Day 4. I have been following the life story of Margaret Strover for the better part of the week now, from her uneventful childhood in the chilly North East to her somehow even more boring time at a private New England college. I have gained immense insight into the life of this woman in her late 30s who feels like she could have done more with her life but is not complaining about where she ended up. Every day my children ask when will we have some food. I keep lying to them that Margaret will surely get to her grandmother’s chicken recipe soon, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep it up.
With SIR ISAAC NEWTON’S BIRTHDAY approaching (yeah, what are you gonna do about it?) it is once again time for joy and forgiveness although not really because it’s all arbitrary and relies heavily on social contract enforced by the threat of becoming a pariah. More than that, though, it’s time to cook the traditional Winter Solstice feast that Christian co-opted from the pagans. But how to do that without losing your Level 10 Atheist license? Like so:
You could already feel that this day was going to be a doozy. As you sit down at your table, you see him coming your way. Sleeves rolled up to show-off a bunch of tattoos, some of which you’re sure you can only get in prison, untucked shirt, 5 o’clock shadow at 1 in the afternoon, lit cigarette in his mouth, and a breath that could strip paint off a speed boat. God, what was the restaurant thinking partnering you up with a loose cannon waiter?
From the moment I bought my first cast iron pan, my life hasn’t been the same. It was only little things at first. On day one, after I seasoned the pan to bring out its natural nonstick-ness, I started noticing that some of the pictures on my wall… just weren’t right. I still recognized the locations, but not all of the people in them. Who was this man with his arm around me during my college graduation? I tried telling myself that I was just tired and that it will all come back to me. But it never did.