Standing at the Counter in My Kitchen

Personal Yummy #113

There’s nothing quite like standing at the counter in my tiny kitchen—the perfect height—enjoying my poached eggs that I just made, and my fresh avocado with fragrant olive oil and tarragon vinegar that I just prepared, and my ridiculously good ruby red raspberries that I just washed—my favorite—while I listen to the invigorating sentiments of Jim Rohn.

I do this often, because it makes me perfectly happy.

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Out of Character

Personal Yummy #112

“Two Budweisers and a fuzzy navel, please!” I call out, just about out of breath. I have five tables going at once, and I really need to get these drinks to the table that was last sat. They’ve been looking at me all thirsty and irritated for the past ten minutes.

I watch Curt—he’s at the cash register punching in an order. But he doesn’t acknowledge me. I usually get a nod of the head, or an index finger up in the air, or something. Well, I mustn’t be loud enough again. I love Madonna’s music (and “Borderline” is one of my favorites), but I really wish she would pipe down a bit.

“Two Budweisers and a fuzzy navel, please!” I call out again, but this time with a little more gusto. I wait patiently at the end of the bar, holding my tray tightly, and take a deep breath, determined to make myself relax a bit. Certainly he heard me this time. But—if that’s the case—why is he reaching in the cooler for a couple of Heinekens?

“TWO BUDWEISERS AND A FUZZY NAVEL!!!” I yell once more—almost not knowing what’s gotten into me—this time leaving out the formality, this time being quite pushy, and this time giving it all my effort, so much so that my voice cracks a bit.

(And I thought that the third try was supposed to be a charm.)

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Daily Delight for Friday, November 14: The Sounds of Sweetness

Personal Yummy #111

I’m sitting at my makeshift-but-sufficient desk in my bedroom, diligently working on some content for my new copywriting job, when I hear sweet sounds rising from the active, urban street outside my window:

Old MacDonald had a farm…eee-I-eee-I-O…

This phrase is being sung by a little girl, so free and unapologetic and innocent.

It makes me happy.

My Friend Mariano: His Loves Are Mine

Personal Yummy #108

We met one perfect almost-spring evening at Rosebud, a dance hall in the Strip District. He asked me to salsa. “You must have been Latin in a previous life!” he said after about two minutes, his genuine face beaming. “Why haven’t I seen you here before?” And he led me into an underarm turn.

“Believe me,” I replied, as I spun around twice, “I would’ve been here if I could’ve, but I just turned twenty-one a few days ago!”

Ah, that evening of fate. It was such an effortless beginning, and it’s been so effortless ever since.

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A Stop at Algiers

Personal Yummy #106

She is visiting me in Cambridge—Cambridge, Mass., that is.

I am so happy to see her.

She is enjoying an intense African coffee in an exotic copper container with a very long handle.

I am enjoying a mint coffee topped with an abundant, generous amount of whipped cream.

She orders a spinach turnover with couscous and a delicious side salad.

I order a lamb kebab with rice and a delicious side salad.

We eat, and sip, and laugh, and discuss Open to Desire and Mark Epstein.

Café Algiers on Brattle Street in Harvard Square, and your best Pittsburgh friend…

How delightful.