I love Mondays, especially those Mondays when one of my schedulers placed a patient on Tuesday rather than today (mistakenly), which means a morning of walking the dogs, running, reading Marcus Samuelsson’s memoir, writing about the Bernese Oberland for a travel magazine, and writing about my imagined journey from East Africa to Central New Jersey.
It’s going to be a fun week–fun! fun! fun!–as one news flash follows another, the world goes topsy-turvy, and scythes emerge as a synecdoche for you-know-what. My goodness, it’s enough to take my breath away.
You know, normally, like many writers I really like to have the drama take place on the page. I like my life to be quiet. I like the Japanese idea of being inside a remote inn deep in the mountains beside a hot spring and allowing memories and what is imagined to become part of a separate narrative.
Well, not every day or week is like that.
So in anticipation of stress, I tend to eat high fat foods. This past Spring, for example, it was pizza and chicken Parm up the wazoo. Now, more wistful, I’m inclined to eat vegetarian: Fried tofu, falafel, gazpacho. Gazpacho, just so you know, is the easiest thing on earth–nearly–to prepare. You take a food processor, turn it on and add in no particular order: salt, pepper, olive oil, red wine vinegar, a peeled cucumber, a red pepper, about four tomatoes, some bread without the crust, and some Tabasco. Chill. Put in bowls and add a thin line of freshly chopped and roasted almonds, a drizzle of olive oil on the almonds, and a little salt.
And that’s just Monday. Will the week bring a slice of pepperoni? Or cold noodles with scallions? We shall see.