Ain't it funny how time slips away? How is it possible so many days have gone by since I wrote last?
I know I promised more tales and details courtesy of my chatroom adventures, but I think I’m going to remain mum for now. Perhaps I’ve grown too cognizant of my audience or maybe I’m just not prepared to properly express my sometimes conflicted feelings about what and whom I’ve done. Probably a good amount of both of those things. Suffice it to say that my adventures continue, I’m constantly surprised and challenged, and some day I will be more forthcoming.
But for now, let’s talk of other things. Last week I was equally thrilled and alarmed when the Sheldon Art Galleries called me and asked for some more merchandise for their boutique. As has been well documented here, I have been basically unable to channel my creative energy into anything resembling a tangible end product for some months now. Luckily, a frantic search through my back stock unearthed a few items for the store. I almost, almost, felt energized to create, but alas, no. Perhaps when the check arrives for the items I’ve already sold I will feel inspired. Is that wrong? To be inspired by financial gain? Shit, I have to get inspired by something, someday. I hate to think I’ll have to take my hand out of my pants in order to be an artist again. That’s a rather tragic trade-off, don't you think?
Speaking of artistry, I’m still perfecting my adaptation of Madhur Jaffrey’s recipe for aloo gobi. I have a love/hate relationship with Indian food. There was a time in the last decade when I really loved it. Out of nowhere though, on a trip to an Indian restaurant, I was unable to eat almost anything. I actually felt nauseous. It was weird. I let a few years go by and decided to try again one day at lunchtime with an Indian buffet. Steve was overjoyed, as he loves Indian and had not had much opportunity to eat it since he was no longer with his Indian food loving co-workers. I went in with an appetite and ten minutes later I was contemplating running for the ladies room to throw up. Even the tandoori chicken was inedible to me. So, I thought Indian was lost to me forever. Until I saw Madhur Jaffrey preparing aloo gobi on Sara’s Secrets on the Food Network. Aloo gobi was the first Indian dish I ever ate or cooked and I had always loved it. I had it first at a homey little restaurant on a spur of the moment road trip to Albuquerque (on that trip I also acquired my third tattoo). Upon my return from that excursion I asked an Indian co-worker if she had a recipe and she gave me a great one. (I will never forget that she and her sister had sibling kittens that they named Aloo and Gobi.) Anyway, I made it a couple times and sort of forgot about it. So many years later Madhur’s recipe seemed more complicated and somehow better. Risking imminent stomach distress, I prepared it and the obsession began. I’ve made it at least every week since. It's a fairly high-fat dish in this recipe and I need to experiment with a way to make it just as good but with less oil. Hell, maybe I'll make it again today.
My mom’s 80th birthday party was on Saturday and I found it another opportunity to make aloo gobi. I thought that the particular crowd at this party would not be very interested in the dish and that me, my sister and my niece would have it all to ourselves (with our husbands being allowed some too). Who knew that the resolutely Amuuurican-food eating folks would gobble down this spicy Indian dish, leaving not a scrap in the dish? Dang, so much for leftovers. It did restore my faith that small town folks can live outside their box, even if it’s only to eat an exotic food once in a while.
The party was fun but it’s crazy to contemplate my mom being 80 fucking years old. Considering she’s healthy as a horse aside from some creakiness, I suspect we’ll be celebrating her 90th. I hope we will, anyway. And it gives me hope that I’m not even halfway done with my life. Middle aged my ass.
Well, that’s it for now. Coming up: musings on Battlestar Galactica, our 13th wedding anniversary and my undying hatred of long winters.