Shalee’s Diner

She took residence in my body is what happened to her.

Once again, I am young(ish), single (sort of) and all on my own. Mr. Right left for Minneapolis again for the week with a host of deadlines for work and a list of tasks to do for us like looking at houses, visiting with old friends and trying to find out more about the area.

Poor him… he has to do all that with the aid of a company credit card, a maid who will tend to his room every morning while he is at work and friends who can’t wait to see him again. The jerk. I’m stuck here making my own bed, cooking my own meals and fending for myself in the pursuit of happiness and activity.

It’s a good thing that he married a strong woman who is up to the challenge.

I hate to say it, but it’s becoming something at which I’m pretty good. It’s good to know that if something ever happened to Mr. Right and I survived the broken heart which would reside in me and my tears didn’t actually drown me, I would have a few experiences on which to draw reminders that I could survive a day without the presence of Mr. Right. Just barely though.  And there might be wine involved, but only a glass a day.  I promise.

This weekend was such a fabulous weekend. Once again we hit the dance party where we cut a rug (or left a groove in the wood flooring at least. I cannot express how much I am going to miss this dance place when we move. More that the personal growth of moving from walking without tripping to moving somewhat gracefully across a dance floor, I’ve loved the friendships that we have made with other members and with the instructors themselves. From what I understand, we’ve been given a double blessings with the instructions and the warm environment in which we could grow.

Saturday we had friends come over for dinner. Of course while making part of the meal, someone scheduled a showing. We hurriedly cleaned up the mess of homemade meatballs (for meatball sandwiches) and the aftermath of homemade pie and shot out of the house in record time. (No word about the house selling, but please keep praying about it for us!)

We had these friends come over, and we were amazed that neither of them cooked. They marveled that someone could combine ingredients, use the oven and not wind up blowing the house to smithereens. I don’t even want to think about how long it has been since they had a home-cooked meal. It might make me cry crocodile tears. I told them both that if they had guts enough, I would teach them how to cook, and they might actually like it.  We’ll see if they take me up on it.

I’ve decided that if I had my choice to do anything in the world, it would be to teach cooking classes for those who feel inept in the kitchen. I think the pure gratification of watching a person go from not being able to touch a chicken to roasting one to perfection would be an extremely satisfying employment.

It’s not all hearsay actually; I know from experience that I would love it. When my friend Debbie got married, I asked what she could cook for her soon-to-be husband. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. After admitting that she hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do in the kitchen other than to pop a pizza in the oven or to pick up the phone to order Chinese delivery, she said that being in the kitchen actually scared the living daylights out of her and that she didn’t know how to get over her fears and cook a good meal at the same time.

Picking my chin up off the floor, I told her that my wedding gift to her (and her man) would be to teach her how to get comfortable with ingredients, measuring, mixing and cooking in all fashions. We spent two months readying her for her married life. By the time we were done, she knew how to do all sorts of fun stuff that actually tasted good: baking, cutting, how to sharpen a knife, the importance of heating a pan, using an oven, handling raw meat, and how to cook more than just vegetables that come in a can.

I can still remember the day that she called me from her new home in New York, squealing with delight over the roasted chicken that she made. Pride, joy and satisfaction welled up inside of me as I listened to her regale her culinary masterpiece and the smile that her husband had when she brought it to the table.. I loved that Debbie now had that same kind of ease in a room that housed an oven, shedding her trepidation of cooking.

I wonder if I could actually do that… Maybe God will find some way for me to have that dream come true.  It might actually be one way to make my teaching degree come into use.

Since I had my evening free after dropping Mr. Right off at the airport, I decided to go see a movie. I have to admit that there haven’t been many that have made me want to go the theater. But I did want to see Julie and Julia. I had read the book a few years ago and was delighted with it, so I hoped that the movie would be as splendidly done.

I love the basis of the story:  a woman in the midst of being lost and confuse in the aftermath of 9/11 finds reason and purpose as she cooks her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  Not only did she take on the challenge of cooking 524 recipes in 365 days, she blogged about it the entire time.  All this while being married and holding a full-time job – now that was a daunting task!

As for the movie, I was surprised to see a largely crowded theater.  I made my way to my seat and settled in for two hours of excellent writing, acting and a break from the world.  I cannot tell you how long it has been since I have been to a film where the audience laughed well and often.  The characters were completely likable and connected well with the crowd.  There were many a times when I had tears fall from my eyes because I was so disappointed on their behalves and many a times that my face lit with pure joy that they triumphed and knew what it meant to know love.

One of the reasons that I connected with the movie (other than my love of cooking), I could totally relate to Julie, the present day woman who blogged about her year of cooking dangerously.  There were moments in the movie where she was wondering if anyone was reading her blog.   Next came the showing of joy when she actually had a first comment and knew that the postings weren’t just floating off into the great internet unknown.  But my absolute favorite blog part of the movie was when Julie and her husband were in the heat of an argument over her cooking foray and the fact that she thinks of nothing except how her readers will respond to things.  He storms out of the house yelling, “And don’t blog about this fight!”

I can’t tell you how many times Mr. Right has told me not to blog about something, be it an argument, a private joke, a personal situation or our sex life.  It’s so sad that he thinks he has to tell me something like that.  As if I have no concept of personal space and privacy!  Well, he might be on to something with that…

You want to how good the movie was?  When it was over and the credits started rolling, I couldn’t help myself… I started clapping.  Within two seconds the rest of the crowd was applauding the merits of a fabulously spent two hours.  And to top it all off, though there were a few who left as the credits were rolling, most of the audience stayed in their seats as if getting up would break the spell of magic that the movie washed over us.  As I made my way down the lit stairs, a complete stranger  - an older gentleman – turned to and said, “That was an awesome movie.”  I couldn’t have agreed more.

It was phenomenal to say the least.  Go see it.  You might catch me at the theater again for my second viewing…  I’ll even save you a seat.  There’s a reason that Meryl Streep is honored with accolade after accolade.  She completely became Julia Child in looks in voice and in presentation.  She was sheer perfection in the performance.

Oh, and I can only guess that there will be a large boost in sales for Mastering the Art of French Cooking and cooking classes in the coming weeks, not to mention the increase in the production butter that will be needed to keep up with the experimenting that will ensue.  Because as Julia Child said, one can never cook with too much butter.

I couldn’t agree more.  By my last count, I have five pounds of butter waiting to be put to good use.

Dinner anyone?  I’ll cook; you bring the wine.