The Salad Days

Oh, what an expression.

Sweet - and painful. So sweet when you are living them; so painful after they're gone.

My salad days, at least of recent years, were last year and most of this one.

As far as food goes, it was part of the love. There were eggs and biscuit products over leisurely or even hurried breakfasts. Pizza - or salads, even- and the occasional sandwich over lunch. Filet, or Mrs. Chaing's specialties, or crabcakes or . . . over dinner. Food deliveries after a long day or brought when sick; cheese plates and champagne, cocktails and appetizers; even deviled eggs and muffins brought for an all-nighter at work. Many of my memories revolve around food shared, over confidences proffered, random tidbits of childhood, of history, of all sorts of verbal banter in the best of spirits. So many memories.

But what else? The tenderness, the concern, the animation, the silliness - that was the real part of the love. Sure, it was intertwined with food, often, but the love for each other was the crux of the matter. 

And I thought it would last.

But salad turned into tears; communication turned into silence; intimacy turned into alienation.

It seems a great bit of irony - unsurprising for CN's life, I know, given all its twists and turns - that I now work in one of the places in our semi-regular rotation. Some days, I can't serve veggie and steak combo fajitas without a thought of him. Who knew sizzling platters and a side of guac and cheese could be of such emotional impact?

Most of the memories I cherish; yet there are some items, places, and environments I cannot (yet?) stomach. When I attempt to cook a fritatta (his were so good), when I have a really good steak, when I attempt to share a meal with, well, most anyone else - it gives me pause. You all know food has complicated meaning for me - a love-hate relationship, if you will - this has added a whole new element of angst. (Who says angst at 7:24 in the morning, by the way? This was just one of the kind of dorky things we would say to each other, as part of our vocabulary game . . .)

Do I still enjoy egg-y goodness? Yes. Will a great steak always make me smile, or the most delicious crabcake with a mustard-y sauce make my heart and stomach happy? Definitely. But the real message here is that sharing treats in food form with someone you love is a privilege and one of the best things in life.

Communion - friendship - flirtation that goes into something way deeper - that is way more than salad could ever be.

It is great fortune.

So now, I remember my salad days with tremendous . . . love. 

Shall they come again? I don't know. Sometimes I want a crystal ball to find out; sometimes I don't. Sometimes I want that shared chicken Parmesan, or grilled artichokes, or potstickers, or . . . 

But sometimes, wondering has its limits. And I don't know the end of that story (or do I?), or of mine. 

So for now, I know that I made my (famous-to-CN) eggs-in-a-hole, with cheddar cheese and mixed greens (ask me if you're interested and I'll tell you how I do it - sometimes I include bacon, just sayin'!) and a glass of OJ for breakfast early this morning.

And it was delicious.

Salad can be wonderful; days can be good. With food, and with relationships, maybe we can try and hope for the best. If we screw one or the other up, well, maybe we are - or become - willing to try again.

I've always said I will always remain an optimist, despite any obstacle thrown in my way.

Here's to more good food and more good - love? - along the way.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal