Friendship

There's a continuous blog going on in my head but the connection of my head to my hands to the keyboard is difficult of late. Is it lame to say that I have been a mother 6 years and it still surprises me how much joy and work it is?

As usual, I digress.

Recently I met with a group of women. A really cool group of women who I like very much. I like their differences and their ideas and their vim and vigor. (I've always wanted to say that... "vim and vigor"... tickles the tongue, it does.)

So as I was meeting with this group of women, the subject turned to food. My ears perked right up. How to make dinners. How to get good deals on food. That sort of thing.

I'm a self confessed foodie.

I'm not afraid of a little fat.

And I'm not afraid of cooking something for two hours if it means it's wicked good.

I wanted to hear about flavors and richness and the beauty of taste and texture. I wanted to hear about obsessions with coconut or mishaps with caramel.

As the conversation continued, I didn't really hear anyone say, "Oh man... you have GOT to try this such and such..."

Instead I heard words like "quick" and "easy" and "just open a can of..."

I became very quiet. And, can I confess, I felt really sad.

"Emily, this is ridiculous. You stop being such a food snob. Listen up, girl. You may learn something new," I told myself. But the loneliness stayed. And it seemed to grow.

Fast forward a day. My friend Ann and I are talking on the phone. She tells me, "Hey Em, I made a gluten free carrot cake recipe for you. It's pretty good."

"You did? You made one for me?" I don't think I've had a good gluten-free baked item since I went glutenless a month ago.

"Yep... I can't get it out of the pan, but the taste is really good. I found some special flour at the Whole Foods store. Did you know you can buy bulk spices there? And if you just need a little, you can do that, too!" Ann is such a foodie.

"But Ann, you're not gluten free," I said, putting two-and-two together.

She laughed.

"So you went out of your way to make a special cake for me?"

More laughter. I was deeply touched.

"Well... I like the challenge," she offered. Did I mention that she's modest?

The next day I ate some of the best darn carrot cake known to man. It was sensual and had layers of flavor that hit your tongue at different times--it was earthly and moist and somehow chocolatey. It was amazing.

Now I know it's frowned upon in nutritious circles to be an emotional eater, but I can honestly say that I rarely eat a bit of food in which I don't have an emotion. I really don't know how to stop being an emotional eater. That being said, when I ate this cake I nearly cried for the goodness of it. Each bite confirmed friendship and fellowship and goodness and creativity. My tongue did a happy dance, it did.

Later, I called my mother and told her the two stories. I don't have to explain "foodie" to my Mom. She called me into the fold with her love of cooking years ago. And I didn't have to explain the friendship part, either. We just ate the story up.