Author Archives: raleighjustaddheat

A Comforting Warmth

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Every human being craves comfort.  Webster’s defines comfort as a “strengthening aid”, or “consolation in time of trouble or worry”.

The specific trouble or worry requiring consolation varies.

I have recently relocated, and moved back to the area where I spent my teens and 20’s. I couldn’t wait to leave, and once gone, I couldn’t wait to come back.  It’s a dilemma many share (my friend and fellow blogger  often writes about this with tenderness and humor).  I have discovered, having been “home” a mere six months, that comfort takes many forms: a familiar landmark, warm (hot?) weather, sweet Southern accents, and, food.

 

Weathervane

For those who are familiar with my laments on Twitter or this blog, or in real life,  you know that my two ongoing themes these days are dating (groan) and good food (*groan*).  I recently embarked on what I’m calling a “Recipe Adventure”  (#recipeadventure on if you’re a Tweep).  In times of stress, joy, sadness, fatigue, you name it – any time I need comfort – I turn to food first.   Cooking and creating (or failing at , if you read my post about black rice pudding – a disaster) dishes makes me happy, relaxed, tranquil.  Few things (pg-rated, at least) take me to such a place of calm, relaxation and peace.  Food is my religion.  Cookbooks are my bible. 

So, real life has become a bit crazed.  The dating scene is stale (unless I were to become a lesbian, a gay man, a polygamist, or, again, a Cougar.  <cough>). My day job is increasingly stressful – not exactly what I hoped for when I moved South of the Mason-Dixon.  But the food scene… ah!  It’s alive.  It’s electric.  And, it’s where I turn when I need comfort.

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Wanna lick my spoom?

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A fellow blogger offers tips on dating.  For men.  They’re interesting.  Good, even.  He offers such gems as:

1. Acquire a “grown-up” email address.  beer4eva at blah blah dot com (not a real email, I hope) should leave you when you leave your college dorm. No self respecting woman will take that seriously. Or, respond.
2. No kissing on date number 1. Oops. 

 

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He offers other tips, but really, you’ll have to read them  yourself. 

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Re-lighting the Pilot

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I am not a chef.  I’ve never been to culinary school.  I think I have an untrained nose, and I’d wager some would argue I have an immature palate (I’d disagree). Yet, I love food.

I love making food, reading about food.  I steal menus when I can, to read and re-read the culinary treasures I tasted, and to study and fantasize (and maybe try to recreate) those that I didn’t.   I have more cookbooks than I’ve actually used.  Reading the recipes, how the flavor combinations would materialize,  I’m lost for hours.   My favorite cookbooks are those with simple, basic ingredients in their recipes, bringing new life to a chicken breast, making simple herbs exciting (chicken baked in white wine, butter, and lots of fresh thyme? Some say “boring”, I say “subtle, simple, comforting and good.”).

I have cookbooks with exotic creations inspired by Thailand, France, hippie communes, Michelin-starred chefs and celebrity vegans.  I love them all.

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How Hot Are Your Cakes, Baby?

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There is no such thing as a better-than-sex cake. Cake is cake. Sex is sex.
The first time I tried a “Better than Sex Cake” I will admit, I was more experienced at having one over the other (go on, guess.).  I was not impressed.  I think it was chocolate, or chocolate-y.  It may have involved whipped cream and had a couple of layers to it. 
 I think I first ate this concoction at some office gathering.  It may have even been a contest or baby shower, or some other nonsensical food event.  The office women with their Married Hair cooed, chirped, and ahh-ed over this life-altering cake.  The men did not. Why?
It’s cake.

A Slow Simmer

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Food, dating, and sex are three very distinct pleasures each unto themselves.  But , I state the obvious.

Food can bring me pleasure , really, unlike anything else. 

Toast dripping in butter, sauteed mushrooms, rare beef tenderloin…grits souffle (I know, it sounds outrageous.  Magnolia Grill’s is pure bliss)… All of these have driven me to a point of such distraction that I did not want to return.  Really.  If I could eat only that grits souffle and nothing else (and still fit into my car, much less my clothes), I would.

I do not love to date.  I date in the search for pleasure (the kind I *can’t* get from food), and in the hopes of finding a connection.  There has to be a connection. If there’s no chemistry, we’re done.  Sorry.

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