Have you ever been stranded on the side of the road in San Fran? We’re not talking stranded as in, just awoke from a night of “E” on the corner of 24th and Mission. No, we’re talking left high and dry after a romantic weekend bust.
Several months ago, I visited a former love interest in the city by the bay for three days of bliss. We started as a summer fling and evolved into something more. At the end of the summer, he was offered a job in California and, as expected, took the position.
Long story short, we kept up a correspondence. In the fall, I decided to bite the bullet and visit. He was ecstatic. Warning! CAUTION AHEAD. The first few days were great. We were in couple mode. The last day – not so great. Let me paint you a picture. I’m standing on a bluff overlooking the Pacific. The sun is shining, the waves are crashing, and the seagulls are chirping. My hair is whipping in the wind and I look good, real good. It’s like I’m in a Nicholas Sparks novel. I’ve packed a picnic of salamis, dried fruits and bougie cheeses – a Humboldt Fog goat, an aged manchengo, and a Tomme Crayeuse from Savoie. Do I really need to go on?
I ask when we’ll see each other next, as I gaze out at the approaching fog. I turn to the side, angling my head upwards hoping to steal a kiss. Did I mention how good I looked? Well, apparently this was the wrong question to ask. Warning! CAUTION AHEAD.
Next thing I know, he’s telling me that’s he’s not in the right place for this. It’s too much! He needs to focus on his career, the move to San Francisco, blah, blah, blah. Oh please, grow-up and gag me with a fucking spoon. I really feel the knife turn when he says, “I like you and all but….” Oomph! Am I right, or am I right? I’m humiliated. I feel like a complete fool. The seagulls are mocking me.
I run back to his apartment to grab my bags. He makes himself a sandwich while I pack. He’s eating. I’m crying. What a caveman. When I leave, he doesn’t help me down the stairs with my bag. I stand on the side of the road and wait for my little brother to rescue me in his Mazda. When he spots me, he gasps. He knows I’m a woman on the edge. He drives me back to his apartment and on the way home, buys me thirty dollars worth of sushi. What a mensch. When we get back to his place, he sits me down in front of the TV and puts on The Muppets take Manhattan. “I’m going to a party,” he says. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He scrambles out the door leaving me on the couch, catatonic, with Kermit the Frog and a spicy tuna hand roll.
I do what any girl does in a crisis. I call my mom. The advice she gives me is the best I’ve had yet. “I know you’re sad now sweetie girl,” she says, “but in a few days, you’re going to get mad, really mad, and it’ll do you some good.” And so, I get mad. For not only have I been dumped after a three thousand mile trek to California, but the bastard kept my cheese. That is really low. In the great words of Howard Beale from the 1976 classic Network:
“I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”
And so, I say get mad. If you’ve been drop-kicked in the heart, don’t go for the cookie-dough. Go for the jugular. That’s right, put some dead animal in your belly. Get bloodthirsty and treat yourself. Rise from the ashes.
Below is the perfect recipe for some lovin’ gone wrong. It may be a little involved but this meal is meant to distract you from the pain. After all, “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
Orange, Beet and Fennel Salad
(Serves 2)
1 bunch of red beets roasted and sliced into rounds
1 bunch of golden beets roasted and sliced into quarters
2 naval or cara oranges
½ small fennel bulb sliced thinly
1 ½ Tbsp. lime juice
Olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste.
Shaved parmesan
Nothing screams bloody murder like a bunch of roasted, red beets. Beets can be a pain in the ass to roast so, if you’d like to skip this step, buy them. Then again, this leaves you more time to sulk. Get up and be proactive. Don’t let him win.
Heat the oven to 400 degrees.
Remove the beet greens and wash. If you’re a real farm-to-table freak, you can use the greens in a salad later. Using a brush or paper towel, coat the beets with olive oil and wrap in aluminum foil. Place on a baking sheet and roast in the oven for 50 minutes, or until the beets are tender when pierced with a knife.
Meanwhile, remove the skin and pith from the oranges. I usually like to use blood oranges in this recipe for both flavor and spitefulness. Unfortunately, they are out of season. Oh well, shit happens. Slice one orange into segments leaving the membrane behind. Slice the other orange into rounds. Combine in a bowl and squeeze the remaining juice over the oranges. Add the lime juice and set aside.
Remove the core from the fennel and slice thinly. I use a cheap mandolin I bought at Bowery Kitchen Supplies but a knife is fine. Save some of the fronds for a garnish.
When the beets are done, remove them from the oven and place the baking sheet on the floor. Yep, that’s the reality of a tiny kitchen. Unless you have tons of counter space (which you do not), the floor is the safest place to let food cool. If you put the sheet on the stove, you’ll knock it over and burn yourself. You can unwrap the beets to speed-up the cooling process. Once cooled, rub with a paper towel to remove the skin. Slice red beets into rounds and golden beets into quarters
Arrange beets, oranges and fennel on a plate. Drizzle with olive oil and remaining citrus juice. Sprinkle with coarse salt and pepper. Garnish with shaved parmesan and fennel fronds.
Herb Crusted New York Strip Steak
(Serves 2)
(Variation from Jacques Pepin, 2013)
1 pound piece of New York strip steak
½ tsp. of dried thyme
½ tsp. of dried oregano
½ tsp. of dried rosemary
1/4 tsp. of cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp. of black pepper
Sprinkling of salt
½ cup of store bought chicken broth
Heat the oven to 450 degrees. It will probably only get to 400 but miracles do happen.
Folks in the food world will tell you to leave the meat out and let it come to room temperature. That’s bullshit for the following reasons:
a. None of our fridges work well enough to really chill meat
b. Leaving the meat on the counter will only bring the outside to room temperature. To bring the inside to room temperature, you’d have to leave the meat on the counter for a day and that’s just gross.
Cut away any excess fat. Combine your seasonings in a bowl and crush with the back of a Phillips head screwdriver. That’s right, it’s a homemade mortar and pestle – how conveniently cute. Sprinkle the spice mixture on both sides of the meat. When you’re ready to cook the meat, lightly sprinkle both sides with salt. If you let the meat sit with the salt too long, you’ll extract water and won’t achieve that nice browning.
Heat oil in an ovenproof skillet and sear meat on both sides for approximately three minutes. Remove from heat and place the pan in the oven for 8 to 10 minutes depending on how rare you like your steak. Now, this is the important part. Remove the pan and allow to rest. LEAVE an oven mitt on the handle so you don’t forget that the pan is approximately 450 degrees. Such stupidity once landed me in the ER. There is a lot going on in a tiny kitchen. These little reminders are very helpful.
Pour the chicken stock in the pain and allow the meat to rest for 10 minutes. The juice and herbs from the meat will infuse the stock. Slice the meat and serve with juices. Maybe even treat yourself to a baked potato with sour cream and chives.
Now, pour yourself a glass of cabernet sauvignon, put your feet up, and hope that the bastard will one day be fat and unhappily married.