Break-up Soup: Corn, Potato, & Gruyère Deliciousness

“There is logic and order to cooking. What you put into it has everything to do with what you get out of it. With love, it’s not so cut-and-dried.”

–Giulia Melucci, I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti: A Memoir of Good Food and Bad Boyfriends

True story – He broke up with me six days before Christmas, over the phone. He said, “You’re the nicest girl I’ve ever dated, but…” I’ll leave the break-up story there, teetering on the edge of such a backhanded compliment that, at the time, I was left speechless – an event that doesn’t happen often. We had been an item for five months – they were largely fun and relaxing, involving meals of roasted chicken, beer cheese soup, lasagna, spinach-and-ricotta calzones, and his delicious chicken Parmesan. We played a lot of board games, hiked many Saturdays and walked around our neighborhoods on the weekdays, and discussed what 30-somethings do when they’re on the precipice of their potential. He was my rebound, I guess, though I didn’t see him as such until the phone call.

Uh oh: Change, Change, Change

My best friend Jenna Leigh and me in Washington, D.C. July 2010.

This past Sunday I had the worst chest pains I've ever had. I honestly thought I was having a heart attack. I drove myself to the ER at 9 pm, after vomiting several times en route, and was poked and prodded and finally released at 2 am with prescriptions for anti-nausea, anti-cramping, and pain. The verdict is not yet set, but the ER doctor and the internist I visited on Monday morning think I may have gallstones, which is honestly one of the most embarrassing things to be diagnosed with since this medical issue almost always affects people who are overweight. I am one such person, I'm also part Native American (which makes me even more susceptible to gallbladder issues), and I'm a woman (we tend to have more issues with this part of our body than men).

Recipes, like life, are not fail proof.

This past weekend I was able to spend time with my mother (Happy Birthday, Mom!) and one of my dear friends, Stefani. Stef and I talked about old memories, present times, and future hopes, like we often do when we finally catch up. One thing I told her during our chat has been with me since we spoke: I’m tired of all those people and blogs that are seemingly perfect. You know the type? The ones who promise their recipes will never go wrong, their pictures showcase nary a burnt crust or a caved-in cake, and the china is never chipped or worn with age.