I now pronounce you, husband and wife...

I went to a wedding last weekend for a friend from graduate school and I went alone. As soon as I sat down at my assigned table (3 hours late), I realized why it's so important to either bring a date or at least, know a lot of the people there.

Weddings seem to be designed for one purpose: so the people paying for it can network their happiness around. If you're wealthy, it's probably a combination of letting friends and family meet each other to create other romantic bonds while also promoting business alignments. If you're middle and lower class, it's a way to show off the pride you have in your offspring. Granted, weddings are expensive and if you're fortunate enough to have someone pay for your nuptials, give them what they want but damn, there is no shot in hell I'd ever have a wedding like that. I guess I should begin saving now, or my parents will invite the 79 family members I barely know simply to say hi to me.

I arrived at the reception and picked out my table card. My friend sat me with her friends from undergrad and our septuagenarian classmate who didn't dance, didn't drink, and isn't much of a talker. We had dinner with only brief interludes of small talk before the pop music started blaring. When the latest version of some techno-ey electric slide, line dance started, I knew it was time to go.

Maybe there was some dude there I could have sought out for conversation. Perhaps I could have danced next to one of the many sorority sisters, but I just wasn't in the mood.

I left imagining my perfect wedding. Of course it would be on a beach on a faraway island and it would span at least 3 days but it would only include the bare minimum on the guest list. (Sadly, I made this list and I'd HAVE TO invite at least 50 people). If I'm real lucky, only half will be able to make it.

I'd want to rent a house that would be able to hold my entire wedding party and then put the family in a separate place. We'd begin with a welcome bbq/rehearsal dinner. The next day would be the wedding and the following would be a brunch. It is my dream to be able to set the menu and prepare the food with the help of hired cooks. It always amazes me that the food at wedding is so terrible. If I ever have one of these things, I want it to be the main attraction. There are all types of seafood laden menus in my head and I don't know how I'd balance skewering shrimp with getting my hair done, but I know I can make it work.

The entire weekend would be intimate enough that no one there would ever feel like they need to leave early. I'd want to actually sit and enjoy my time instead of walking around a big room saying, "hi, how are you? Thank you for coming." I'd want my guests to thank me for having them and for genuinely wanting them to share this special moment in my life.

When weddings are without that, I feel like they're more of a spectacle than a party. It's all, “look at us. Be proud. Be empathetic.” Hopefully that's enough emotion to enjoy yourself on.

Getting married in itself is really something to be studied. We know that most animals don't remain monogamous to their mates. We know that this country alone has a 60% divorce rate. We know that more and more people are losing their jobs which causes serious financial strain on all couples. So why continue?

My theory is that marriage is a good thing because it provides you with someone who will always care enough about you to want to see you well and that takes the burden off of health care in old age...

Real romantic, aren't I?

Marriage probably happens more often than not because people want to feel they've hit that mile marker. Weddings are a sign of adulthood and it's much easier to throw a party than to work real hard for that dream job.

I know so many people who are getting married, or have gotten married and though I'm of the age when that is more normal, I wonder what kind of time they have and how they're spending it. Why waste your youth on the spectacle? On the declaration of ownership? You'll have at least the next 40 years to do it so why deal with the snoring, the sexlessness, now? Can't you wait?

I don't know if I'll ever get married. I'd like to. Given the intimacy, comfort, and genuine love in my last relationship, I'm hopeful that I can find those qualities in someone I'm more compatible with, but god help him if he wants that big wedding...

Tasty delight

The most awesome thing about me is I can cook like a motha fucka. I hate to be vulgar, but it's true. Some people have natural gifts, and some people have practice and great teachers. I have the wondrous fortune to have all three. And then some luck.

What I tell people is that my mother is a chef and when I sat in the kitchen with her, (even before she was a chef) she would give me instruction as to how she was preparing our meal. When I got older and too bored to sit and listen, I watched and handled simple tasks. Of course, you get your scars when it's your own kitchen, so knife skills and oven handling was perfected in adulthood, but a kid can learn a lot just by having them standing with you.

There are little tricks you remember, mostly because my mother in particular pounded them into my head. Things like putting a wet paper towel beneath your cutting board to hold it in place. It's not only a safety issue, it'll help insure you make uniform cuts. And a medium rare steak feels like the end of your nose. I like that one the most. Then as you learn to cook and time yourself, the other stuff comes back. Like the proper temperature for cooked meats. How many minutes per pound/inch, the checker board pattern for dicing an onion, cooking a roux for gravy, and I think we all know how to stick a toothpick in a baked good to check doneness. I am grateful that all of these tidbits are stuck in the recesses of my memory, but what I love more is the love I have for this part of life.

Again, I give my mother credit. She is a fantastic cook and she fed us with love. Waking up on the weekends was one of my favorite things in the world. On Saturday, upon arrival to the kitchen, she'd ask what kind of eggs I was having and even as I got older and woke up later and crankier, she still handed out poached or soft boiled with perfectly buttered toast. And even while the smell of salty tomato sauce wasn't ideal on Sunday, there was nothing as wonderful as stealing the butt off of the fresh loaf of semolina bread and dunking it right in. For those reasons, I am in love with food. We sat down as a family every night, and though I fought with them like hell and we annoyed the crap out of each other, the food was always great. I don't need to get started on holidays but trust me when I say, my house was the place to be for leftovers. I introduced every one of my friends, and even some people I barely know, to something delicious because I know how good it all can be.

When I'm at home, I strive to give myself something better than what I've already had. The extreme upside to having a big nose is an excellent sense of smell. Given smell is linked directly to taste, I personally believe that I have the natural advantage. Like some hog seeking out truffles, I dissect my food flavor at a time and when I get the opportunity I recreate it.

I've been really lucky in my short career as a cook. It began in college when my only option was the school cafeteria. As soon as I got my hands on a kitchen, I made something. I think it was pasta with tomato sauce. Being the first time I used electronic cooktops, it wasn't great, but it was still delicious, and it motivated me to do more. Soon I moved onto lamb chops and veal rollatini. I'd watch the cooking channels for ideas. By sophomore year, I organized a small kitchen with an electric grill, skillet, and toaster oven. I served dinner to at least 7 passersby a night. It was the first time the place felt like home.

When I moved home after graduation, my parents were vegetarians. My boyfriend and I were eating out all the time. It was unhealthy, expensive, and really fattening, so I took over my parents kitchen and began cooking for he and I. I'd go to farmer's markets or Whole Foods and pick out what I thought looked interesting, and then find a recipe online for it when I got home. The luck came when I realized how often I was successful with these new creations. To date, there was a frangipane tart a la Julia Child that was too runny one Christmas Eve - but I was running late, and once, a garlic soup that needed the called for chorizo I'd omitted for a vegetarian.

Tonight, I made something really simple, but it's what I think of as summer. Lobster rolls on toasted garlicky buns, creamed spinach, corn on the cob, and baked potato. I know that by keeping things simple but remembering the special touches, something like that can be amazing. Before wrapping the corn in foil, I added butter, cayenne, salt and pepper, then roasted it. I was generous with the nutmeg in the spinach and I came close to falling from hubris. Had I not tasted it, it would not have been the delicate balance of flavor it turned out to be The lobster was dope - it was nothing more than steamed meat, scallions, celery, pepper, and ONE tablespoon of mayo.

I was methodical during dinner. I ate my potato covered sparingly with butter and sour cream, while interchanging with the creamed spinach. When I moved onto the lobster, I ate slowly, and savored my bites. I chose how I wanted to leave my palate and was lucky enough to steal one last bite of his lobster roll after finishing my corn. The spicy cayenne still on my tongue, mixed with the freshness and crunch of the salad. I almost laughed when I realized I'd been making mmmmm sounds.

"You eat like you have sex," my companion says.

I couldn't even disagree. That's my basic philosophy on life.

There are many pleasures to be had here and the type of person you are is often shown in how you enjoy them and what motivates them. Some people consume and consume without reason while others savor the things in life that are worth it. Food is one of the most basic things we do. We eat to stay alive. We eat for comfort. We eat to replace something missing.

I eat for pleasure. Food does everything listed above, but it also leaves a memory behind which doesn't depart so easily. It's a part of my life the way a sport might be. While other people my age are partying at bars, I'm throwing dinner parties and testing out ice cream flavors. I have managed to perfect some really delicious stuff without trying very hard, and though most of my friends aren't very foodie, I turn them one step at a time. Besides, once you get good at making: marshmallows, whoppie pies, fudgcicles, bbq ribs, pulled pork, french onion soup, pot pie, stew, bread, muffins, crepes, and a whole slew of other awesome stuff, your friends won't need to know what they're eating to know what good is.

I've managed to get two graduate school friends from eating junk (literally, all packaged foods) to roasting chickens and making rice. My co-worker never tried sushi or Indian before me. My ex boyfriend never had fresh mozzarella. When I was a kid, I shared my cucumber and black olive sandwiches with my friends. Their moms had to start making them. We used to dunk fresh strawberries into sugar and sit around and talk. My best friends of twenty years still remember how delicious that was. We won't do it now in fear of diabetic coma, but there was nothing like it, in my kitchen after school at 11-years-old, gossiping and making fun of each other.

I can go on like this forever. This is seriously my favorite past time aside from being at the beach with a good book (and a bag of cold fruit) but I had a thought tonight and it prompted this blog. When I move abroad, I'll live in one of the most expensive cities in the world and I'll probably have a tiny, one-room studio. I got nervous that I might lose my cooking skills. I won't eat there much, I'm sure so I wonder what new habits I'll pick up or what I might miss. When I took the buns out of the oven tonight, before I spooned the lobster on top, I intuitively cut a piece of garlic and rubbed it on the buttery, toasted bread. That addition, gave a depth to the flavor that would have been missed. It is that thought process, that will never leave me. I will always love food. I will always enjoy feeding people. If I have a family, it is my mission to be the house the kids hang out in and just like my mother, I want to be able to whip up the coolest ice cream sundae or the best lemon chicken with mashed potatoes on the block. I know I will and I really look forward to it.

For the time being though, it's summer so my new mantra is nothing tastes as good as thin feels and I forsake my right to make treats. And while I know that is total bologna, some pleasures are meant to be deferred only to appreciate all the more later on.

If you're Lost, you're lame

Disclaimer: I watched the first four episodes of the first season, one episode in the fifth season, and the series finale - all two hours of it. I am making my judgement based on acting, actors, plot movement, fx, writing, and what I know to be my ingenious skills at piecing together an entire story based on very little. However, my opinions are my own so please don't be offended by them. I'm only judging the fans on the inside.

Quick rant:

I am so glad I didn't listen to the masses and get addicted on this show. It would have been the biggest waste of time, and I'm supposed to be learning french right now.

Okay, so first off, really? You got hooked, did ya? Why? Because you needed to know how the polar bear got there? Or why Kate was dangerous?

I honestly can't believe that anyone could watch the plane crash scenes, which apparently needed to air several times and in horrifying detail. Fans? Do you people like to travel because I am going to picture what I saw on this stupid ass show every time I get on a plane. I ALREADY see the plane crash from Fight Club and the explosion in the first Final Destination, but now I get to imagine when cabin pressure changes and some dude flies up into the air and hits the ceiling of the plane. Thanks a bunch. That was real necessary, over and over.

Then what? It was quick sci fi (haaaaa!!!! I just realized my audience), cheap-looking effects with corny names. Twisted sub plot. Action and death. And of course, attractive people. But then again, they killed off the hot dude early on from what I understand, and apparently SPOILER everyone else. But unlike watching the Six Feet Under finale, which was a fucking masterpiece, this happened in your face, over the course of six seasons until only a handful of really well paid stars were born to keep everyone on the edge of their seats with cliffhangers, what ifs, alternate realities, the sideways - as if. No one could think of something a smidge better? Only to end it in an allegory.

Thank you, Disney Corps, for using a variety of religious symbols in your final scene. It was kind of you to recognize that, even though you called it a church. Thank you for not making him die with his arms outstretched. It was sweet and I'm sure the fans were happy to see the dead characters but what happened? You couldn't afford to bring back everyone? What happened to Mercutio and his son?

I'm not even sure how to end this babble? Television is a strange thing that our culture has bonded with really strongly. We seem to rely on it for so many of our emotional fulfillments so when one of these attachments end, we need to treat it like a moment of recognition and grief. I really can't comment on which shows are valid. We all have our tastes. But people, can we at least try to set a higher standard for the general public than spending the last SIX YEARS of YOUR LIFE obsessing about a show that is nothing more than a serial with predictable twists? I saw 5 episodes and I knew how it would end, so come on. Just for a little while, now that you have an hour back to your life, read a book.

and since you're all a bunch of sci fi nerds, make it a comic book.