I Love it, I Love it NOT...Fat Free, Sugar Free Desserts

Really?...

Seriously?...

Isn't that some sort of collosal oxymoron?

So, no thanks. I'm all set. I'd rather have vegetable medley.

Exceptions

I was in the company of someone recently (a friend of a friend at a small gathering) who, after a few drinks, said something hideous and not worth repeating. She said she was kidding, of course, but I cannot think of a situation in which it would be remotely funny or appropriate to say what she said. That is, I think she wasn’t kidding; she was caught. The look on her face told me that as soon as the words left her mouth she wished she could shove them back in—but not because she didn’t mean them I believe, rather because she knew how unpopular and unthinkable they were to the rest of us in the group, to me especially.

I confronted her, of course, as my heart sank with sadness, astonished and revolted that in 2010 people (never mind someone I know!) can still have such hatred toward others. They may deny it, knowing it’s unpopular, or they might call it “politically incorrect” with a sneer, but the feelings are there—ready to sneak out and expose them when they are relaxed, perhaps inebriated.

I have known many people, who by virtue of making the acquaintance—being forced really to make an acquaintance— of an African American neighbor, a gay co-worker, a Jewish classmate, will claim “I’m not racist/homophobic/anti-Semitic…I have a black/gay/Jewish friend/neighbor/co-worker.” But the truth is they have only made an exception, exempting that one person they know from the larger group about whom they still harbor their ignorant fear.

I wish I could take comfort in such exceptions as baby steps forward rather than anomalies in their thinking, but today I’m still shaking my head and grieving.

I Love it, I Love it NOT…Vegetable Medley

I write [heart] notes to things I love. Quick expressions of my zeal for things I cannot—or would rather not—live without (bacon, watermelon, Crate & Barrel), [heart] notes arose from a desire to share my love of things that didn’t really warrant a whole lot of narrative.

But as you know, it’s not always a love fest here at Arugula. There are things I am not fond of—staycations and other variations on the word vacation; ignorant, trashy bumper stickers—and that send me on a rant. But similar to those things I love that don’t warrant a 500 word narrative, and for which a simple love note suffices, there are things I dislike that don’t deserve a lengthy diatribe.

And so I begin an occasional post of a sort: I Love it, I Love it NOT. The first to receive this dubious distinction is Vegetable Medley.

I love vegetables. I crave salads (especially arugula). I can make a meal out of some in various forms—sautéed, roasted, steamed, fresh. Haricot verts, asparagus, tomatoes, cucumbers, mushrooms, celery, spinach, broccoli, and snow peas all please my palate.

But I agree with Deanna, who said, “I’ve never met a vegetable medley I liked.”

Sometimes vegetables are meant to be together—in ratatouille, or caponata, on skewers on a grill—but when served as a side dish, more often than not overcooked, and especially when there are peppers in the mix—making everything else in the mix taste like peppers—I’d rather do without.

Fill Up

Countless times I remember pulling up to the gas station near the on-ramp to I-91 with my family in our Pontiac Catalina and my Dad--at the helm, naturally--rolling down the window and saying "Fill it up. High Test."

I remember sitting patiently in the back seat with my sisters (always in the middle since I was the youngest and never got a window seat), while the gasoline fumes mingled with the smell of the vinyl seats and the attendant washed the windows with the squeegee.

"Oil check?" he might ask as the final gallons topped off the tank and my sisters and I scrutinized his work, looking for spots he may have missed.

What I wouldn't have given for that service today. I overheated--my body, not my car--while getting ready to go out and had just gotten my body temperature under the spontaneous combustion mark, with my car's AC cranked on high and the vents all pointed on me, when my gas light came on. Ugh. The skies looked ready to open up, I was on my way to dinner and had just cooled down, and well, linen just doesn't look good wet.

I'd pay ten more cents, twenty more cents per gallon--AND I'd tip the attendant--if I could find a full service station. But I challenge you to find a full service station in these parts.

I guess right around the time we starting ordering martinis and crocktails and kids got too good to work on farms or pump gas I missed my opportunity to roll down my window and say,

"Fill it up, please."

Book List

I am almost finished reading my first book of the summer, Olive Kitteredge, by Elizabeth Strout (whom I loved before Oprah did, when I first read her first book Amy and Isabelle). It is one of those books that sat in a growing stack—put aside for the summer when I have more time to read.

I augmented the stack with a recent purchase, adding the newly published Promises to Keep by Jane Green and a few bargain books to titles by a couple of my favorite authors, Anita Shreve and Chris Bohjalian, which await me in my pile.

Then, yesterday, while I was sitting by the pool, immersed in Olive Kitteridge, a package arrived via UPS from Deanna, who was nice enough to send along some of her books, among them The Help by Kathryn Stockett, which I have been anxious to read and about which I have heard great things. (She also included in the package a box of Starbucks Via Ready Brew to try! She says it’s great for iced coffee. I think I’m as excited for the coffee as I am the books!)

And so I’m ready to read—to be entertained and intrigued and moved and inspired and in the good company of books.

Summer Splurge

At the end of every school year I buy myself something special. A few years ago bought myself some Coach sunglasses. Some Fabulous Coach sunglasses. The year I moved here it was my new furniture. My end-of-the-year gift doesn't have to be anything wildly expensive or extravagant (a Pandora charm did the trick last year). It's meant as a present to myself for a job well done, a way to mark the years. I splurge and allow myself to buy something on my wish list that I didn't feel I could justify buying another time.

This year I decided to order a duvet from Pottery Barn that I've been coveting for years. I absolutely love it. It has all my favorite, vibrant colors and matches sheets I already have (and appreciate). It's been on sale more than once since I fell in love with it, but the discount barely covered the shipping and handling and I felt like I should hold out... until they'd be discounted even more...or until I could pick something from my wish list as my end-of-the-year splurge.

It makes me happy. It was worth the wait.

Friendly Intervention

Jill called this morning on her drive (don't worry; her car is equipped so she can talk hands free) from San Diego to L.A. where she often travels for business. She was just checking in, as she often does, on me and my family and, today, my vacation in its infancy. (I do adore vacation, with the reverence one usually affords human life.)

We chatted, and laughed-- as I reminded her of an old story about a sweatshirt, bought at Urban Outfitters in Boston on one of many fun weekends Jill and Liz came to visit, which I ended up absconding from Liz twenty years ago, and for which Liz is still incensed and bitter (and incredulous that I had the nerve to wear it in front of her years later). It's a joke really.  But it's also Liz's justification for absconding with my things on occasion decades later--like a new "Eco cup" I bought the other day for iced coffees and iced teas by my pool. Good times.

I'm not exactly sure how it came up, other than Jill asked what my plans were for the day and it occurred to me, as I was getting ready to sit by the pool, that I was without my Eco-cup today--because Liz has it. So we had our laugh and exchanged news and itineraries and Jill said, without sugar coating or dancing around the issue, this: You need to get on the busy end of your blog.

Enough said.