His obsession with food began to wear on her. His time with the cookbooks, his time in the grocery store, the money he spent on special salamis and strangely shaped fennel developed in small farms on the coast of France. It was a weight on her soul.
Food. She didn’t like to be hungry, she enjoyed a nice meal, she liked a nice wine, but ask her what flavors she tasted on any occasion and she’d simply say, it tastes good. Not, it hints of anise or basil or dill. And no, she didn’t taste the citrus in the meat sauce. She lacked whatever senses he had when it came to distinguishing flavors. She lacked the particular sense of taste seemingly possessed by those guests who came day after day to enjoy his meals.
At the end of each weekend, she wanted them gone, those tasting, sipping people. She wanted peace in the refrigerator, emptiness in the kitchen. Why not a sandwich with a piece of chicken, a slight glisten of mayonnaise, a single tomato slice, one lettuce leaf. What’s wrong with that? She might toast the bread, but the kind did not matter. Whole wheat, as long as it was sliced thin, a nice baguette as long as it was fresh. But sour dough or sweet? She’ll never forget when she brought home sour dough for sandwiches. Her mother had loved sour dough like it was something special, only made here in San Francisco, she’d say. But now her mother’s favorite bread is apparently too sour for sandwiches. Sandwiches are best served with sweet breads. She’s sure there is an exception to that, but she won’t know until he politely tells her as he unwraps her purchase.
He’s not rude or arrogant about the food, simply uncomprehending of her lack of skill. How can you not know that egg salad is made with…and she can’t remember that is. If she were to make an egg salad sandwich, she’d hard-boil some eggs, let them cool, and add a touch of mayo. Maybe a bit of celery. Apparently a thin slice of tomato is not part of that sandwich.
Even junk food has a ranking. McDonald’s is at the top. Dairy Queen is in a class by itself, if only for its Blizzards. Where has she been for all her life that she never learned what must everyone must know.
But the burden of food is just that. A burden. She survives with friends on five signature dishes and five stellar desserts, but she has no idea how to cook a turkey or prepare a roast. Surrounded by foodies, she wants out.