry. I am not pleased. My coworker offered to ask for vegetarian food too, if that would help. I'm tempted to get up a movement, but I don't want to cause real trouble. I think.

Don't run and they won't chase you

I dreamed last night that I was in the Cincinnati airport (which I have never been in, except for a single gate when my plane to Baltimore was diverted in 1999) and the central hub was a series of smooth hills and curves like slides, frictionless so that you jumped in and glided to wherever you needed to be, and I thought, this would be a great place to write a chase scene.

(There were also enormous alligators roaming around. They didn't attack as long as you didn't run.)

Saturday, the mothers, Michelle, Eric, and I went up to Ann Arbor. First to Shar to get Michelle a violin (to rent; her accelerated program is doing Suzuki violin with fourth-graders and she wants to practice at home), then to Trader Joe's, where we introduced Edith and Michelle to the beauty that is Trader Joe's. Eric and I were more profligate than usual, buying chocolate-covered bananas (bad) and lemon cookies (good) and orange-peach-mango juice (very good).

At some point, we discussed chocolate-covered raisins (dark or milk) and Eric said something about But Jenny doesn't like raisins, so she won't eat them anyway. Brenda, voice full of laughter at her own wit, said, "Jenny. How can a vegetarian not like raisins?"

I said, "How can an omnivore not like cheese?" There was a pause, while Eric put an arm around each of us and grinned, and she said, "Good point," and we all laughed. Sigh.

My brother called me last night, finally returning my call of several days ago. His surgery is today. He wants to go to culinary arts school, he thinks. He told me that and then about how you can't get a good job as a chef and he wouldn't want to work in the apprentice-level jobs, so I doubt anything will come of it. Still, I'm thinking of sending him a book on opening a restaurant, since that's one possibility for getting to the top without working his way there. Maybe he can read it during his convalescence

Much better

Much better mood today. The movie was good, very good considering how much they had to condense and skip. Eric thinks the first half was very good and the second half fall apart…I agree the first half was better, but they did okay. Umbridge was excellent. The whole thing was definitely more stylized than the previous ones have been. In some places they overdid it. I also wonder what makes a screenwriter deviate from the book. I mean, in some places it makes sense, but when it's purely gratuitous, I don’t get it. As I said to Eric last night, maybe the problem is that the screenwriter is trying to produce the best movie he/she can and the audience is hoping to watch a movie that's like the book, and books aren't made to be like movies. Dunno.

We debated reasons for vegetarianism on the way to the movie theater and that made me feel better about my debating skills.

I'm anxiously awaiting more ripe tomatoes (I've had a ripe yellow, a ripe cherry, and now I'm waiting for a ripe red) so that I can use up some basil. I must think about other things to use it in--and dry some, too, of course. I wish we'd gotten those herb jars off the registry. (Well, we still can.)

I'm feeling very useful at work today. It's nice--though I've now mostly run out of things to do. On the other hand, I could get some writing done. Tonight we clean, make ice cream, and try pickling. (Sheesh, sounds like we're getting ready to entertain a pregnant woman.)

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Exhibit A: balaclavas. We had to shovel the driveway and sidewalk Sunday. Eric went first, and he has this balaclava from a couple of Christmases ago, and since it was cold and windy I suggested he try it. He came in after shoveling the entire driveway (silly, considerate boy; the plan was for us to share equally) and said it had been too much. My idea of too much warmth differs from his, though, so I put it on with my coat and fur-lined boots (which Eric had borrowed because he tried them and commented they were very soft and nice, but balked at wearing until I pointed out it would be dark and no one would see him in women's boots--he doesn't have any of his own). It was warm and soft and I loved it. Until I reached the sidewalk and bent over to start shoveling. It twisted, it moved, I smeared my glasses when I went to shove it into place and it covered one of my eyes so that I had no depth perception for part of my shoveling. For a walk, though, or something where I would remain upright, I still think they're a lovely thing.

Exhibit B: meatloaf made from Morningstar Farms "meat" crumbles. I used to love meatloaf, and Eric makes what smells and is reported as a pretty darn good one. One day, we bought these crumbles to make into a meatloaf. Sunday we actually did it. The crumbles, which are TVP, looked kind of precooked and didn't stick together really well, but we figured we'd try anyway. It came out still crumbly and smelling oddly of rice. The taste was somewhere between ground beef (as I remember it, anyway) and, indeed, rice, but the texture was just about right for meatloaf. (Eric tried a tiny, tiny bite, and confirmed this.) And it worked just fine as a ketchup delivery system. But then...the texture started to get to me, and the "I'm eating meat" experience started to bother me. The texture of meat is why I gave it up in the first place, and even with the ketchup I couldn't get through more than half a slice of this. I'm glad we tried it, though; now I know that (a) this idea doesn't work, at least for me, and (b) I'm not really a vegetarian just for spite.

Food for thought.

I spent a couple of hours in the kitchen today, making Greek green beans (since I had several shoebox-ripened, starting-to-wrinkle tomatoes to use up) and butternut squash soup. I made it with sauteed onions and garlic and leftover white beans and fresh rosemary off the plant in my window (and I put the remains of the sprig, since I didn't use it all and started from the bottom up, in a cup of water to see if it'll form roots) and it's divine. I'm so incredibly pleased with myself it's disgusting.

Eric, however, just thought the soup was disgusting. That's fine; I already knew he doesn't like squash and I had had no intention and made no overtures in the direction of suggesting he try it. Apparently he felt this was insufficient security, though, and made some comments on the unpalatability of squash in general and this soup in particular. So I got mad at him, because he insists on meat at almost every meal and do I ever say that that's disgusting and I don't want any and don't ask me to try it? I do not. I say nothing, except for the occasional comment on how he feels funny if he doesn't get meat, even if he's had plenty of protein. I did not point this out, but a little later he apologized, and made no comment on the soup when I had it at dinner (he liked the green beans), so we've got peace there, at least for now.

He's also reading a book about religion and atheism (Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion), and it made me wonder about how people approach belief, of that sort and any other, and specifically food. Twice at work I've had people look at my lunch (ratatouille and vegetable pancakes, respectively) and say, "Are you a vegetarian?" and I think it's interesting that they believe only someone who doesn't eat meat would eat that sort of food. Eric's dad seems to take my vegetarianism personally. (It might be because his doctor told him to stay away from red meat because of a potential heart problem.) So does his mom, in a slightly less pushy way--but she still says things like "Jenny, I wish you ate meat, because this steak is so juicy and tender and delicious, it's the best thing in the world," and I wonder why people truly don't get that it would not be delicious to me. I don't try to convert people to vegetarianism, partly because it isn't a religion to me--which, honestly, the meat-centered food culture I live in feels like sometimes--but mostly because I know they have no interest and I can't create that in them. And also because I know they will feel annoyed and persecuted if I try--but nobody seems to think it a problem when they do it to me. I wonder how many people truly try, or are able, to see how another person might approach things.

Obviously this is a pretty petty thing to get all heavy and hung up about, and I'm not really. I just have a good meal in my tummy that I don't want scorned. When I get pregnant and people start pushing me to eat meat for the baby I'll probably do more ranting about it, but that, happily, is at least eight months away (because even if I got pregnant on the honeymoon I wouldn't know for another few weeks) so I think I'll just let my wonderful soup settle and think about catching up on the craft backlog. (There are also curtains I bought that need to be shortened and shelves that need putting up. But more importantly that ingeo I bought several months ago is calling my name. I hear it's difficult to spin; we'll see.)