One Degree of Separation

“Are you free? Are you vegetarian?”

Ths txt ws vry promising.

I wish I could say I whipped up the feast pictured here, but I only lucked into it thanks to a friend of a friend (who henceforth I think I can consider my own firsthand friend).

Indie-style teacher and homeowner Harmony (of last month’s posts) put me in touch with Sarah, a college buddy of hers. Harmony is my Kevin Bacon.

After a couple of weeks of email tag, Sarah and I managed to meet tonight when she and her fiancé were cooking up steaks and shrimp. The menu sounded decadent enough to get my attention. 

Am I vegetarian?

I explained that I try to be 80% vegetarian, but I could easily count the seafood and beef toward my 20% omnivore. 

Am I free? Well, sometimes I'm my own worst enemy, clipping my own wings, smothering my own joy, that kind of thing. But yeah, I had no plans.

I should clarify that the “shrimp” mentioned in Sarah's text invite were not little anemic commas with spicy ketchup. These were food-pleasure-coma-inducing bundles wrapped in prosciutto and basil to be eaten by the skewer-full. Well, and there was the steak. And potatoes. And green bean salad studded with pecorino.

Oh, dear.

Left to my own devices, I might eat a wedge of Costco cheese and drink a Diet Coke and call it dinner (though not always—see last night’s post about the Kale Thing. Look at me taking care of me!)

But a meal with others is something to get excited about. A “potluck” exceeds its parts. And really “potluck” suggests the specter of casseroles and crockpots and mayonnaise-based salads.

Tonight’s meal was a merging of gourmet minds.

Earlier today I had lunch at The Elk, a nearby restaurant, with a new colleague, his wife (who preached this morning), and their infant son (wearing this season's rainbow leg warmers).

I think I’m going to like it here.