February 14 - Amor Cooking, Aless Zooking

We made bacons and eggs and toasts while I played Lauren a Valentine's Day mix interspersed with Love Poems For The Very Married by Lois Wyse.

Then she had to leave for a coffee date and I killed a half hour with music before heading out for the Rush matinee.

On the bus I noticed a very familiar face. It was Lauren, my girlfriend.

She had missed a couple of busses.

We planned dinner for the evening: her Cuban aunt's Cuban chicken fricasee recipe.

Then Joe, a Second City stage manager called Lauren. He was wondering where I was. I checked my cellphone, which I usually hate and leave behind at band practice. I had left the ringer off all weekend. It was 1:40pm.

With groovy embarrassment, I realized that Rush starts at 2pm.

I had it in my head that it started at the unusual time of 2:30pm.

So I gave Lauren a peck, hustled to the theater, arrived fifteen minutes before showtime, cut through the line flowing out the door, set up my drums, and changed into my show clothes by 1:55pm.

Like a professional.

A professional moron.

The show sold out. They loved it. It's a great show. I recommend it.

I got home while Lauren was teaching at Second City and did the prep for dinner.

Lauren is the chef.

I am her sous.

She has made some excellent dishes in the apartment. Mussels with chorizo, coq au vin, braised ox-tail.

I make decent eggs.

But when she arrived home all I heard after the door closed was moaning and lots of little muffled activity. A trail of coats, clothes and shoes led to a crumpled girl under a blanket on the sofa. She was overcome with nausea, but told me to carry on with dinner.

Chef's orders.

While the chicken fricasee'ed in onions, peppers, garlic, and bitter orange, I decided to fry the plantains I had bought on a whim. It was a fun process. Mashing oil-soaked things with a wooden spoon is quite satisfying. And then dipping them in garlic and oil before refrying them is another form of hoopla.

Maybe I'm becoming boring and old, but I was having a blast.

Meanwhile poor Lauren was suffering on the couch.

At dinner Lauren ate what she could.

Not only did she keep it down, but she said it was delicious!

Over cookies, we exchanged cards and she got me a nifty yellow ostrich T-shirt from the T-shirt Deli.

A lovely relaxing night, nausea excluded, before another action packed week begins.

Verdict: Win