Comfort Foods and Indulgences

It happened like this… I was standing on the northeast corner of Broadway and whatever street waiting to cross.  I was running to shop or cook or finish some errand that must must must get done quickly so everything else can be done quickly so that I can get on to the next thing and then the next and then fall asleep so that more stuff can get done tomorrow. I was staring at a pick-up truck heading in my direction.  It was the only car on the road for that moment, the only thing halting my progress, and right before it got to me it suddenly made a turn WITHOUT ITS TURN SIGNAL ON.  I could have gone!  I was waiting for seconds for this fucking truck to pass when it wasn’t even passing!!!  My life is disappearing before my very eyes and this selfish asshat doesn’t even care.

The injustice. The indignity. The NERVE.

I made a sound in response, alone on that street corner, like a groan/ moan/ wail of agony so dramatic you would have thought my child was being ripped from my breast.

But then I stopped.  And I heard myself.  And I was ashamed. There is a possibility I’ve let this season get the best of me.

This evening I heard a news reporter on television say Minnesotans are embracing the cold temperatures. Are you kidding me?

I’m a Minnesotan. Tuesday morning the thermometer here showed 35 degrees below zero. It doesn’t warm up much during the day. And tonight it’s expected to be 25 below. Do I embrace this? No. I deal with it.

When the temperature drops to way, way below zero I can hunker down in my home office and work in my flannel jammies with a big pot of hot dark coffee at my side. All seems quite normal until midday. My body begins to react to the frigid temps. The cravings begin. My brain sends a signal. It’s time to start eating if I want to stay warm. I want sugar. I want carbs. I need fat. And they're all so easy to get. A kitchen full of food is just steps away.

Like a mad woman, I dug through the freezer until I found a box of Thin Mints left from last year’s stash of Girl Scout cookies. I ripped open the two foil packages inside the box and before I knew it, I’d eaten all of those crispy little fat- and sugar-laden rounds.

One of my favorite memories growing up was going to the Dodger games. For most people, they looked forward to a Dodger dog, a bag of peanuts (from the peanut guy who still, to this day, throws peanuts to everyone), and a frozen malt. Dodger games were a high priority, but eating at the stadium was not on our family’s agenda. Our tradition was either dinner at Little Joe’s or a French Dip sandwich from Philippe's, with a side of pickles, and a bag of chips. Yup…so good.

Sadly, Little Joe’s is no longer around. When I was pregnant with Eli(17 years ago), I CRAVED their salad and their raviolis w/bolognese. As I write this, I can still taste their signature recipe on my tongue. Oh, how I miss that place; the tacky red booths, sawdust on the floor, the bread, and the “take out” deli where my dad and I would buy boxes and boxes of raviolis to freeze for future meals.

Little Joe’s may be a part of my past, but Philippes is still a huge part of our present. We have broken tradition a bit. Philippes is not simply a pre-game meal. It’s where we go when they have a day off from school(sometimes taking the metro directly to Union Station) or a late night snack. NO ONE makes a French Dip sandwich quite like Philippes. It’s that good. So when I bought my slow cooker a few months back, French Dips were high on the list.

Every year about this time, Mimi and Granddaddy traipse up through Georgia’s mountains to find some of the Peach State’s greatest fruits–apples! Each autumn, the Peach State yields bushels and bushels of apples and my grandparents seem to always bring many of those bushels back to our now empty peach country. “Whatever will we do with all these apples? “ Mimi always inquires; yet her queries are always quelled once she gets to cooking and baking with the bounty from their mountain travels.

First comes Gingergold, Jonaold, and of course, Gala, with some of this Farmer’s favorites such as Pink Lady and Fuji rounding out the season. This first trip to the North Georgia Mountains brought us the former apple varieties and the apple baking season has commenced! Another trip to Highlands or even further in North Carolina will bring my grand people back with more apples and I know that we’ll be apple-rich for the season. We have already had pies, some applesauce and, with much fanfare and glee, Mimi’s Apple Cake.