They say the way to a person’s heart is thru their stomach. And after consuming approximately 10,585 breakfasts, lunches and dinners over the course of my life, I can say with some authority that I agree.
Moreover, I have concluded that the purest expression of love – the very pinnacle – can be found in the form of a roast beef dinner. Now I’m not just talking about any roast beef – this is the delicate kind of beef that must cook all day while perfuming the house with its spicy aroma. It's a thinly sliced roast beef, both warm and moist, that cohabits with macaroni and cheese (Stouffer’s preferably) and a mound of fresh string beans.
There’s just something about beef (or any dark meat) that feels very familiar. It’s like the edible equivalent of a leather chair and the Redskins game on TV. Beef is what my family trots out for special occasions, holidays, or when one is particularly loved.
I can remember several roast beef dinners we had for my brother’s new girlfriend, all of us around the dining room table, plates taking up every inch of the tablecloth while our dogs sat expectantly underneath.
It’s so sad, my Mom once told me, how you don’t have the knack for cooking.
But it’s not that I can’t cook – I simply don’t like to. I mean, do people understand the work involved in cooking whole vegetables? You have to take everything out from the refrigerator, wash it all, dry it.
Then there’s the odious slicing. The mess grows and grows. Spices elude me.And after all that’s done, there’s the inevitable 11 servings of leftovers I’m condemned to, post-recipe.
My cooking problem keeps my Mom awake at night, she said one night when I was home and we were eating leftovers. She glanced at my father, who nodded in between bites and added, don’t your friends have any friends they could set you up with?I mean, any? He asked.
We had chicken for dinner that night. It was slightly dry, and white, with store bought rice on the side.
When love can be measured in mouthfuls, I suppose I had just as well give up.
