A Cook's Tour of Life

If you are the cook it is what you do, in joy, in sorrow, on state occasions or to ready ranch hands for a cattle roundup. I've kneaded bread and rolls in the predawn hours of the morning for a wake, stayed up all night to make fondant roses for a classmate's wedding cake,  made many a midnight box lunch for early morning fishing trips. I learned to cook Summers in Garfield County, Colorado, on a cattle ranch. My bestie in high school was a Basque-American rancher's daughter. Her mother fell ill with M.S., her father and older brothers had their hands full keeping the ranch going. Cooking for the family and the ranch hands was a full time job, and it fell to Marlena and me, until the school year started. To this day I love Hereford cattle, especially calves, horses, truck-driving, apple harvesting and cooking for a crowd. 

It is a privileged position, cooking ... kitchen messes, clogged sinks, begging dogs (or cats) and all. The whole untidy process is tremendously fulfilling. A cook is there, behind the scenes, to serve and sustain life. We celebrate the great and small events of life by nourishing the energy for what comes next. I think it is an honorable, hopeful, profession. Food is here for pleasure, to inspire. It is health-giving, it is fuel. Food is community; it is how we celebrate the past, present and future. What could be more loving than preparing, even, the smallest repast?

Yorkshire Puddings (My mother's recipe)

Today I am making a ceremonial rib roast of beef, to enjoy with my neighbor, who is packing up his life, to return to his home in Alaska. We'll have yams, baking potatoes, roasted onions, Yorkshire puddings, and some sort of green (asparagus sounds good.) If it doesn't stem the tears, it should leave everyone full enough to relax and take some deep breaths. I do not often eat this way, but it is an occasion, and we'll treat it accordingly.

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

This is crisis management, my friend must leave his apartment by May 31. It looks as though no extension of time will be forthcoming, but he is hopeful. Colorado is an at will employment state; that is bad enough. It is also landlord-friendly (or, tenant-unfriendly.) In other words a landlord can evict a tenant for good cause, or, for no cause. Thus, after much agonizing, my kind, lovely, friend and neighbor, has decided not to pitch a fight, but, to go.

It will be well, but this is a Gonzo move, quick and dirty. My life has been spent,  it seems, in transit. It is actually difficult for me to stay attached to things or people. I grew up an only child, one parent at home, no siblings, no relatives. We moved constantly from one Navy venue to another. I am sure domestic refugee status added no growth to my stunted roots, either; however, there is nothing quite like losing everything multiple times, to equip one to move in the eye of a storm. So I assigned jobs to my neighbor, analyzed the situation, and returned home to cook dinner. We needn't make it a sad occasion with tears and goodbyes. This meal will fuel the beginning of his next life adventure. 

It is a good idea to think ahead what you can and cannot live without, before a literal or figurative hurricane hits. It's okay. I'm ruthless, and, generally not attached to material things. I can put a sticker on it, pack, give away or trash something without rending my heart in pieces. I tend not to be particularly sentimental, so the Gonzo move is my specialty. If only my friend were rooted like a bromeliad, as am I. He is not, and he is hurting. He's former Navy, so he knows how and when to clear a deck, so we will get through this! On the other end the Copper River Valley, his mother waits anxiously to see him home and safe.