I fancy myself a great cook. I know this because my friends call me the Barefoot Contessa who talks smack. I perpetually subject my loved ones to untested recipes demanding to know their thoughts and whether they actually saw Jesus while taking their first bite. If not responded to quickly enough, I say things like “Pay attention to me or I’ll climb on your head”. I take this very seriously and fully admit that I’m a weenie. If I were ever in a cooking competition I’d probably outcuss Gordon Ramsey. I love to cook. I have herbs growing on my windowsill which overlooks my rose bushes which I stare at happily as I tinker about in my kitchen. Yes. I am that person. Yes I know it’s obnoxious. Yes I realize it’s two polar opposite concepts smushed into one person. Yes I don’t care.
I went home from work feeling crappy. Allergies win. I coughed my back out of whack again and needed the solace of cooking, sweatpants and a couch. I am HUGE Ina Garten fan. I have just about every book she’s written. I love her perspective.
So my mom was over as she is quite often and I decided to make lunch for us both. Grapefruit and avocado salad. Perfect antidote to grumpiness. It’s colorful and cheery. I can cook up a storm but my downfall is and always has been the pretty factor. I am the worlds worst plater. My plating is disastrous; mainly because my family doesn’t really give a crap but also because I get half way through and bore myself or stress myself out. So I can’t make a swan out of a radish; but I can spend two full days making a brisket that would make your mama cry tears of joy. What’s your superpower?
So I made lunch…
Because fuck plating