Sometimes You Get Anchovies

It is well established on this blog that the perfect food is ice cream. That stuff is creamy crack in a carton, which is why I no longer keep it in the house unless someone else buys it. Someone who, I must admit, looks exactly like my evil, ice cream-addicted twin.

But there are other foods that run a close second to ice cream, and not all of them are chocolate. In fact, one of those red-ribbon foods may just be the anti-chocolate. Because it's not a dessert. It's a fish. The anchovy. No sugar. Almost no saturated fat. Just salty, protein-filled goodness.

And no one else likes them.

At least that was my impression given how frequently my pleas to order even half an anchovy pizza have fallen on deaf ears. These people, they don't know what they're missing. Anchovies do something amazing to a pizza. They give all that fatty warmth and comfort a bit of a salty edge that makes all the sweetness in the sauce and the cheese not quite so cloying. If you add a veggie or two, it even feels healthy.

Anchovies are awesome. Even if I have to eat them alone.

Except that I don't anymore. Because my San Francisco sweetie - remember him? He likes them, too. We recently had a spot of time together babysitting for a few junior family members, and we ordered a pizza. You'll never guess what was on it. With no prodding, no poking, just a little, "Hey, what would you think of ...?" and an immediate, "Absolutely!"

And then we had them again, not a week later, at a tapas place, wrapped around a little bamboo skewer with a fat, green olive and a tiny, marinated pepper that together made the perfect bite.

He likes them. He really likes them.

And I had no idea. Which is funny. Because I've known this man for two full decades. We've had coq au vin au chocolat and cauliflower goat cheese gratin. Green curry and noodles of the drunks. Coconut cake and fried green tomatoes. Vichysoisse and tapenade. And once, during a blizzard, a heart-warming Irish stew.

And yet, we'd never shared a pizza.

Now we have. And now I know something new about him. I know he likes the salt and the tang and the difference of anchovies. Which is one of the coolest things about dating one of your dearest friends. Sometimes, you get anchovies. And you didn't even know they were there.

The Sea of Fabulosity

As many of you know, my fella recently moved to the other coast. I could call it the "wrong" coast, the presumption being that the coast I'm sitting on is the "right" one. But ... um ...

Yeah, that's really tempting. Wrong, but tempting.

He's been there for a couple of weeks now. I know this because his status on Facebook the other day said, "Week 2," and not because I'm keeping track or anything. Because I so totally would not do that.

And in fact, if you look carefully, you'll notice a quiet, bloggy gap right about the time he moved. That's because I went with him. Not to stay, of course. Just to help.

I'd say I ignored the mom guilt, packed my kids into a shipping crate, stamped my parents' address on the side and shipped 'em off for a week, just so I could go to San Francisco. But we all know that's not possible. Mom guilt doesn't allow for shipping crates. Plus, my kids would do each other serious injury if I left them alone together for that long without their electronics.

But I've got fabulous friends. Deeply, lovingly fabulous friends who get both mom guilt and the importance of giving a newly long-distance relationship the proper send-off.

So when my fella got word of his move, my friends listened and commiserated. They mixed gin and tonics and fed me Thai food and let me talk. Pretty much endlessly.

They quietly arranged a handful of playdates and sleepovers (even when their own kids weren't around), so my fella and I could enjoy a few last evenings together.

And they invited my kids to the beach. For four days. With my amazing au pair.

Even the ex helped. He took the kids on vacation, then brought them from his vacation directly to theirs.

And so my fella and I had a week together in San Francisco. We had friends there, too. Friends who put us up and treated us like royalty. Friends who gave us list after list of things to do so we wouldn't spend our days all mopey and maudlin. We ate pretty food, saw pretty art and pretty trees, and walked the pretty, hilly streets.

We also bought a big down comforter. It is yummy and warm and, well, comforting. Basically, it's a hug in the form of a household good. Because if I can't be there to hug the man in person, he should at least have a hugalicious comforter to take my place.

We said good-bye. I flew away. And then another friend picked me up at the airport. She put up with my overtired, drugged and mopey self, put me to bed and let me sleep. For a very long time. And then she drove me home. Which was really far away.

This is how fabulous my friends are.

Now, mind you, I have many fabulous friends. What happened here, it's just a snippet of fabulousness in a great big sea of fabulosity. But it was a very well-timed sort of fabulous. And the kind you can't repay. So you say the biggest possible "thank you" you can muster, and then you bake a cake or two. For the kids. Because, as it happens, sugar and chocolate compensate beautifully for mom guilt.

(Well, I'll be damned. I think that last sentence just summed up the whole premise of this blog.)

One Good Right Turn

So, you know the question I dodged the other day? The one about whether or not I've got a boyfriend?

I do. But shhh, don't tell the kids.

He's a great guy. He's smart and funny and his hugs are better than Xanax. He asks intelligent questions about knitting and understands why cupcakes matter. He accepts that chronic lateness is a part of my character and knows that a conversation with me will generally involve a series of right turns and an occasional big old twisty circle. He always walks on my right side because I carry my purse on my left, and he points when he gives me directions because I don't get the whole left/right thing anyway (he learned that one the hard way).

He likes good food and interesting people and keeps passing me books I can't put down so that I'll have something fun to read when I'm wide awake at 2:00 a.m. He's allergic to mussels and mixes a mean dark and stormy, and you wouldn't believe what he can do with a cosmopolitan. He loves his family. And he once spent a whole day in the kitchen making a mole from scratch. I wasn't there for that, but gee it's fun to hear him talk about it.

We've been friends for 21 years.

I like him. I like spending time with him, just talking with him or being quiet with him. I like the sound of his voice, the strength in his hands, and the way he brightens when he's with me. He makes me brighten, too. His apartment is the only place in a 100-mile radius where I can get a good night's sleep because there I feel safe and relaxed and cared for.

Next month, he's moving to California.

I'm going to miss him.

Happy Heart Day

Here's why I love Valentine's Day.

You wake up in the morning to happy, smiling children bouncing on you because there's (wait for it) ... chocolate downstairs and the big sign you left says "Wait! Don't open me yet! Go get your mom!" So they do.

You shower your kids with little Russell Stover boxes and gifties from their grandparents, and they are so overwhelmed they not only share their (wait for it) ... chocolate ... but they also run off immediately to make you all the Valentines they can think of. This resulted in one poem from the Aspie, a lovely hand-drawn card from the diva, and ... um ... a green scribble from my very proud comedian who announced, "I didn't draw you a Valentine. I scribbled it!" and then broke out into maniacal laughter.

You spend the morning playing board games and getting hugs and (wait for it) ... chocolate covered kisses.

You then get all gussied up and head out on an honest to goodness date that features not only fabulous food and the company of a fella who thinks you're kinda cute despite 40-odd years of living and three journeys through childbirth, but also (wait for it) ... well, okay, not chocolate, but flowers, the stunning kind, and really that's every bit as wonderful. Plus, there was pie.

And then you head home. And you make a family dinner that features (wait for it) ... chocolate chip pancakes and sausage and fruit and Valentine's Day cake. Big hugs on a plate. Your kids are full and happy, and your au pair is full and happy, and you are full and happy, and the world is a happy, wonderful, chocolatey place.

Yum.

THE Tuna Salad

So, no surprise here, I am a mom. Mom of three, in fact, and quite proud of it. I also look like a mom of three. Gave birth to all of 'em myself and have the scars, stretch marks and cellulite to prove it. And for the past decade or so, I've been happily convincing myself these are badges of honor.

I am also now a not-quite-single mom who is considering reentry into the dating universe after 15 years. Frankly, unless you've been through this experience yourself, you cannot possibly imagine the sheer terror involved in putting yourself out there again. Dating was hard enough before I looked like this. And I can only imagine the challenges of dating now that I do.

To that end, I've been trying - at least a little, when I have time - to eat more healthfully. Lately that's meant that I've scaled back the late-night binge eating, and I'm trying to stay away from the macaroni & cheese and chicken nuggets. The kids may get McDonald's, but not me! Well, maybe a fry ... or two. But that's it!

Today, in an effort to be healthy, I sat down to make myself a salad. Checked the fridge. No lettuce!! How does one make a salad without lettuce? Oh, sure, there are ways ... but my creativity was stifled for a minute. Just a minute, mind.

And then I came up with it - the Ultimate Tuna Salad. High in protein and veggies. Not a refined carbohydrate in the bowl. Satisfying. Full of flavor and crunch. And I just gobbled it up in about 30 seconds. Hope it's to your taste.

1/2 red pepper, chopped (though my red pepper was admittedly the largest I've ever seen, so you may want more)
2 whole carrots (or about 10 of the minis), chopped
6-8 sweet baby gherkins, chopped
1 can quartered artichoke hearts
1 can hearts of palm, halved or quartered and sliced
2 tsp olive oil
2 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp dried tarragon (rubbed in the palms)
salt & pepper to taste
1 can chunk light tuna packed in water, drained

Dump it all in a bowl and mix. I would have added a quarter cup or so of pepitas if I'd had them around. Maybe some corn. This would be fun to play around with a bit.

This iteration, though, was definitely good enough for me. The crunch and the soft, the salt and the sweet - it just worked. I want more. My cats are going nuts, as well - though I think that's all about the tuna.

This should probably serve 4. It's going to give me just two meals, though, I can tell that already. And please don't tell me that eating healthfully also includes portion control. That particular rule does not apply today.