“I don’t snack all the time, but I do sometimes drink more than I should.”
“Did you taste it before it went out?”
“Yep,” I replied.
Another one rings in - I take the ground lamb, sprinkle a flaky snowfall of maldon salt, chives, and the much maligned tartare dressing I have complained so much about making in the past. It was probably the twelfth time I’ve done this process tonight. I shudder at the thought of having to chew another sampling of the raw meat, but like muscle memory my right arm grabs a tasting spoon to try a piece. As well balanced and nuanced as it is, the interplay of lime, shallots, and red meat gets tiresome by the twelfth try – at he very least it was seasoned properly. I welcome the thought of tasting the endive salad ringing in from the printer to clear my palate.
I haven’t eaten a proper weekend dinner in about six months I would say – you know, the kind normal people eat where they make a reservation at 7:30PM for a restaurant, or one where they spend an hour or two making dinner and sit around the table with a few bottles of cheap wine from Ralph's as they try the latest recipe they saw on the Food Network that morning. Or at least, buy takeout and eat it sitting down at a table. Dinners for me involve a lot of casual snacking, tasting, and more bites throughout the night I don’t keep track of. It’s not just salads and tartare though:
“Did you try the broth for the mussels?”
Another tasting spoon so you can see if you need to add more scallion oil or burnt miso. Chive aioli needs a punch of acid, so a toast point is lathered with the stuff to see what is needed. Seaweed butter? Time to find the butt end from the loaf of bread, and while we’re at it, just make yourself a small avocado toast anyway. Perhaps the budino needs a finish of rum, so you might as well scrape the pot clean to lick the spatula.
Each time I go shop at the farmers market, I always grab a pastry from the same baker. Today was a savory danish encasing a large slice of homemade lardo. (Last week it was a sourdough bun filled with pork belly.) Aged cheese and scraps of charcuterie make a welcome addition to a grilled cheese, but don’t forget that a passionfruit tart a day keeps the hunger pangs at bay… especially ones layered with bittersweet chocolate. Every time I go to the walk in it’s hard not to pick up a few of the strawberries from Chavez farms, vibrantly blush all the way to their core, or a somewhat overripe white nectarine guaranteed to dribble down my chin. Bites of tres leches cake we recently developed scented with kaffir lime, the trimmed edges of a Valrhona chocolate brownie are all fair game.
Admittedly, I’ve been wary of weighing myself, turning it into another thing I haven’t done in six months. If I wasn’t on my feet running around all day, I would have ballooned into epic proportions by now.