Random Esquire

Little Filthy and I are lazy morning-ing it.  He has fallen back asleep on the bed and I am sipping coffee at the computer, looking for a decent preparation for monkfish.  I am having guests over tomorrow night and have decided on doing a simple, seasonal meal.  I am making a bacon wrapped monkfish and beef tenderloin.  I was going to wrap the monkfish in prosciutto but I’ve heard that prosciutto gets funky in the oven.  Bacon, it is.  Steamed asparagus.  Simple green salad. I’m deciding between a jasmine rice or baby new potatoes.  Who the hell knows.

Why the heck am I such a foodie?  My mother worked in the evenings when I was younger. When my sister and I came home from school, she’d have a meal prepared with instructions on how to cook it.  She’s an excellent cook.  My father is an excellent eater.  This is not to be underappreciated.  He could work all day and if my mother had made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he’d have beamed and said, “Thank you!”  He was just happy someone made something for him.  Anyway, I got to enjoy preparing food and to appreciate people eating it.

Cooking for someone you like or love it great.  It is like saying to someone, “You have this basic need…and I wish to fulfill it.“  What could be a better indication of caring about someone?

Having said all of that, it’s entirely possible that I’ll botch the meal tomorrow night and you know, it won’t phase me.  At least my guests will know I gave it a go.  What’s the worse that could happen?  We scrap the meal and order pizza?  Sounds like a good evening to me on all counts.  Plus, by then, everyone will be so drunk on wine, I might just tell them that I made the pizza myself.