Sweet. Tart. Flaky. Tender. Warm. Nourishing.

There were a very few things I needed to accomplish today - coffee run, grocery run, get some stamps for now-overdue thank you notes (oh - drat - that too - write the overdue thank you notes) but mostly I wanted to stay put.

A recent adjustment to a prescription has caused my body temperature to drop even lower than usual, so while it is beautiful and sunny outside, I'm in sweaters and under blankets just trying to stay warm. This isn't completely unusual for me and it's not dangerous but it also isn't comfortable. It'll pass, and I'll adjust, but until then ... brrrrrrrrr.

While I was running my around-town errands, I received a call from a business I used to be involved in with a request to please stop by. I had dropped off some "vintage" jam to the cafe about a month or so ago, on a whim. I gave about a flat of various berry-filled jars from 2006 to the bakers and told them to please make whatever they wanted for their holiday feasts. The only rules were that they absolutely, positively could NOT sell any product with the jam in it, and they positively, absolutely could NOT use the jam in the bakery or cafe kitchen. (I have insurance, and the cafe and bakery has insurance, but we'd both rather not have to use it, I'm sure.)

So that's the set up.

I gave them this ...

... and they gave me this.
The scent from this plate of drool-inducing amazingness has already caused my body temp to rise. My heart is for certain beating a bit more quickly than it was just a little while ago. (Granted some of that increased heart rate isn't because of food ... but *blush* anyway ...) Y'all go right on ahead with your champagne toasts at midnight and whatnot. I have a raspberry shortbread tart that I can warm up in the oven and serve with just a bit of additional jam on top while we ring in the new year.

In keeping with the above "gonna be scarfed at midnight" snack, I'd like to offer this toast:

May 2009 be sweet to us all, with enough "tart" to keep it interesting and may the occasional flaky moments be firmly balanced with true tender times. May warmth, comfort, and nourishment come in all forms, from places and people far and near, from the friends we've always had and those we've yet to meet, and from family we inherit at birth and family we choose with our heart.

Take fun.
Have care.
Be good.

Put It There

A friend of mine dropped Tim and I a note on the eve before Christmas Eve. She sent some "recipe cards" (yes, I'm gonna leave that in quotes) that most foodie-types are very familiar with. (They live here ... and do yourself a favor and notice that the tab names change with each new fabulous dish. I especially love that part.)

I responded to her in the fashion with which we typically communicate ... in staccato - dribs and drabs. She's witty and quick and, most of the time, we say things specifically to crack up the other. So my response was something like "that first card looks like something may be infected. I dunno that it'd be going anywhere near my mouth".

She responded with a 5 line, 6 sentence reply. "Guess who's mom has breast cancer? Give up? Yeah. It's mine. She has lump surgery on Friday. Say a prayer." and it made me sit upright as I took in the words and hit "reply". I wrote not as a patient, but as a daughter. I didn't stop to think - I just typed.

I wrote things that I wish I could have said to my friends, to my family, to those who meant well ... things like "yell and scream and cry and freak out as necessary - and often - but, inbtween those times, be the strong daughter she raised" and "laugh with her about the lack of privacy, the wonderful new terms you'll both be learning" and advice like "do NOT whisper around her, do NOT tiptoe. If she wakes up one day and looks like hell - and if you woulda told her so in the past, tell her so again. Make future plans - for next week, next Christmas, for eight years from now. When she's blue, don't talk her out of it. When she's overly confident, don't tell her she's brave. When she's tired of talking about 'it', change the subject."

The day after Christmas I received a reply. "The lumpectomy went well with no sign of cancer in her sentinel nodes. The lab will return results in a week but things look very good. By the time we got the good news at the end of the day, I wandered into a bathroom so I could have a good, relieved 'thank you god' sob. I mean, I know it's all going to end someday, but I'm just so not ready to lose her yet." She wrapped up by asking me how I was doing.

This was days ago, as I've said. I haven't replied yet. The honest truth is that being told this news - not because of anything I've experienced but because I am a friend and she wanted to tell a friend - was exactly the kind of thing that I needed, and exactly what I was trying to convey in my response. I'm not a patient. I'm not a survivor. I've said all along I have no designs on becoming a face or voice for breast cancer.

But "friend"? That's a title I'll very willingly embrace. I can be "friend".

Give me your hand, I'd like to shake it. I wanna show you I'm you friend.
You'll understand, if I can make it clear. It's all that matters in the end.

"Put it there, if it weighs a ton." That's what a father said to his younger son.
"I don't care if it weighs a ton. As long as you and I are here, put it there.
Long as you and I are here, put it there."

If there's a fight, I'd like to fix it. I hate to see things go so wrong.
The darkest night, and all it's mixed emotions, is getting light so sing along.

"Put it there, if it weighs a ton." That's what a father said to his younger son.
"I don't care if it weighs a ton. As long as you and I are here, put it there.
Long as you and I are here, put it there."

- "Put It There" .... Paul McCartney

Dear Julia

I gotta share this with a fellow foodie, who would "get" how cool this is gonna be. Psychiatrists write to Freud - I figured writing to you made sense. I hope you'll indulge me.

I write this note from my Blackberry device at 3:45pm on December 10th while sitting in the Ferry Building in San Francisco, CA. I am an hour early for my "appointed task" and my mind is racing.

My best group professional meal - meaning my best restaurant meal with friends - was at Tru with "my guys" (Andy and Scott) when we were at a sales meeting in Chicago. I told them they'd be expected to dress for dinner and that the entire menu was open to us - no barriers whatsoever. It was 4 hours long, 17 courses, 4 bottles of wine and a tab that was steep - but worth every cent. (We all still very fondly remember the asparagus soup.)

My best solo professional meal, however, was at The French Laundry. I stopped on a whim, was graciously seated immediately, and was overwhelmed by the food, the staff, the kindness, and the experience. I have been a few times - but I remember that one time the most fondly.

Now it is 3:50pm.

I will shortly wander to the end of the building, pick up the books I purchased more than a month ago, and stand patiently (but eagerly) in line. Chef Thomas Keller will arrive at 5pm, I will request his signature on the copies of his book and ... I'm practically high thinking about how much joy these gifts will bring.

One of the gift books is an "expected" present. I informed the person I'd be doing this so that she didn't go get her own copy. I mentioned it quite awhile ago though, so it will still be a bit of a surprise. The other giftee, however, has *no* idea I'm doing this.

He is, for lack of any other more gracious term, the man in my life and he's talked of enjoying a meal there but hasn't done so ... yet. He has great respect for the culinary arts and, 'tho it his not his "day job", I've seen what he can do in a kitchen and I am intimidated by his natural talent and artistry (which he'd shrug off if I were to tell him point-blank).

And now it is 4:00pm.

After the gifts have been given - in fifteen long days - I will probably blog of this experience. I hope I'll have a photo of Chef Keller signing a book - I likely won't have the nerve to pose with him for a photo. But that I can grant this unrequested wish fills me with SUCH joy. And I wanted to share it with you, Julia.

And now it is 4:05pm and I'll walk closer to the designated waiting area.

Bon Appétit!

******************
December 26th ...
Chef Keller signed both copies of his book and had the good humor to suggest that we use the camera I was holding for a photo of the two of us together. Chef Keller probably assumed I was nervous to meet him, which was partially true. I was mostly anxious because I knew the books would be appreciated as gifts. And I'm happy to report that they very much were.