It Was Just One of Those Things

Hey - I'm not writing well, but I wanted to apologize for being so depressed on Saturday morning. It didn't last. The beautiful 70 degree day was too good to pass up, so d'Oghy and I walked around the whole lake, which was just beautiful.

I had worked really hard for the dinner party. Rolf had to do a lot of the last minute preparations because he got mad at me on Wednesday night, and sequestered himself in the basement watching TV for 5 hours instead of doing any housework. And then on Thursday he accepted an invitation to go play geezerball, so he didn't do much then either, although he did get much of my list of things done before he left.

I had gotten the dinner table set on Wednesday, I made a fantastic chicken stock. . . and lots of other stuff. The only other food I made in advance was part of the dessert, an Italian custard called Zabagione. He got home and still had to make his part of the dessert (poached pears) . . . getting to bed at 3am.

Of course, he didn't put in a full day at work. He's not been getting enough hours in all year it seems to me. I don't remember who got home first, but right away I got busy working on the kitchen, well the upstairs kitchen. It was 5:30, and we really thought we could get dinner ready by 7:30; including making fresh pasta.

Well, I was really excited about the party. I love cooking for people. I was a bit resigned that our house wouldn't look as good as I'd like, but Rolf had other ideas and worked his butt off doing the "sweep and run" of everything that was out of place. Of course, that was instead of helping make a salad or anything having to do with food. He ended up finishing the pasta though.

And he was a stressed out jerk. I had gotten to the store to pick up some water glasses. We were down to 5 of them, and there would be 8 for dinner. I matched the new glasses (in size and shape) to the ones we already have because I think I'm going to go bankrupt before summertime, and we like the old glasses.

But he went off and started shouting at me that I should have gotten a complete new set, while I just leaned against the kitchen sink all too bored until I got fed up and lost my temper, slapping my hands together like I was trying to stop a dog from chewing up a shoe, and yelling at him to shut up saying "why can't you make getting ready for this party a fun time and treat me with a little gratitude. We're in this together and I've already worked my butt of for this you know." And he steamed off.

Well, our plan was that I was going to prepare the rest of the food downstairs. I have two kitchens; the one upstairs needs a new oven and stove top; however, I'd never used the kitchen downstairs other than to roast a turkey that was too big for the oven upstairs. And I ran into some trouble.

So, a little while later, I'm back in the upstairs kitchen. I've got the kitchenaide kneading the pasta dough, and I'm gathering all the pots pans I'll need downstairs . . . it is now 6:30, dinner guests are to arrive at 7:30. Well, Rolf came in to take over the pasta making. I guess I was still irritated with him.

I don't know what I said. I don't remember saying anything really. I must have asked him something because, while he was standing on the other side of the counter watching the pasta dough take form, he responded to my forgotten question saying:

"I'd tell you if I wasn't so angry.!" To which I started screaming that he had no right to be angry, that "I'm wonderful."

He didn't mean it, he tried to apologize, but I grabbed the pots and pans and went downstairs, crying.

Rolf came down and apologized, pestering me until I said I forgave him, saying that he was sorry, it was just because of the stress.

I was cooking downstairs because we didn't think it was appropriate to still be making dinner when the guests arrive, although we do it all the time with our other friends and family. I always have plenty of appetizers, and I get to cook with my friends. Well, this night I had an appetizer to make (Rosemary Roasted Cashews,) salad to make, and the entree which was Sauteed Chicken and Zucchini with capers over fresh angel hair pasta with a chicken, wine, and garlic sauce.

And it took forever.

I was using two 12 inch fry pans. But the stove, and this was not the best time to find this out, is not level. So I had to hold one of the pans upright at all times, which really prevented me from multitasking.

The guests arrive at 7:30, and I'm hustling downstairs, alone and angry that I'm doing all this, and treated like garbage, although this isn't what he had planned either. It was embarrassing. He came down and checked on me often, and I made some really bad timing decisions. The salad that took me 15 to 20 minutes itself because the Arugula had to be washed. . . that I could have sent upstairs for him to do while talking to the guests. And It was a bad choice of a menu since we didn't think the scallopined chicken could have been made the night before. Still, it really didn't seem like that much. Cook the zucchini, cook the chicken, boil the pasta, make the sauce: voila!

So, before I cooked the chicken, he made me come up and visit for a moment. Which I'm glad I did, and although everything turned out fine, I was really unhappy.

I made a well in the platter of pasta, and piled the zucchini sauted in olive oil in the middle, and shingled the chicken breasts around the platter, and poured the whole half gallon of sauce right on top. The pasta started soaking it up. The whole platter seemed to be dusted with capers.

Rolf had taken everything else up as I finished it, so all I needed to do was take my apron off, tuck in my shirt and take it up, which was fun. (It was delicious, and I didn't drop it by the way.) As a matter of fact, just about everything worked out fine. Except of course, it took me two and a half hours instead of one and a half hours. And dinner, which was supposed to be at about 8, was at quarter after 9. I can't be sure if they realized they were eating a masterpiece, or if they were simply starving.

It was fun to carry it upstairs and around the room (carefully because it was full of hot liquid, and it was very heavy) showing them and saying "It's finally ready! Look what I made you! You lucky people!"

Rolf and I got along, there wasn't any problem there. Except I know from the way he gave me the evil eye when I was talking about Zeigfields drag and strp club - it's closing to make leeway for the baseball stadium came up - and I know he wasn't happy when I was showing somebody the Christmas ornament I stole from Jesus' apartment warming. I drank, not too too much. But it was all ok.

When we shut the door after the last guest left, I started throwing off clothes until I was naked by the time I was laying on the couch in the sunroom.

"Well, I think that went pretty well," he said, hopeful that there might be sex.

"Are you kidding me? I worked my butt off, missed half the party, embarrassed to the core, and you made me cry! NO! It wasn't ok."

He sat, my feet in his lap and rubbed them while I sulked.

Maybe that's why I was so incredibly upset on Saturday morning. I really am embarrassed. But, we threw a great party with incredible food. And I did get to spend more than a couple of hours with them. It was a delight. But I was just so embarrassed that I had been away from the party and that dinner was so late, I just couldn't seem to let it go - add in that Rolf railed at me about the stupid water glasses, and then made me cry later - even though he may have thought he was being funny.

I don't know if he wasn't talking to me on Saturday morning because I was still sulking, or if he was mad that I'd said things about strippers or stolen Christmas ornaments, or maybe he was just ashamed . . . but I got over it on the walk around the lake, where joggers were wearing shorts, men wore no shirts, and I saw deer frolicking in the marsh. And I thought, "I just don't really want to be mad. And besides, I really shouldn't hold a grudge when I can be so awful myself . . . "

So, after he got home with his cute haircut; I made lunch.

All the best,
Vig

So goodbye, Dear, and Amen.
Here's hoping we meet now and then,
It was great fun,
But it was just one of those things.