Once upon a time, I made the mistake of trying to persuade a fellow I was dating to rethink something. Girls, don’t try this at home. Or out. Or in the car.
Important news bulletin; please sit down: Men do not like being told what to do.
Well, no one does, right? But where a woman will tell you--and men, you can attest to this--just exactly what you did in 1992 that so troubled her, men do not do that. They simply go back to that planet they come from.
My friend David, rest in peace, once told me that when he was annoyed at someone and the person would call him to suggest a get-together, “I think, ‘No, I don’t want to have lunch with you. I want to kill you slowly.’ But what I say is, ‘Gosh, I’d love to, but I’m just real busy.’”
Men keep you guessing.
When I dated Prince Food Chain, I didn’t know what I know now. Because now I am old. I am 212 years old, but I am well-preserved because I ate so much herring in my formative years. (Which are still going on. Pass the herring, wouldya?)
The Prince made a point of saying that he didn’t eat small fish because they were eaten by large fish. (Or was it that he didn't eat large fish because they ate small fish? Once you get south of 100 years, memory fades--except for that guy in seventh grade.)
Now, one might think that every self-respecting fish probably had its eye on something smaller when it came to dinner. One might eat chicken, too. He didn't, and he wouldn't--I think it was the bones--though he said he didn't mind if I did. Luckily, bread and wine presented not a single problem. Holy communion, Batman! We were also soulmates when it came to dessert.
“Why are men so strange?” I sometimes ask my brother, as I tell him the latest.
“We feel the same way about you,” he replies.
Other news you can use: Borage flowers showed up at Heirloom Organics at the Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market last week. They look like something from outer space (always a good sign, unless lights are flashing and you are being motioned toward a vehicle--in which case, it's your call). I took one taste and said, “I’m going to use this with fish.” Dave smiled. “Anchovies,” I said, “or maybe sardines.” He said, “I put it on pasta.” That sounds good, too. Hey, I’d eat this pesto off my boyfriend’s arm--as long as the boyfriend in question wasn’t Prince Food Chain. No, the Prince wouldn’t have liked this sandwich at all. So if you see him, don’t mention it.
Sardines a la Monday:
½ can sardines in spring water
2 slices sprouted rye bread
For the pesto:
Handful borage flowers (or use thyme)
1 stalk green garlic
1 stalk green shallot (or use a small shallot and some chives or the green part of a scallion)
Juice and zest of ½ lemon
2 anchovies
Drizzle really good extra virgin olive oil (I used LA)
Healthy sprinkle of fresh-ground black pepper
Pound the green garlic a bit, then chop with green shallot and borage flowers. Add the lemon juice and zest and the anchovies. Blend in the food processor. Drizzle in olive oil, add pepper, and taste.
Spread pesto on one slice of bread, place a couple of sardines on the other, combine, and enjoy. Tonight that sandwich had some great company: asparagus and fresh orange bergamot mint tea.
©2011, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
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