Monday, June 20, 2011

Lazy, lazy, lazy.

You know that game where you figure out your soap opera name by putting your middle name together with the street you grew up on? Well my soap character is Ruth Dorchester. With a name like that, I’m sure to be the matriarch of the rich family that runs the town. My husband is probably the mayor or the police chief. In the ’70s I may have had a run in with a Russian mobster during my wacky cigarette phase. Our love child is engaged to my legitimate daughter, but I can’t tell her to call it off because Cliff will find out about my affair with Stefan all those years ago. I’ll just sabotage the wedding, hiring a hooker to say she’s my long lost niece and seduce the groom. My daughter will thank me eventually. Even if this exacerbates her heart condition and sends her back to that bipolar musician who lives above the coffee shop and “died” in the subway flood of ’92.

If you are anticipating a well-timed, crowd-pleasing “but I digress,” I must disappoint. I am completely on topic right now—I’ve just not yet reached my point. 

I don’t think Lady Dorchester cooks. Sure, she’s mixed sleeping pills into a private investigator’s brandy before, maybe even poisoned a stranger’s hospital food—there couldn’t be any witnesses!  But Ruthie doesn’t roast chicken, mash potatoes, or know where the cheese grater is (even if she has the corkscrew on lock).

On account of having had too many meals away from home with friends and family, I have channeled my inner Dorchester and become estranged from my kitchen. We are accustomed to being served; food appears when we are ready. While Ruthie’s aversion to crafting her meals is no doubt caused by disposable income, mine is caused in part by laziness. My recent eating away trend has conditioned me to expect food without any effort to prepare it. I actually had the thought tonight that pesto would be too much of a hassle. Pesto! I have all the ingredients at hand—wouldn’t even have to go to the store!—and still, I didn’t want to make it because I’d have to get the pulverizer down from atop the fridge... and plug it in.

And lovely not-so-fresh produce that I would like to cook is wilting in my fridge, as I’m either not home to treat it or unwilling when I am. I expressed my frustration and concern to Alex today in what he transcribed as, “Feelings, feelings, feelings—Alex are you listening to me? Feelings, feelings.”

So, in the immortal words of Lucas (quoting the Doors), “The time to hesitate is through.” I’m sending Ruth back to her mansion so I can start reversing these bad habits. Tomorrow I will make dinner. Homecooking or bust! (Where bust doesn’t mean, “Who’s up for Thai?”) 


  1. You've thought about that one a lot. Photo is adorable.

  2. Lady Dorchester is acceptable because she quotes Lucas from Empire Records. Always and forever. Categorically.