Sunday, February 22, 2009
I just realized tonight that I don't really eat -- I nibble. I cook these sumptuous dishes, but by the time they're hot and ready to go, I have no appetite. I end up playing with the food like I'm three, twirling pasta around my fork and tasting it over and over until it is the right consistency and flavor. Such was a night like tonight, as I was making a vegetarian fettuccine (and not really wanting to eat it), while watching the Oscar pre-show.
While salivating over diamonds, dresses and hairstyles (don't worry, I thought about the movies later), I simultaneously cooked fettuccine until al dente and chopped garlic, onions, squash, zucchini and tomatoes, my appetite growing more and more minimal with every smell. Forty-five minutes later left me attempting to flavor a bowl of gorgeous pasta that wouldn't give up its blandness -- with a sink full of dirty dishes, a 3-year-old yakking about cars in the background and a sigh that Kate Winslet's dress isn't in my closet.
Once getting the fettuccine to its desired flavor, I promptly stuck it in the freezer, promising myself to eat every last bite in the coming days. I'm not going to lie -- with my high maintenance palate, I admit that those vows are usually "pie crust promises" -- easily made, easily broken.
Instead of eating the pasta, I decided to go for the mud pie in my freezer, grab the remote and snuggle up on the couch. Oh, well.