It's lucky I didn't get married when by all rights I should have, during that time known as the Donna Martin decade, aka the 1990s. I might be embarrassed now when I would have looked back at the wedding VHS and realized that "our" song was "Wonderwall" and that all the wedding pictures showcased a drastic blood-red-blunt-bang Vidal Sassoon breakup dye job and cut (it took about three years to grow that mess into that strawberry banana lifesaver stage). Hell, I might even be embarrassed that the reception, most likely thrown at the La Luz de Jesus gallery in Silverlake had offered a backdrop of pin up girls, Weegee photographs and Day of the Dead figurines. And that I listened to Weezer at least 478 times as I hand stamped each invitation ("What's with these homies dissing my girl/ Why do they gotta front?"). I have imagined the scenario probably a hundred or more times over the years, when I was asked to be a bridesmaid or I saw another friend's wedding pictures on Facebook, even when I was six or seven and playing around with my friends. THIS is what my wedding, my big day, is going to look like, and it will be beautiful. Every single detail was imagined and remained as I got older and my tastes changed and the styles of everything around me changed, too, but I was never able to picture one key element:

the groom.

Seriously, even when I was dating someone seriously (and there were quite a few during the 1990s, sorry for partying), I couldn't see the guy, period. Not a body, not a face, not a single distinguishing feature. I'm quite sure that had I been in therapy during any of those imaginative times, the shrink would have had much to say about this.

Maybe most girls are like this, planners and re-planners of this rite of passage, I really don't know, but I think there is something inherently wrong with me. I mean there are many, many things wrong with me, let's not kid ourselves, but maybe if you don't ever see yourself marrying someone when you imagine, oh I don't know, MARRYING someone, you should work on developing other dreams for your life. Like writing a food blog.

This site has been a chronicle of my Amazing Middle Aged Peter Pan Angst(™), and if you've read any of it before today (I know there are at least two of you) you are probably keenly aware that there has been much of it. There has also been silence for more than a year, and I would like to explain, just in case you've felt a gaping hole in your soul.

I have been yammering on and on and on about how I am going to do a breakfast-palooza for almost an entire year. Yes, since LAST APRIL when I did my TV dinner soupapalooza. I am nothing if not a sloth when it comes to executing all the little delights my underutilized brain can conjure...of course, when I dream up these little delights they are always executed quickly, perfectly and I'm wearing a beautiful party dress that doesn't get any food on it. I really loves me an imaginary Best Case Scenario.

After all the plotting and thinking and reality TV watching (please feel more than free to judge me since I judge everyone else ALL THE TIME) I got off my duff and decided to get back on the soup program. Actually I was nudged by a friend who was coming to town for a quick visit and who also wanted to pack in seeing as many people as possible at one time as she could, which worked out well for me because just like starting a blog to ensure that I actually completed the cooking challenge I set for myself, this was a good way to make sure I didn't puss out. Because I do have a tendency to really, spectacularly puss out. Just ask my friend Delia about how I pretended to tighten the tension on the spinning bike in her class, and about the fact that I still almost fell down the stairs after the class because I've been sitting on my ass for A YEAR. And please forgive my Kanye-ALL-CAPS-I'M-YELLING-AT-YOU emphasis, but I think it's necessary to really MAKE MY POINT.

Anyway, I dreamed (dreamt?) up a pretty ambitious menu, though, like I said earlier, I never think it's all that ambitious (and why am I always so cute in these daydreams?) until 30 people are in my house and there are no pigs in a blanket for them to much on while I toss the salad. I consider that a party fail, though I have learned along this journey that it's usually more important to have the drinks ready than the proverbial pu pu platter as guests arrive, or maybe that's just because I have pretty boozy friends, I don't know, but whatever works.

serrano split pea with fried pancetta: splitting the difference

homefry potato soup with hashbrown, bacon breadcrumbs, fried egg & sriracha: there's a whole lotta bacon goin' on

Why? Because soup is cheap, delicious and easy. Kind of like me.

a weekly attempt to eat well and to savor life. or to see how much food I can get on my clothes.