♪Music we’re cooking to♪
Propel. That’s a good word, Mama. – Luna
Turn up the music. The music we’re cooking to.
Turn it up loud.
I mean feel the rhythm surge through your entire being and bounce off your heart kind of loud.
Louder. Louder. Louder.
Push aside the curtains, throw open the doors and windows.
She wrote this song about John Mayer. You whisper conspiratorially into his ear.
There was a time when this easy lean into his shoulder, followed by hushed murmurs, carried with it information of a different nature.
But today it’s all about Taylor Swift.
Such is the evolution of a marriage.
He – your husband – looks back at you slightly intrigued but mostly bewildered.
♪ MUSIC WE’RE COOKING TO ♪
You give the wobbly wheel a swift kick right where it counts and knock it back into place. You may or may not utter a few unsavory words. You and your traveling companion – an old laundry basket on wheels – hurdle your way down the blocked off street.
I am that woman.
You know the one.
You’ve seen her around town.
On the 405 – the 101 – and the 10 sometimes going East – on market days going West.
You’ve waited patiently and sometimes not so patiently for her to pull out of “your” Whole Foods parking spot.
You’ve caught a glimpse of her in your rear view mirror at school drop offs and pick ups.
You’ve pulled up beside her at the stop light.
Once upon a time, a long, long, long time ago, there was a bang which wasn’t really a bang but more of a singular moment in time when all the matter in the universe came into laser-sharp focus and all that energy in there shook around and bounced off of each other and contracted and contracted until there was no more room so it expanded and BANG! exploded into tiny particles forming protons, neutrons and electrons – forming The Univ
♪ MUSIC WE’RE COOKING TO ♪
Confession: I meant to share this Pistachio Bakhlava Cake with you in time for Valentine’s Day. It didn’t happen.
Confession: I also had every intention of sharing another delicious bite of goodness with you in time for the start of the Olympics. But that required making paper-thin slices out of a big hunk of jicama.
Yes. I know. How can dates and walnuts ever be described as sexy.
Well, maybe it’s just time to re-think sexy, and welcome some new players into this exclusive (and elusive?) club. After all, it’s not all about outward appearances. Most of the time it’s about how we are made to feel. And this pie is here to help bring back the inner sexy. Or so I hear.
Recipes are usually inherited.
Copyright 2021 Naz Deravian. All Rights Reserved.