I'm not a mean person, really. You, of course, can disagree. I'm cool with that.
I made homemade macaroni and cheese last night, a great comfort meal, and for me, conjures good memories, as well as promotes reflection on the state of affairs. No one made mac and cheese better than my mom; and if you tried my mom's, you'd probably agree. She made it with a load of cheese and a ton of buttery bread crumbs on top. She always served it with meat loaf, and this was one of my favorite meals. As an adult, I skipped the meat loaf (don't know why — I do like it), and focused on trying to recreate Mom's mac and cheese, usually with decent results. My mom's was better though. Far more addictive: it didn't matter how much food was in your gut, it was just not possible to shovel enough of this gooey casserole into your head quickly enough.
Recently though, I took a slightly different trajectory on my mac and cheese preparation, because of inspiration from a former coworker. She topped her casserole with buttered chunks of white bread, and — bless her heart — she would bring it in to share, and holy crap, that was good stuff. So, now, I make the "guts" of the casserole the way my mom did, except I use fatter noodles, like ziti or rigatoni, as they are far more effective cheese vehicles; and I top the whole thing with buttered bread, and it makes me very happy.
I swear, I'm not being mean, but rather, just stating things the way they are/were: both my mom, and my former coworker were/are large, large women. And, for the record, my former coworker was a spitting image of the singer Meat Loaf. It would be nice if our society wasn't so image-obsessed, and could see people like this — well, anyone who isn't a size 2 (whether or not they look like Meat Loaf) — as complete, beautiful beings. Most of us love food, but we have a tendency to be hypercritical of the heavy folks who make it for us. I love food, AND the people who make it for me, especially if they're overweight. Similarly, Glen has a policy: never get your movie popcorn from the skinny guy, because he won't know how to butter it. It's a fact, he says.
I'm no supermodel, that's for sure. I like my food, and hate diets, and am deeply opposed to exercise for the sake of exercise (exercise that happens as a result of playing a game, or taking in the sights, or getting a breath of fresh air, or building something, is okay). And like I said, I'm really not mean. Certainly not as mean as I might come off, or some people might think I am. I say all of this because I was called "mean" for noticing that my former coworker looked a lot like Meat Loaf:
Merely stating that someone looks like someone else isn't nasty or sweet. It just IS. Besides, I hear Mr. Loaf is a very, very nice person, and well, so was my former coworker.
Anyway, I was thinking happy thoughts of my mom, and my former coworker yesterday as I tended my impatient, but adorable baby boy, while I juggled the boiling pasta water, and the butter, and bread, and cheese, and cheese grater, but those happy thoughts did not change the fact that the top of my casserole burned a bit. The insides were fine, but without that buttery crust, what's the point? My disappointment made me miss my mom, and my former coworker.
Yesterday, as I prepared my ever-so-slightly ill-fated mac and cheese, rumors flitted about that Trenton's business administrator, Jane Feigenbaum, would resign, and today, I saw in the news that it's true. I'm not being mean, but it just seems to me that Mayor Douglas Palmer's ship is sinking. Sinking fast, and without recovery options (again, I'm talking about Palmer's ship, not the entire city). He can deny the dire situation this city is in, and his administration is facing; he can call me and the other bloggers "haters" in his State of the City address, if he'll even bother to address the city this year. But I'm just stating the obvious truth.
Sometimes the truth hurts, I guess.
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