My Wednesdays routinely present a slew of mundane conundrums:
Should I shave my legs, or wait until the weekend when it’ll “matter more?”
Do I knock my homework out now, or wait until an hour before class NEXT Wednesday to rush through it and make mistakes?
What am I going to cook for dinner now that we’ve blasted through our grocery haul and will Andrew even like it and should I just Grubhub burritos?
That last one was especially tough this week. Rooting through the freezer, I found a bag of frozen salmon filets, and my stomach dropped for reasons other than suspicion toward chilled fish.
Most folks who subscribe to this newsletter are familiar with my fiery, off-and-on relationship with an Italian man between 2017 and 2019. That period of my life reads like the subtitles of a dramatic foreign film, where two volatile characters with vowel-heavy names eat a lot of bread, have a lot of sex, and nearly murder each other in between. I won’t spoil a story that you’ll read down the road.
When his dad would visit from Italy, he’d teach me simple dishes that I’d recreate over and over. Pasta al salmone was one of them. A delightful mix of butter, cream cheese, salmon, and salty pasta water, this dish sings with a generous crack of black pepper. Upon making it Wednesday, I shared the recipe to my story with a note about that relationship, and how these dishes are the goodness I carry beyond the trauma. My friend then tagged me in her story: a photo of saffron rice that she cooks with an ex’s family recipe.
We’re all walking around with books and skills and bands and perspectives that our exes supplied. Though sometimes cruel reminders of love lost, they represent our ability to look on the bright side and cherish the good, which is, after all, the ethos of the phrase “broke, but moisturized.” I couldn’t drive a car if it wasn’t for Cody. I’d still be a judgmental asshole if it wasn’t for Todd. And I’d be short a few great pasta dishes if it wasn’t for Gianluca.
I asked my Instagram followers to finish the sentence, “They fucked you up, but they gave you...” These were their responses:
We’re burping up pho in nice jewelry. You love to see it.
Brave, independent, and sparking a blunt to Brent Faiyaz. A sultry moment hand-delivered by the R&B gawds.
Babies AND taking care of a yard? The growth!
We’re reading poetry, getting money, and flexing our law degrees. No one can take that from us.
…and in a sea of beautiful takeaways, sometimes learning what you don’t want is the greatest gift of all. Cheers to a safe and cozy weekend.