I’ve been M.I.A. these last few days- physically and mentally. This last week has gotten very personal for some reason, or I guess I should revise and say it may be that I am taking things far more personally… Anyway, it has been one of those week’s that my thoughts seem better fit for private writing on paper than public writing here. I guess the hormones are really kicking in just that much more- finding their roots. The “prickly cactus” that I have been has morphed somewhat (not completely mind you) into a scared weepy version of myself which is pretty odd in it’s own right. Rarely am I scared or this weepy. Sure, in the past I’ve been …sometimes... but currently I feel like crying all of the time - of course I feel like laughing all the time too. I just wish my hormonally challenged brain would come back from the brink and make up its mind what the proverbial “we” want to do with ourselves. According to the three hundred calendars I keep an eye on , the baby is apparently the size of a raspberry! We were so spoiled by having the ability to have an ultrasound a week that now we feel lost with out being able to take a peek inside and see how our little nubbin is doing. We need an ultrasound machine here at home… don’t they sell a potable one now? Anyway, no need to re-mortgage the house for my selfish need to spy on the growing baby.
Aside from that all seems to be relatively well. I fear that I may have temporarily lost my mojo in the kitchen- maybe it is on vacation just in time for the first good thick frost, which covered the ground this morning. But this last week has been a week of blah dinners, not made without love, just made without effervescence or enthusiasm. So I as I sit here trying to generate a list of what to get from the farmers market I am in search of my inspiration. I have to figure out how to trigger it- going through my old cookbooks is out- I did that a few weeks ago only to ask myself why really I have all of these books with recipes I will no doubt probably never make as they are too poo-poo-tah-tah for at home casual dining, or have made so many times are now reside on the honored “over it” list. I then turn to thoughts of playing favorites.
You may not know that I am one of the biggest fans of “brunch” on the planet. Sleep in late, wake up to Bloody Mary’s, whiskey sours, mimosas (have I told you how much I miss cocktails yet? ) savory soufflés, sweet treats with powdered sugary flourishes, and everything a vehicle for butter – I dare say that life doesn’t get any better than brunch.
I have been remembering recently a hike / camping trip I went on when I lived out west. For the life of me I can’t remember where we were – or even what state we were in. It’s killing me. Anyway, location is not that important. We had gotten there at dusk so I had no idea what exactly to expect when I woke up that next morning which I oddly am a big fan of- the art of the elemental surprise. It was breath taking. There was a gorgeous lake, thick ranks of evergreens at the mountain line, crisp frost bitten air much like this morning, no one around for what seemed like miles – if at all - and the stillness that comes from being in the woods in the onset of fall. A silence that comes over everything as critters have not yet woken up, the birds have either flown away or are still nestled under their own wings, and the leaves have vanished so there is little rustling in the branches above.
After a morning hike and loading everything into the car we drove to the surprise part of the trip- Brunch at the Lodge – the Lodge? Are you kidding? There’s a lodge? The fact that they served what was known to be the most incredible brunch for miles, maybe even states, far more than made up for the fact that my then boyfriend didn’t tell me that the luxury facility existed a mere half a mile away from our camping spot so as to not ruin the ‘surprise’- it was a sick sense of romanticism that only my then college mind would have been able to handle. I digress; the lodge was in fact a revelation in itself. It wasn’t just the sight of the hand hewn mass in front of us as we pulled up, inside of which I correctly envisioned the warmth of stoked fires, wall mounted moose antlers and “stuffed” wild salmon and trout. It was the fact that when we entered, the hushed sounds and warm smells of the lounge and dining room overwhelmed me in every sense that it brought tears to my eyes. (Ok, this may actually be a slight exaggeration - the teary part - but that’s what I imagine I felt like if I were ‘me’ then as I am me now – make sense? stay with me…. I am as I said- weepy) Anyway, after nice long hot showers we sat down for maybe the best fall brunch I can ever recall - or, at least at this moment. A long night in the cold made us ravenous and we ordered everything. Beautiful yeasty waffles with melted butter oozing over every square, house smoked salmon, and the most perfect poached eggs. We ate as kings, and deserved as much.
So now when I wonder, where oh where my inspiration has gone, I can think back to the warm satiated feeling I had while looking over the glistening mountain lake, high above the cares of the world, with the sweet powdery sugar taste still on my lips and realize that I don’t always need to be inspired by savory sauces, robust roasts, or sweet baked breads. Or worry about what is on the “not allowed to have list (mainly right now the smoked salmon and poached eggs which I thrive on). I can just be happy being inspired by warm feelings of the best type of food in existence: Brunch.
