I’m back…sort of. I’m still pretty loopy from the pain medication (what kind of doctor prescribes morphine these days? not that I’m complaining, mind you, it’s just…bananas and very confusing). And I slept for 48 hours straight, missing what all of the weathercasters were apparently referring to as the “best weekend on record” here in Houston. Damn.
It’s taking me about five times as long to do anything right now, including typing. I feel like molasses on a cold day; like a 45 LP played at 33 1/3 rpm. And — most distressing — I’m not hungry.
I was only hungry for about an hour yesterday when I woke up sometime around midmorning to Bobby Flay, that little shrew-faced man-harridan, devoting an entire show to beefless burgers. What? Beefless burgers? Why? Irritating already…
But. Oh. Tuna burgers. Like, fresh, sushi-grade tuna burgers with this tapenade aioli that looked like savory divinity. And chicken cobb burgers with my two.favorite.things.EVER: bacon and blue cheese. And these scrumptious little Mediterranean turkey burgers that were stuffed into hearty pitas with fresh apple raita. Oh, God. I was suddenly and desperately starving, and all I could eat was Jell-O!
And then I had an epiphany.
I don’t hate Bobby Flay. How could I have hated him all these years when he makes such amazing food? How have I ignored this simple, basic fact for so long? I watched his nimble, clever hands work and I drooled — and not from the medication, either. His food was so fresh and basic and accessible, but without being pedantic or contrived.
And here’s where I was going wrong: I was concentrating so much on his tannic personality that I couldn’t get past it long enough to appreciate his talent. True, in some areas, you may never be able to ignore a strident attitude or general arrogance. But cooking is not one of those areas. If you can produce — and produce well — it doesn’t matter. I don’t care how much of an asshole he may be in real life or even on his show, I now love Bobby Flay.
Ebuillient and satsified with my newfound live-and-let-live attitude towards celebrity chefs, I rolled back over and fell asleep, while dreams of tiny turkey pitas danced in my head.