A new contender for Best Meal Ever

I'm hours away from the termination of my job, but they are squeezing every last drop out of me, and so I've been on the road for the past 7 days, promoting products made by the company whose employ I have recently quit. I know; it doesn't make much sense to me either.

In any case, I arrived at yet another hotel yesterday afternoon at about 4. It was snowing the wet, unpleasant stuff and nearly dark for the night. I was knackered and achingly hungry, my feet were damp and freezing and I needed a nap, a change of clothes and a stiff whiskey. Nothing for it: I rang Room Service and ordered their all-day breakfast. While they poached my eggs I changed into my jammies and ran my feet under the hot faucet. I then proceeded to devour the feast with a relish I've never had for a platter of mediocre breakfast. Comforting eggs running all over the sausages, ketchup for the hash browns, baked beans and pork cretons piled onto corners of buttered toast, all were gratefully inhaled. Even the little packet of processed peanut butter fell victim to my path of destruction. I threw the tea bag into the thermos of hot water (for post-nap) and crawled under the duvet.

In the past I have bemoaned the utter crumminess of breakfast in general. I never realized that I've been eating it at the wrong time of day.

Adventures in puréeing

I've finally figured out what cookbook I can write: The Grand Olde Book of Puréed and Other Soft Foods. Think of the readership: people with sore throats, sore teeth, no teeth, people with an aversion to chewing, babies. It's been 4 days since a gum graft has forced me to eat nothing but and I'm just hitting my stride in the innovation department.

Soups are great, sure, but boring after a while. Friday night I scrambled some eggs, mounded them into a bowl of tomato soup and covered the whole affair with aged cheddar. Delicious. Yesterday we came upon a hot cart selling scalloped potatoes. Mmmm. Last night I was testing recipes for MY NEW JOB and I discovered that buttery flakes of black cod slip down quite easily - no chewing required. The gorgeous fish is set over white beans hit with Pastis and hazelnut oil (so weird, so good!) so here I am, mouth shattered from surgery yet eating about the most gourmet meal my little kitchen has yet produced.

Dreamy dreams

I've been at this racket for about 6 years -- the writing about food racket, that is -- and it all came together for me last week. I got my dream job. Dream of all dreamy dreams dream job. Dreamy. Job. Pour moi. To say "over the moon" or "giddy with delight" says it but "crazy rocking out of my gourd ecstatic" might hit closer to the mark. I'm going to be the food editor at a beautiful national style and home magazine.

Taking a slight bite out of the glee is today's major dental and gum surgery. Hey, this food editor is going to eat room-temperature puréed foods for the next 2 to 3 weeks: how innovative and stylish. We begin with a room temp latte followed by room temp corn grits gooey with grated Cheddar. There's a pot of lentil soup burbling on the stove, and cheese soufflé will no doubt figure into the next 48 hours as well. All laced with regular lashings of Tylenol 3 of course.

But what a meal last night for The Last Supper. We sat at the zinc bar of the city's most perfect French bistro where braised rabbit with prunes and Armagnac (insanely rich, meaty-sweet and tender) became the Last Solid Food I'll eat for a stretch. Why is rabbit so rare on menus? It is patently superior to chicken in every way. I suppose rabbit is another one of those "meats" which verge too close to "pets". My lovely dinnermate feasted on veal kidneys: is that any worse or better? Delicious, fluffy bunny; tender, doe-eyed baby cow. Mmmm.

Comfort Food II

My stars, what a week. It would appear that I have been the lucky/unlucky recipient of a week-long roller coaster ride. This week has encompassed the single saddest thing that's happened to me this year (saying goodbye to my sister and nephew at the airport) as well as the very happiest (more on this in a few days!!). And all kinds of other crap in between -- a rejection, some sublime truffled cheese, a tear-filled afternoon of frustration at work, a first date. Whew.

My anchor, my consolation, is pasta. I ate pasta every day this week and somedays more than once. Gemelli with plain tomato sauce on Monday, macaroni-cheese lunch on Tuesday, hemp-flour ravioli at a fundraiser on Wednesday, tomato tortellini eaten out of the pan on Thursday, gemelli with sundried tomato pesto on Friday. Am I ashamed to admit that there is now a recently-emptied bowl of ricotta ravioli next to me as I write this? Heavens no. Why would anyone refuse comfort during times of intense emotion?