A true story
I am back from my vacation. Every year, I join a group of old friends at a different location where we let our children frolic in the sun while we sit around and eat bad foods. This year, we went to an "off the grid" solar and wind powered farm in Northern California. It was beautiful, but if you learn anything from me besides that you must have at least six kinds of mustard in your refrigerator to be considered civilized, know that rustic cabin with outhouse up a hill PLUS stomach flu does not equal a relaxed respite from the modern world. Quite the opposite. Baby Balsamic did enjoy the lizard that lived on the steps of our cabin. And not with hot sauce.
However, I did have the opportunity to see an old, dear friend who recounted to me his memory of our first meeting.
"You'll probably be embarassed, but I found it charming."
"What? What?" I asked eagerly. Was I wearing an enchanting paisley halter top? Was I dancing to a latin groove, shaking my hips enticingly? Was I speaking articulately about some difficult and complex topic that affects all of us, like tomato farming?
No.
"You were eating something and there was a glob of mustard on your arm. I pointed it out to you and you said 'Oh' and wiped your finger through it and put it in your mouth."
I was secretly pleased that I did not let the tiniest bit of mustard go to waste. A conservationist always. It also drove home a simple truth, one that we overlook in these crazy times: condiments create lifelong friendships and community. Haven't you ever used the food table to meet friends and influence people? I will routinely lurk by the food table when I'm at a gathering with unfamiliar people. I'll identify a particularly delicious dip, then lie in wait for someone else to try it. When they do, I pounce, "It's great, isn't it? What's your name?"
Later in the party, my dear friend Susan tasted a carmelized onion dip that was to die for and, with a gleam in her eye, looked around at everyone and said "What's to stop me from slathering this dip all over my husband's body and licking it off." What indeed (Mr. Mustard isn't up for cream-based dips being rubbed on him, but I'll get him yet).
The next time you see a good friend, find your common condiment. It will last you a lifetime.
Be well,
Condiment Grrl
However, I did have the opportunity to see an old, dear friend who recounted to me his memory of our first meeting.
"You'll probably be embarassed, but I found it charming."
"What? What?" I asked eagerly. Was I wearing an enchanting paisley halter top? Was I dancing to a latin groove, shaking my hips enticingly? Was I speaking articulately about some difficult and complex topic that affects all of us, like tomato farming?
No.
"You were eating something and there was a glob of mustard on your arm. I pointed it out to you and you said 'Oh' and wiped your finger through it and put it in your mouth."
I was secretly pleased that I did not let the tiniest bit of mustard go to waste. A conservationist always. It also drove home a simple truth, one that we overlook in these crazy times: condiments create lifelong friendships and community. Haven't you ever used the food table to meet friends and influence people? I will routinely lurk by the food table when I'm at a gathering with unfamiliar people. I'll identify a particularly delicious dip, then lie in wait for someone else to try it. When they do, I pounce, "It's great, isn't it? What's your name?"
Later in the party, my dear friend Susan tasted a carmelized onion dip that was to die for and, with a gleam in her eye, looked around at everyone and said "What's to stop me from slathering this dip all over my husband's body and licking it off." What indeed (Mr. Mustard isn't up for cream-based dips being rubbed on him, but I'll get him yet).
The next time you see a good friend, find your common condiment. It will last you a lifetime.
Be well,
Condiment Grrl
posted by CondimentGrrl at 9:51 PM
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