Sorry if you checked back a few times for pics– I got yanked away just as I got in this morning (explanation below the below).

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I like food, and I appreciate food, but it’s very obvious to me that, when a person is hungry enough, even the plainest of edibles can taste perfect. I’ve learned this a couple times, like most people I guess.

A “foodie” I am not, but not because I don’t like foods. I choose to not make it into something it isn’t, and that’s what happens if you lose your frame.  It seems so obvious and ordinary and uninteresting that, after some depravity (like a long hiking trip), instant noodles would taste better than anything. But this means something about virtually all things we “like”. It means that we can create the frame, always. We choose what to appreciate.

People who want other people’s frames are pitiful.

People who actually get their frames from other people are straight up pussies.

All that said, last night’s cooking visit was excellent. As promised, a visually enhanced description!

I found most of the things I was asked to procure at my favorite supermarket and was really excited and interested to see what it all could turn into.

My guest and cooking tutor for the evening is a pro. Seriously. For privacy reasons that’s all I’ll say. It was quite a neat thing to have had her over. My kitchen might be better now by proximity alone. She wasn’t exactly impressed with the setup, but said she’d seen worse. That’s about where I’m at generally so it was cool.

Incidentally, chopping is one of the most satisfying of the cooking moves because even if you have no idea what you’re doing (like me), it sounds like you know exactly what you’re doing. It’s the non-heated version of frying onions which invariably makes it smell like you know what you’re doing. And everyone knows that when you want to really fake someone out, add some garlic to the pan.

In the case of my friend, well she indeed knew exactly what she was doing, it was automatic. I tried to learn as much as I could, and I found her skills and knowledge so impressive. No small talk during the prep, straight business. I thought it was all pretty cool.

I couldn’t follow along as much as I was hoping. I thought by taking pictures the whole time I might be able to go back through someday on my own (and copy). But looking through them all now, I can tell that this is not going to happen. It was all too fast and complex.

“We” made more sauces than I can even remember, now. There was a sauce to cook into the fish, to add to the soup, to mix into the vegetables… and a sauce to put on top of what I swear was another sauce. Check it out:

The preparation took about an hour, but a mere mortal would have required at least two I bet. My kitchen entire apartment smelled incredible.

Eventually, the final stop arrived.

The whole evening was great. I never expect these things to go well because I’m an idiot 90% of the time. I’m also not really used to having people over. It’s been a couple of weeks of slightly increased effort to be social for particular reasons. It’s been OK. For this night, it was just me asking out of blue. “Hey, want to come over and try cooking together?” It still surprises me when a person says yes to something like that. It’s an OK feeling to know people would want to. But that doesn’t make me want to do it more. I’m ready to cool out on my people time and drill back into my own stuff for a while. Probably. Especially with work christmas parties this week and next, etc. I’ll be struggling to stay… friendly companionable socialable.

It was fun and I learned a few things (I know, I know, obviously not about photography.) But as these things tend to go, after reaching a certain point I got a strong desire to be alone. I don’t know why that happens. I’ve met a couple people in my life where it didn’t seem to happen, so I know what it’s like for most people.

I think it happens as soon as the “talking for the sake of talking” begins. I don’t hold it against anyone, I know it’s normal, perfectly normal. I’m just not really a people person.

Fetale: “Well, here we are, both in the same room. I guess we should say things.”

OD: “Yeah I guess. Otherwise we just sit here in silence, which is weird.”

Fetale: “Yeah, that’s weird. Especially since you always seem to be on the opposite side of the room from me. So, what’s your favorite movie?”

OD: “I don’t really have one…”

Fetale: “Oh…”

<shit shit shit>

<fini>

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Writing this morning didn’t happen because I ended up getting called last minute to another long meeting. This time was worse than Friday’s improv session because I was extremely underdressed, all of the sudden lassoed into a lunch with “professionals”, including the director of a german university.

I don’t even have to tell you what his name is, you already know. You can hear his phlegm, no? Yes you can.

Eventually reaching the point of having nothing else to add to the conversation, I went with what I knew. I wish I had this part recorded, for it was excellent. Remember last weekend I had a friend over who showed me some German punk rock videos? One of the bands suddenly came to mind.

“So, this is really off topic, but do you know ‘Die Toten Hosen’ ?”

“Of cous I know zem, zey ah zee most famous of zee punk bandts in Geair-man-ee. How is it do you know zem?”

“A friend, she’s from their home town, Düsseldorf.”

“I zee. Vat is it of zer’s zat you like?”

“I liked ‘Faust in der Tasche’ [‘Fist in the Pocket’]” 

Germans are pretty edgy, and that totally shut down the punk rock part of the lunch. It was just name of a song, but maybe it came across literally or something.

The conversation did go to music, but quickly over to some sort of classical thing that happened in Columbus Circle over the weekend. Nothing against the genre, but I never got into it, save for a few intros to some black metal songs. While they yapped about how marvelous all that was, I just focused on my chicken parm.

As is always the case, $23 chicken parm at dipshit pompous faculty hangouts tastes identical to $6 chicken parm from the Korean minimart, made by Santos with love: “And for you, extra avacodo, no extra charge, my friend.”

Still in PT clothes here in my hideout in a secret library on campus, two stories under a building that no student has ever been in, nor 99% of anyone affiliated with this place. I have a cold walk up Broadway back home, and a date with a Santos sandwich on my way.

My frame is already set.