Heart Birth

It's been a long time since I've blogged but today is my birthday and I thought that it would be a nice present to myself to take the time to write here. Well, I also made a crappy gluten-free Betty Crocker chocolate cake with homemade cream cheese frosting and pecans. Good, but embarrassing to admit that I enjoyed (not just eating it, but only taking 5 minutes to make it).
You, dear reader, may be wondering why I haven't been blogging or cooking for guys. I've also been trying to figure that out. The other night I had this realization: I am closed. I don't mean close-minded (although I can be that) or picky (and that too), but I've shut myself off from imagining myself with a lover and I've gotten used to it. It seems impossible to start again. I practically avoid situations where I might even meet someone.

But this was the day that I was born. I'm approaching 30 so, maybe it is time that I give birth. Not birth to a baby or a small, yappy dog, but to me. To my heart.

SushiHeart

My Sushi is Your Sushi
When I'm not cooking elaborate meals to entice boys to my house, the kitchen of my apartment becomes the congregation point for me and my roommates. This week one of my roomies organized a sushi night that got out of control.By the time we used up all the salmon, yellow tail, and eel we had almost twenty rolls of sushi. Other ingredients included teriyaki mushrooms, avocado, green onion, and pickled daikon, which is like a long radish. We also had chilled, creamy sake, of course.
There were only three of us, so all the sushi you see below (plus a few uncut rolls) was totally excessive. But there is nothing like bringing all our disparate lives together through building and rolling raw fish and seaweed.

Dinner 16

Order
It's been much, much too long, all you stomachhearts out there. Apologies for the delays, but life sometimes gets out of order and it takes a little time to get the recipes back together. The updates:

1. got a job
2. stopped dating dinner Guest 14/15
3. dinner Guest 5 sent me this amazing text: Omg. Date just cooked me dinner. "Dinner" = "vegetarian sloppy joes." Vegetarian sloppy joes = microwave leftover rice mixed with ketchup on white bread. Plz blog.

Well, everyone makes mistakes, but this stomachheart finally had another dinner to make up for all the lack of good cooking karma that might have been in the world.
A friend from school asked if he could come to dinner and it seemed like a nice, pleasant, not-too-awkward return to this experiment. I guess I forgot that this guy, a loud, hilarious playwright, always has a few tricks up his sleeve. I suggested he bring wine (not knowing that he didn't drink) and instead he brought me a printout of this photo of me. Then when I served the salad, he suggested we eat it last, it's a British thing, and he's from Canada, after all. And moments before we slurped into the chunky tomato soup with blue cheese, he regaled me with stories of family bowel-movement escapades from his childhood. Actually, the thing I like most about Guest 16 is his off-kilter humor and ability to make a joke out of any situation, but be gracious and insightful at the same time. It's sometimes difficult to keep up with him though and I found myself finally getting a joke several minutes after the punch or getting all tongue-tied. When I served the asparagus above, he said, "You must not like me too much, you know what asparagus does?" Took me a second but I realized asparagus makes your come taste really bad. How do I even respond to that? Oops!
By the time we got to the out-of-order salad, I saw the more sensitive side to my Guest. He told me about how he has come to terms with the possibility of being single for the rest of his life. This has always seemed like a scary possibility to me, but he has spent a long time "working on me" and making sure that he could live himself. He realized that if it came to that he would be okay. He is happy with who he is. Basically, YOU are the only person you ultimately have to deal with. He, of course, would like to find someone, like all of us, but feeding our own stomachhearts is the priority.

The Fourth of Stomachheart

Divide and Conquer
I feel like the tradition of the 4th of July is based on some dicey situations and some not so friendly history that this great country has been a part of. Regardless, the present celebration is a time where friends and family get together, grill tons of meat, and watch fire explode in the air. Whatever the history and international relations of our wonderful USA, good outdoors cooking can easily make us forget our problems and bring harmony all over the rooftops.
Sausage, sausage, everywhere.

Well, not exactly. Or at least not for me. My roommate and I decided to have a grill-out on our roof and we each invited all of our friends. This quickly led to my inner-self becoming divided into four chambers of my stomachheart. If you thought I got stressed out about having just one guest over for dinner, imagine 20 guests. I felt divided between:
1)entertaining my friends
2)entertaining my roommate's friends
3)making sure the food was coming along
4)and worrying about paying enough attention to my ongoing Dinner Guest (14 and 15).
Homemade guacamole and bottomless sangria.

I suppose it's not that bad, but when you are the host (or co-host, rather) there is a lot of pressure to make sure all of the above things are mixing and getting along well. There is only so much a host can do, but I feel a responsibility for at least trying to get people to talk to each other because I know that I can't be around to do it all the time. The hardest part is balancing friends and new boyfriends. Admittedly, I am not too good at it. I feel like I either have to ignore my friends (while the boy and I have some private time) or shut the boy out of the conversation because my friends and I go way back and always talk about the same thing: writing.
My first ever strawberry-rhubarb pie. I have craved this for years and finally made the recipe from the classic, Joy of Cooking.

So, by the end of the night, we were all on the roof in the cold, cold, fog, watching the fireworks explode all over the city, and I felt totally uncomfortable and drunk. My friends were on one side chatting, but I wasn't able to say much to them because I was pre-occupied with the boy on the other side who seemed to be in a bad mood and whether I was responsible or not, I definitely felt responsible. He wanted to go downstairs because of the cold and then I ditched my friends entirely. And even the rest of the night with the boy was awkward.
I can't even take the credit for this one. My roommate made this amazing flour-less chocolate cake.

Luckily, there is clean up. I ditched everyone to help my roommate put everything away and wash all the dishes. There is something soothing about cleaning. Not only did I wash away all my anxieties about the day, but I cleaned off all the soot that came off of Mission St. and deposited itself on the furniture, food, dishes, and my body. It may seem impossible, but most things that are divided can be glued back together (maybe sometimes in a different configuration) and washed off.

Stomachheart Eats Pride

Pride is History
As you, dear reader, probably know, this past weekend was Gay Pride in many cities across the country including my little place of residence, San Francisco. I made it a point to go to as many events as I could, from the TransMarch to Dykes on Bikes and even to a performance by the Backstreet Boys on Sunday. This year, the theme was "Fabulous and 40" commemorating the 40th anniversary of the event. This, of course, made me think of history and how Pride has a way of digging up the past and presenting it to you as if it were yesterday. And I don't mean it makes me remember all those queer legends and heroes that came before to make Pride possible.
Necessities: What better to way to brave a very hot and crowded Dolores Park on Pink Saturday than with a cheap bottle of chilled Chardonnay and some reduced fat pita chips. I, of course, brought a classy little cup to keep the festivities green.

The history I'm thinking of is more personal. For me, and I think for many queers in the city, Pride is the inevitable time when you are bound to take the long parade past many of the people that you've hooked up with. Sometimes this city is too small and there are just too many skeletons in the closet (or out of it actually).
By the end of Pride, it felt like I had made dinner for half of the gay men in the city. At the Pink Party, I barely just said "hi" and "happy pride" to Dinner Guest 11, when I ran into and did the same thing all over again with Dinner Guest 2. Literally within 1 minute of each other. Awkward... I wonder what would happen if two of my Dinner Guests met. Would they cancel each other out? Would they join forces and fight me? Would they fall in love?

Then on Pride Sunday, I narrowly escaped an encounter with Dinner Guest 1. I totally dove behind a crowd of shirtless leathermen just, so I didn't have to have another awkward hello and happy pride. And then, of course, the Monday after Pride, I ran into Dinner Guest 12 who actually took the day off as a paid religious holiday (Q: Do you believe in God? A: No, just Gay). Also very awkward because I ran away after 5 minutes. Sometimes it's just too much. Sadly, he actually witnessed the shooting that happened at the Pink Party. I guess there are more important things to worry about then the boys from my past. Hopefully next Pride will not only be fun as it always is, but safe for everyone, too.
My friends totally showed up my meager Pride snacks with lots of delicious offerings from Bi-Rite: beet and sweet potato salad, organic peaches, chocolate mousse, spinach and artichoke dip, and some yummy cheese.

The one dinner guest that I wish I had run into at Pride is Dinner Guest 14. Unfortunately he was out of town and I had to go the whole weekend without even a very proud snuggle.

Dinner 15

Distractions
It's really hard to cook when you are doing even one of these things:
a) stressing out about job decisions
b) stressing out about how the decisions you make now will affect you in the future
c) stressing out about keeping in touch with friends with busy schedules
d) starting to date someone
It's especially hard to cook when you are doing all of those things. And it's even harder to eat what you've cooked. Even though I am e) all of the above, luckily, I'm not having that problem. I've been cooking every night (but just for myself) and eating heartily. The problem is what follows eating. Stress really fucks up your stomach. My stomach grumbles and sucks in on itself and bloats out to prego point and then flips over and I pretty much want to vom when I think of the life choices I need to make.
A salad with carrots, broccoli, arugala, and jicama. For dressing, we loaded on scoops of TJ's White Bean Hummus.

Fortunately there is d). And d) happens to be Dinner 14's guest. After Vermont, we started hanging out periodically and things have progressed slowly but surely. Usually when I start to date someone, I totally stress about how much they like me, or if they like me at all, or what I should do when they do this, or what I should do when they do that. With Dinner 14, it's different. We only get to see each other about once a week, but when we do, we have a really good time, biking around, giggling like little girls, and eating, of course. There's no pressure because we seem to be on the same, unspoken page.
Paninis with grilled portabella mushrooms, red peppers, onions, and zucchini with goat cheese.

Recently we hung out at Lake Merced and then went to the ocean way out there. It's weird because the road along the ocean is barricaded and sand has blown over a lot of it. It kind of looks like the end of the world, especially when it's deserted and you just walk down the center of the road. But it's nice when you have someone's hand to hold.
Sweet potato fries and a random picture of a dog that Dinner 14 picked up on the street.

After our journey to the end of the world we cooked together, this time at his place. It always makes me nervous to cook in other people's territory, especially this time because his kitchen is really small and he has few utensils and dishes. But somehow we managed okay and even made a lemon cake that came out really weird, because we had to stir it in the same square pan that we baked it in. I guess amid all the chaos in a kitchen or in our lives, we find a way to make do with the things that do make sense.

Stomachheart in Vermont

Dinner without Desire
For the past two weeks I've been in the middle of nowhere (a.k.a. Johnson, Vermont) doing a writing residency at the Vermont Studio Center. This is a place where you get fed three meals a day, and all you have to do is sit in a beautiful studio overlooking a river and write. My expectations for food and men were high before I arrived. Rumor had it that this place was nicknamed "Divorce Camp" because everyone parties hard and hooks up with each other the whole time.Actually, I did have to do more than just sit in my studio and write. To fund my stay, I received a work study job... in the kitchen. Perfect! I shucked corn, nearly chopped off my finger cutting onions, snapped an endless amount of green beans, and learned cooking secrets from the head chef himself.
And actually I was quite disappointed about the "Divorce Camp" reputation at first. There was not a single boy (out of 50 resident artists) who I was interested in. So much for crazy parties and passionate hook ups.
But I was being really productive and feeling good and happy. I was not even thinking about boys. I realized that life is really different without desire. Boys take up a lot of time. Not just from hanging out with them or texting or whatever, but from just thinking about them. They fill up my head. But here I had nothing to worry about, no one to flirt with, no cell phone reception, so I was completely free to focus on myself and my work. It felt really amazing.
Another reason for my productivity is that three meals of unlimited, delicious food was provided for me daily. Sure, I had to put in a couple hours of food prep here and there, but mostly I just sat down and ate, and then got seconds and ate some more. Not having to constantly cook freed up a lot of time too.
I guess the troubling part is that cutting out two of my favorite things (cooking and boys) made me a way more productive and focused person. What does that mean? Should I give up boys? Should I give up cooking elaborate meals? Should I give up cooking meals for boys? Maybe it was good to have a break for a little while, but what are we without our loves, desires, and vices?

Dinner 14

Leftovers
I knew I was going to be gone for two weeks, so I scheduled two dinners in one week. You may notice that some of the ingredients are very similar to Dinner 13. I tried to switch them up but leftovers are leftovers.
Cabbage salad: It took me forever to get rid of just one cabbage. Here, I added the fruit and the juice of one grapefruit. I mixed the juice with a tablespoon of olive oil and 2 tablespoons of finely chopped ginger.

Even though I wasn't that excited about the food, I was very excited about the guest. I saw him in the observatory tower at the De Young Museum, and I actually asked him to dinner in a little note. He was still a random guy, but at least I wasn't up to the whims of whoever responds to my craigslist ads. This little stomachheart is branching out and trying new things.
Lemon mint salmon and sweet potato surprise: I braised the salmon on a cast iron skillet with salt and pepper, then added fresh mint and baked it in the oven for 15 minutes on 250. Squeeze lemon on it to serve. The surprise: Chop up a sweet potato and whatever other vegetables you want. I used onions, tomatoes, garlic, a jalapeno, and spinach. Saute everything then add the coconut milk and curry powder and chili powder to taste. I added fresh basil at the end and served it over brown rice.

Because I chose my guest, I had high expectations and was nervous that maybe he would think I was a weirdo. But we got along just fine. He's an artist and makes portraits with cross-stitching and black work. He's also apparently a bad cook and manages to bake everything wrong. He does love eating though, and he was really excited about all the items on the menu. The thing that got to me was that there were a lot of long awkward pauses in between topics. This is always a big anxiety when meeting new people, and I usually think that maybe we really don't have much in common and there's no point in hanging out. But then I realized that I shouldn't put that much pressure on it. I just met the guy. Even though it would be great to instantly have good conversation, not everyone is willing to put out (everything) on the first dinner. Sometimes we just have to take our time.Mission Minis: My guest was skeptical when I told him about the project and he wondered what it would be like. Would I force feed him 5 cakes? Just to live up to his fantasies I got a dozen fun-flavored cupcakes from Mission Minis. We ate them all.

The best part about this dinner is that we did take our time. Usually my guests politely give their thanks and head out the door shortly following dessert. But this week's guest didn't seem in any rush to leave. He stayed and we let the conversation take its natural course. Maybe he was into me or maybe not. Maybe I should have made a move or maybe not. I didn't feel any pressure because I hope to see him again. I'll just take my time.

Dinner 13

Meal of the Mind
Honestly, sometimes these meals are a chore. Listening and talking to a total stranger is a lot of work and not always rewarding. But this week's dinner guest, a soft spoken musicologist and 17th century baroque organ player, gave me valuable insight into the worlds of food, music, and dating.
The other kind of salad: Forget greens when there is beautiful purple. This salad consists of red cabbage, radish, and chopped mint with a spicy peanut sauce (2 tablespoons peanut butter, 1 tablespoon soy sauce, sprinkles of red pepper flakes, half a lime and 1 tablespoon fresh mint leaves; add coconut milk until it is creamy).

Insight #1: The trick to getting children to eat their vegetables. My dinner guest said he was a gullible child. Apparently, his mom used to cut up raw vegetables into tiny pieces and call them candy. He fell for it and has loved all raw vegetables ever since. He actually separated the red cabbage from the radishes in the salad and ate the "radish candy" last.
Ciapu or banana soup: I was reading Louis De Bernieres' The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts this week and it mentioned this Native Latin American dish. My variation follows the post.

Insight #2: The argument against the raw diet. One of my craigslist questions was about what restaurant in the Bay Area you wouldn't go to again. My guest said Cafe Gratitude. I also hate that place. Their whole shtick is creepy and forced. My guest told me it's rumored that the employees are encouraged to go on weird spiritual retreats and that many who have reached management positions have decided they can't do it anymore. My guest also had a good reason for cooking vegetables. He studies how the development of musical instruments directly influences the kind of music that is made. So, the position of the keys on a piano or organ is somewhat responsible for great classical compositions. In the same way, he said that modern civilization began when people started cooking. Cooked vegetables and meat altered our brain chemistry and made modern people. The idea comes from the book, Catching Fire: Cooking Made Human.
Raspberry Basil Pork Chops: I braised two pork chops in a cast iron skillet and then baked for about 15 minutes at 300 with the following glaze. Heat 1 tablespoon butter in a pan and add a package of raspberries, 2 tablespoons sugar and dashes of salt. Stir until raspberries fall apart and it thickens. Take off the heat and strain out the seeds. Add two tablespoons of fresh basil.

Insight #3: The problem of dating men in San Francisco. By desert and the third glass of wine, the conversation turned to the toils of love. We both had struggled with dating in the city and this was his explanation. He found it ironic that I had my longest relationship in Madagascar, which seems to be a gay wasteland, but in a city full of gays, I had so far come up with zero. He said that perhaps, because of all the options, no one is ready to take a chance on you, because there might be something better around the corner. In a small town, its easier to settle because of lack of options, but when there are beautiful men everywhere, why not sample them all?
Fruity Crumble: Chop 2 pears and 2 peaches and spread at the bottom of a baking dish. Add some raspberries then top with quick oats, agave sweetener, butter, and cinnamon. Bake for 20 minutes at 300.

Spicy Banana Soup
Ingredients:
2 sliced bananas
2 tablespoons chopped green onions
2 cloves minced garlic
2 kaffir lime leaves
2 tablespoons ginger
1 tsp garam masala
1 tsp corinader
1 tsp cayenne pepper
1 can coconut milk
1 can chicken stock
1 tsp corn starch
dollop of yogurt

Sautee the garlic, onions, and ginger. Add the bananas. Add the coconut milk, stock, and spices, and cook for 20 minutes. Add the corn starch (dissolved in water to prevent lumpiness) and add salt and more spices to taste. Take off heat and serve with a dollop of yogurt.

Stomachheart in Las Vegas

What Am I Doing Here?
Yes, even stomachhearts love Sin City. Or at least sort of. I was there because my brother (who I barely talk to) had an engagement party. It was the first time that my whole family had been in the same place all together in five years. The perfect setting for potential disaster.Gluttony: Piles of food at the M Resort and Casino Buffet. I still have no idea what M means, but the best part about this particular buffet is that you get all you can drink beer and wine.

Actually, not too much drama with the fam. Just the normal you-get-on-my-nerves-I-can't-stand-you-but-I-love-you jabs and omg-my-parents-are-really-drunk-and-saying-embarrassing-things rolling of the eyes. It's weird that my brother is getting married though. He's the oldest kid, so was always the one getting into trouble and now he has his life together. It's really great for him, but being someone who can't get married, it actually made me kind of jealous. Will I ever be able to get my life together?
Also, I do love Vegas. How could a gay man not? Shopping, glamor, campy stage shows, everyone dressed in drag, and food. The weird thing is that despite the absurd gayness of the place, there seem to be few gay people around. There's only one gay nightclub, Krave, and it was mostly empty on Sunday night, while it's straight counterpart, The Bank at the Bellagio had a line all the way out into the casino. And even on the strip, I only ran into a few queers. What the hell happened to all the gays?
So, obviously, no dinner with boys last week, but I guess that's okay. Having my great, crazy family around was enough of a distraction.

Dinner 12

And We're Back

It's been a couple weeks since I've made dinner for a guy. Besides the boring reasons like having a ton of deadlines and such, it's been really hard finding a decent date: mostly people over the age of 40 respond to my ad; the young, cute ones who I invite never get back to me; and one guy who I invited got weirded out that I had "FTM Welcome" in my add even though he didn't know what it meant (seriously? how can you be a middle-aged gay man and not know FTM stands for female-to-male? transphobic prick)!

Mango Kale Salad: I massaged olive oil into all of the crevices of the kale leaves and then sprinkled with fresh lemon juice. I added chunks of mango, chopped almonds and dashes of salt and pepper. Perfect summery salad.

I finally convinced a decent-sounding guy to come over and it was such a relief. He showed up cute, stylish, and with a bottle of wine. I mostly invited him because he said he didn't have a kitchen. This seemed soooo sad to me since my life revolves around cooking food. It turned out he had sort of lied. He does have a kitchen, but it doesn't function at all. The water doesn't run and the gas stove doesn't work. This is almost sadder. It's like a tease.

Quinoa Lentil Cakes: I fully cooked 1 cup of lentils and half a cup of quinoa. Then I mashed them together with a blunt object (a mortar or is it a pestle?) and added fresh cilantro, one egg, and a variety of spices. You can use whatever you like. I used garlic powder, chili powder, thyme and cumin. Then I made patties and fried until brown.

The kitchen was just the first of many complicated food issues of my guest. Since he doesn't cook he eats out a lot and considers himself a food snob even though he has no hand in making it. He blames this lack of cooking skills and need for good food from having grown up in Bakersfield, CA. Apparently it's the Texas of Cali and voted every year as the worst area in the country. You can't buy a single organic or fresh vegetable anywhere (even though the city apparently supplies carrots to the world). He grew up on food either out of a can or from a box and because of that he was a fat kid. He's still haunted by that phantom and works out like crazy to stay in shape.

Chicken Mushroom Stuffed Peppers: I cut one yellow and one green bell pepper in half and stuffed in a mixture of cubed chicken breast, yellow onion, baby portabella mushrooms and goat cheese with sprinkles of salt and pepper. I baked it at 375 for 20 to 25 minutes.

Despite the interesting food talk, I was intimidated. This was a real-life hipster in my kitchen: asymmetrical haircut, septum ring, cute sweater shirt, and fancy ankle boots. He talked about politics and critical theory and brought up Alice Waters whom he assumed I would know because she started the whole organic, home-grown, foodie movement in the Bay Area. He also said: "It's not a scene unless you're seen." I felt a bit over my head. I'm so not that cool, even though I've had asymmetrical haircuts and a septum ring in the past. Oh, and, of course, I own fancy ankle boots. What gay man in the city doesn't? Luckily, he wasn't pretentious as many hipsters are, and he didn't seem to mind my having not ever gone to some of his favorite bars and restaurants.

Apple Plantain Heaven: I fried 2 ripe plantains and a green apple with butter and cinnamon. Then I melted white chocolate and a slice of butter in a double boiler until smooth. I drizzled it on top: soooo yummy.

Overall the dinner was fun and funny, and we got along well. But considering my last dinner I was unwilling to even assume that my guest was at all interested in me. He excused himself when I offered another glass of wine (bad sign), but then he gave me a really nice hug as he left (good sign), and said I should facebook friend him (friend sign?). Such confusing signals or maybe not even signals at all. Doing these dinners has made me terribly aware and suspicious of any words or body language. Even though I can feel out flavors in the kitchen and intuit what strange ingredients will combine well, how can we ever know what another person desires? I'm tired of putting myself out there and getting rejected. I wish someone would figure out my desires and just feed them to me.

Dinner 11

Revising
I've gotten two bits of helpful feedback on this blog: a. include original recipes b. have more of a story. This week I attempted both of those things.

So, here is the back story for this week's dinner guest: Boy meets boy. Boys have several subdued dates. Boy can't figure out if other boy likes him or not. Boy awkwardly asks other boy and receives a confirmation, but then other boy is completely unavailable to hang out again. Boys stop talking to each other.
This was my dinner guest's favorite dish: Chickpea and Artichoke Salad. I used one can of chickpeas and one can of artichoke hearts then added Kalamata olives, sun dried tomatoes, dried cranberries, and goat cheese. Sprinkled with olive oil and Balsamic vinegar.

That back story was over a year ago and the boy was me and the other boy was my dinner guest. We started running into each other again, so I invited him. As was his usual style he agreed, but on the day of, postponed. He came the next day, but was totally late.

Narratives
Despite all the check minuses my guest had accumulated by the time he arrived, he was much more comfortable and conversational than in the past. Before, we almost exclusively talked about school (he studies architecture), but now he shared a lot about his life. He told me about his crazy weekend: an awkward blind date with a guy who "accidentally" missed the BART and had to spend the night even though my guest wasn't into him (if we're trying to make this blog a story, think of this element as foreshadowing), a dinner party with his cousin and a group of handsome older gays, bar hopping, a Vicodin trip, and an all day walk across the city. My guest took one bite of this Coconut Split Pea Soup and then rejected it (again, foreshadowing). Recipe follows blog entry.

We lapsed back into shop talk, but we found common ground through one of my favorite (and his) mediums: the music video. He was interested in the architectural and digital space of videos from directors like Sam Brown, while I was interested in the problem of limited narratives in all media and how the music video also has this problem but in some cases may disrupt it. I proposed this idea: there are only like three kinds of narrative in the world that are repeated over and over (ex: the hero's journey, a stranger comes to town, etc.) and that these limited amounts of narratives are why the world is falling apart (environment, politics, culture, you name it). The discussion went in many directions and we decided we should watch music videos in order to support our ideas with evidence. Greyhound Talapia with Spicy Couscous. My guest said he liked the fish (I thought it was kind of weird), but he put the salad on top in order to choke it down, so he couldn't have liked it that much. Recipe follows.

We spent a long time watching music videos, drinking wine, and chatting about narratives in my room. We tried to figure out if certain videos disrupted narrative or enhanced the narratives of songs. Or if the director imposed her own narrative on the song or what about videos that had no narrative at all? For dessert, I baked sweet potato wedges with cinnamon and brown sugar, topped them with frozen yogurt and drizzled them with my roommate's leftover raspberry sauce.

Attack of the CrotchBrain

So, there we were, sitting on my bed having a great conversation. And then I kissed my guest. And at first it was fine, he kissed back. But, he pulled away and made some vague excuse about being tipsy and needing to get home. Unfortunately, his bus didn't come for another 30 minutes, so we awkwardly chatted until he left.

The disappointing part of the whole ordeal is not the embarrassment of making a move and getting rejected (believe me, I'm used to rejection), but the fact that I made a move in the first place. That is not the point of this project. But somehow, my secret crotchbrain snuck up on me and helped me position my guest in such a way (wine, music, my room) that the move could be made. Where did my stomachheart go? Why did I try to force a narrative (the narrative of the two boys meeting and drifting off into the sunset)? Just like some music videos, a dinner can happen without some predictable outcome; it can just be a series of bites and ideas and songs. Despite the fact that there are limited kinds of narratives in books, movies, etc. doesn't mean that people are narratives. And we don't have to follow them. I'll try to stop following my crotchbrain and get back to my stomachheart.

Coconut Split Pea Soup

2 cups of dry split peas (I used half green and half yellow)

1 yellow onion

2 cloves garlic

3 tablespoons oil

2 carrots

1 bay leaf

2 kaffir lime leaves

1 vanilla bean

1 teaspoon thyme

1 teaspoon basil

1 chicken bouillon

salt and pepper to taste

1 can of coconut milk

6 cups water

Sautee the onions and garlic in oil. Add the split peas and 6 cups of water. Add the spices, bouillon, and carrots. Cook for 30 minutes until peas are soft and little liquid is left. Add the coconut milk and simmer for 10 more minutes.

Greyhound Talapia

4 Talapia fillets

Juice of 1 Grapefruit

2 tablespoons vodka

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 teaspoons dry basil

Combine the grapefruit juice, vodka, oil and basil. Pour over the Talapia and marinade for at least 3 hours. Place talapia and the rest of the marinade in a baking dish and bake for 15 minutes at 350 degrees. I added mushrooms and served it with quinoa with sprinkles of tumeric, cumin, and cayenne.

Dinner 10

Anniversary
I've been doing this blog for 10 weeks so I decided to switch it up. As a reward to myself, I let my date turn the tables. I became the guest and he was the host.
If my host was an animal, he would be spunky and cute like this little guy.

I caught this week's date staring at me at a queer dance party. I had to leave with my friends so I told him to look at missed connections the next day. He replied right away with two apologies:

A. He was taken aback when I was so forward and introduced myself, so he was awkward.
B. He had a boyfriend... but he still wanted to hang out.

Well, I'd heard that story before, but I invited him to dinner anyway. Surprisingly, he said I should take a break and he would cook for me. It's about time!

Company
Anniversaries are best celebrated in groups. Even big anniversaries for couples are more fun when their friends are present. This anniversary was no different. I arrived at an old Victorian full of cool, interesting people who immediately took me in. My host lives in a collective-like house where they share groceries, meals, and space comfortably and fluidly. While my host cooked and chatted with me, one person made ice cream, yogurt and granola, another read heavy philosophy, one played with the cat, one broke a measuring cup, and another swept it up.

My host pretended like he didn't know what he was cooking, but when we all settled down to eat, the meal was delicious. We had miso soup, brown rice with stir fried greens and ground beef, and just for the two of us (not the rest of the roommates) there was Japanese-style barbecued steak.

Not actual photos of the food. But it looked very similar... actually, better.

Host vs. Guest

Dinner was enjoyable and conversation was lively, but I found myself feeling out of place. They shared stories about ghosts in the house and I had ghost stories of my own, but I didn't feel like they applied. My host told me about planting an olive tree with his medicine group that day, but I couldn't think of one thing I had done in the past 12 hours. We just weren't each others style. They had great, creative energy but it didn't stimulate mine (and mine didn't contribute to theirs). I had even brought TJ's gluten-free brownies for dessert, but completely forgot about it sitting in my bag. I don't know the chemistry behind the mixture of flavors; why some things taste great together and others are disgusting. People work the same way, but it's unexplainable. Perfectly nice and interesting people can be of no interest to me and vice-versa.

My host and I agreed on one thing: we hated being served. I tried to help cook and clean up, but I repeatedly got in the way. When he filled a glass of water for me to drink, I felt awkward standing right next to him. I could do it myself. I realized that I am the cook and I like to give to people. Even though the idea of someone making dinner for me sounded great, I am most comfortable when I am on my own turf and play by my rules.

Dinner 9

You Get What You Put Into It
Much like his quirky attitude in e-mails, my dinner guest this week showed up snappily dressed. He had on dress shoes, white shirt and pants, a black vest, and a bright red tie. He spoke with a charming Australian accent, but the things he said were not charming.

I asked my guest for one food that he liked and one he disliked. I incorporated both into the menu. He likes olives. I made a simple garden salad with cucumber, heirloom tomatoes, almonds and cranberries. The dressing included olive tapenade with olive oil and balsamic.

Although funny and easy enough to talk to, my dinner guest considered himself a little bit of all of the holy trinity of awkward types of people: a dork, a nerd, and a geek. I swore to distance myself from torturous interactions with these people after going to a big engineering school for undergrad. But here I was again: in for the long haul. And although I was entertained, by the end I was more exhausted from the conversation than by the intense meal I had just cooked up.

Ugly Combinations My guest disliked asparagus. To hide it, I made mashed potatoes (with purple and red potatoes) and mixed in pureed asparagus. I also added tons of garlic and butter to hide the taste. It looks sort of disgusting though.

I learned a lot about various conventions: Dr. Who Conventions (“full of fat gays”), Star Trek Conventions (“full of fat straight people with two kids”) and Furry Conventions. He spilled on the latter, when I asked him where he had met most of his friends. He told me that one day he was like, “Hmm. Where could I meet a bunch of interesting, weird people? A Furry Convention of course!” So, he met furries on-line and now he lives with a bunch. There is furry porn all over the walls of his apartment and he brings over people he wants to freak out or scare off. Interestingly enough, he’s not interested in furries sexually and has never hooked up with someone in an animal suit. Probably one of my favorite dishes from this project: Spicy Tuna with Mango Salsa.

He ate slowly because he said he enjoyed the food so much (even though he only took a small spoon of mashed potatoes). In exchange for gulping down my own food (I still haven’t learned any manners) I had to field many questions about obscure things I knew nothing about. For example: “Do you know the origin of winkle toes?” I had no idea what a winkle toes even was. Well, obviously it’s the name for those spiral-toed shoes that elves might wear and the name comes from the object that extracts a winkle from its home (I didn’t know what a winkle was either; it’s a sea creature with a shell like a snail). I also learned about a lot of random, little-known musicians whose names I can’t remember. He said he likes music that's interesting, not necessarily good. I guess I’m glad I can’t remember the names.For dessert: vanilla frozen yogurt with strawberries and a balsamic vinegar reduction. It came out a little thick and solidified when it hit the ice cream. I still can’t get it right.

Blackbirds

He did ask me one question to which I knew the answer. “What’s with the four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie? Can you even fit that many?” I had researched a lot about the history of cookbooks and I learned about an Italian cookbook from the 16th century that has a recipe "to make pies so that birds may be alive in them and flie out when it is cut up." The nursery rhyme was actually based on a recipe. I guess I’ll admit it. I can be a nerd, too. At least when it comes to food.

Dinner Guest 9

So, now that the interlude with only one man for three weeks is over, a new dinner guest will be here. I actually chose him several weeks ago, but my other dinner guest postponed his appearance. Here are the craigslist questions I asked and his answers:

1. What snacks would you bring on a picnic?
A Roman feast - wine, dates and pistachios. Cheese would also be a right answer, maybe figs too.

2. If your lover served you a terrible meal, what would you do?
Depends if he's having a bad day or it's par for the course. If it's a bad day, politeness and encouragement never go astray. But I confess I used to go out with someone and after he burnt pancakes, ruined porridge and failed at pasta I couldn't help but poke a bit of fun.

3. Where is your favorite place to do grocery shopping?
There's a rather trendy independent supermarket near where I live that sells a lot of fancy produce and real bread. I mean, *real bread* which I can't get at the Mexican supermarket or Safeway. The trendy place is expensive, though, and only for special occasions like birthdays and funerals.

If you're interested in having me over, I'd really appreciate, if I may, your answers to three questions of my own choosing:

1. You have a very complicated machine which does nothing. Which would you prefer - keeping it a secret even though you can't do anything with it, or telling people about it and at least making some conversation out of it?

2. What piece of music do you want played at your funeral?

3. If you could ask any figure in history the questions you asked me, who would it be?

Honestly, I mostly chose him because he actually was bold enough to ask questions of his own. Hmm... good idea/bad idea?

Dinner 8

As a kid, my grandfather used to say, "Your eyes are bigger than your stomach," when I put too much food on my plate and couldn't eat it. We always want more than we can handle. Or we want something because it looks good, even though we don't really know what it will be like.

A boring salad. I made the dressing with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, honey, mustard, salt, pepper. You can add oranges and pecans for something a bit more exciting.

The same dinner guest from the last two weeks came again for this week's dinner. But things had changed. I hadn't seen him since last week and he was vague about his whereabouts. He almost didn't come because he had to go to the gym and it was very late by the time he arrived. He still said sweet things like he always said. He said he liked me and missed me. When I suggested we start making dinner, he said, "You are my dinner and my breakfast and my lunch and dessert (cheesy, I know)."

But I felt myself getting cold. If he liked me that much why could he barely hang out with me? Why was going to the gym more important? I couldn't return kind phrases and dinner came out plain and intentionally unispired. Everything was different this week. I tried going gluten-free for a while. I made rice pasta and a chicken tomato sauce that was a little bit of leftover Trader' Joes marinara sauce with some chopped tomatoes, onions, green pepper, and mushrooms.

I knew the parameters of our relationship when we first met. He would be leaving in a month and he was closeted so had to keep his life comparmentalized. I saw what I was getting into and I thought I would be okay with it. And admittedly, I was blinded by how attractive and sexy he was.

But the actual taste of the situation doesn't work for me. I have different needs that he can't provide. There's no point in tormenting myself over something that doesn't fit my stomachheart. In this case it isn't so much that my eyes are bigger than my stomach, but maybe my stomachheart can't survive on sight alone. We all need something that we can hold onto and take our time to digest and enjoy. So next week, an all new dinner guest!