Tag Archives: Lunch

A Fork in the Road, a Bowl in the Office

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During the first Great Sorting, we realized that we liked her flatware better than mine. My set was perfectly good, but we didn’t have room in the kitchen for both.  It went into a box in storage. When we knew that none of our friends who were moving or unexpectedly refurnishing a house needed it, we sent that box to a second-hand store.

Well, not all of it.  We each kept a place setting. One knife, fork, and spoon was designated for each of our offices.  We’ve also each kept a little dinnerware: I’ve got a big bowl that’s perfect for salad, soup, or oatmeal, and is wide enough to work as a plate, too. She’s got a smaller plate and bowl in hers. Between us, we have a huge pile of cloth napkins, so we usually have one of those in the office as well, and bring it home for laundering.

We eat at least one meal at our desks, most days, and some days two or three.  There’s nothing wrong with going out for a workday meal. Taking some time away from the office is a good thing. But it gets pricey if it’s an everyday occurrence. Economics aside, though, we like the meals we bring from home. We know what’s in them, and what’s not.

We also like not having to dispose of plastic cutlery or paper plates or napkins. There’s nothing wrong with using a sandwich’s wrapper as a placemat, or eating a salad from the plastic container in which it was carried to work. It takes a little extra time to wash the dishes, and to find a place in the office where they can be stored. But there is something a bit more civilized about using proper dinnerware. It makes lunch-at-the-office feel more like a meal and less like a re-fueling stop during a 500 mile road race. And it reminds us of home. These days, we aren’t at home together as often as we’d like. Our matching flatware makes it a little more like we’re sharing a meal.

Ah, well. Back to work.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Pasta

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It had been a whirlwind week, followed by a busy weekend leading into another week that’ll be more of the same. Major events are kicking up in her organization, and rehearsals and performances fill my evenings. Dinners together will be the exception rather than the rule. It’s easy to get focused on what has to be done at work and then discover a load of clothes put in the washer on Tuesday hasn’t been moved to the dryer until Friday. Or that we’ve driven past the market while holding the shopping list.

We remembered lunch, though. She had it nearly ready by the time I got home. All that was left was to grate the cheese I’d just brought–after I remembered where I was going and circled back for it. Pasta was bubbling. Cream simmered in a saucepan, flecked with perky strands of lemon zest and dark green rosemary. I squeezed the lemons for her before she realized that the recipe called for zest but not juice. That’s okay; I’ll make lemon soda sometime soon. She stirred in the cheese, steamed some asparagus to add, and brought everything together. The sauce was beautifully balanced between tart citrus, rich cream, and salty-sharp parmesan. A sprinkle of cayenne and a few grinds of black pepper contributed a little warmth, and the asparagus brought its unique earthiness. Nothing overwhelmed another–which is good, since we were both a little overwhelmed by life.

The recipe she was following didn’t include the asparagus, but I’m glad we did. Vegetables are always welcome. I’m sure we’ll try this again someday, perhaps with a little less cream and many more vegetables, as a pasta primavera. It’s time for that sort of thing, even if the thermometer doesn’t quite agree and there’s still snow on the ground. It might even be pleasant enough to linger over lunch on the deck. Not today, though, but that’s just as well; we had only enough time to clean up after lunch before going our separate ways for evening events.

The time it takes to make a simple meal is always well-spent, and most certainly healthier than speaking into an intercom and having someone hand a sack of burgers to us through a window. Even when the meal is a bowl of pasta and cheese.

A Sure Thing

She ordered Thai food for lunch. Pineapple fried rice, no doubt; probably with chicken. But she didn’t take a bite.

So many calls and meetings had interrupted her morning that the oatmeal she’d prepared had ended up hard and cold and unpalatable.  So she had her lunch–spiced lamb and hummus–for breakfast, and ordered takeout at lunchtime.

I’m sure she rushed to the lobby to meet the delivery person. I’m sure she tipped well.  I’m sure she put the bag on the floor carefully beside her desk, out of her way.  I’m sure she dove back into work. I don’t know why she left–maybe for another meeting, or maybe just to use the rest room.  But during that precise window, a custodian came to her office and did what he was meant to do: the restaurant bag on the floor was clearly intended to be discarded. She found it in the trash, opened and untouchable.

She was grumpy-hungry. Come to think of it, so was I.  I’d worked through breakfast, too. Lunch had been a long time ago, and that was before the stressful rehearsal, and the even more stressful drive through snow and sleet to meet her train.

She didn’t care what we had for dinner–even the kale soup, which she hadn’t liked after all that work. I’d had some of it for lunch, and liked it a lot, though with its bitter greens and wine-rich beef broth, I could see why she didn’t. Kale soup was out.

First rule of the kitchen: Love people, cook them tasty food. It had to be something we’d both like.  A sure thing.

I’d taken a small ball of pizza dough out of the freezer before I left for work. It was thawed and ready for action. I floured a mat, stretched it thin, and topped it with a little tomato sauce. Cheese next: a few dabs of ricotta, some shredded mozzarella, and some shaved parmesan. I’d defrosted a couple of meatballs, too; I crumbled one and added it, then topped with a little more mozzarella.  I was trying to make a calzone, but I hadn’t left quite enough dough for crimping.  I rolled the dough-and-toppings like a small burrito, and baked it for 15 minutes.  Not quite golden at that point, I gave it another 3.  Three more after that, and it was perfect.

During those last 6 minutes, I sautéed some vegetables: asparagus, grape tomatoes, and mushrooms.  That seemed more-than-vaguely Italian, and warmer than a salad. With the wintry mess outside, I wanted no cold food.

We watched the pilot episode of The West Wing during dinner. We’ve both seen it many times.  “I love these people!” she said, as CJ fell off a treadmill. We giggled as Sam revealed that he knew nothing about the history of the White House, and marveled at the strength of President Bartlet’s first entrance. We’ll go back to working our way through Alias sometime, but there are days when suspense and cartoonish violence should not be on the menu.

The calzone might have burned.  We might have had a driving accident in the snow. One of us might hurt the other with a flinching elbow or a careless word. Bad news or a TV story might lead to nightmares. Nothing in life is a sure thing.  But we go slowly and carefully, avoiding unnecessary risk, finding joy where we can, drinking lots of water, eating our vegetables. So far, so good.

Fruit Filling

It’s easy enough to stick a piece of fruit in a lunch bag or briefcase.  But it’s also easy enough to ignore it, or to decide it’s too hard to eat at work. After all, if you take a bite out of an apple or pear or peach, you’re committed to eating the whole thing at once or making a juicy mess of your desk. Berries aren’t really meant for eating-out-of-hand. Slicing a banana before it’s been peeled is fun, but hard to eat without a fork or spoon. Clementines are easy to peel, but oranges are even messier than August peaches.

I quartered and cored an apple one day and put it in a plastic bag, thinking it might make things easier: not exactly one-bite snacks, but close. Even sprinkled with lemon juice, it browned. I needed a way to keep the segments together.

Peanut butter.

It’s one of her favorite foods. It has a little extra protein, and the ingredient list on the brand we usually buy is blissfully short: peanuts and salt.

The peanut butter wasn’t quite adhesive enough to hold the quarters in place, but a rubber band around it was. Tuck the whole thing in a plastic bag, squeeze out as much air as possible, and you’re off. It was, from dinnertime reports, among the best afternoon snacks in the history of food.

We’re reasonably healthy eaters, holding strictly to a policy of “All things in moderation, including moderation.” But it is a bit of a challenge to get fruit and vegetables into our diet–even including “stealth vegetables” like the zucchini in a quick bread. Besides, if you include chocolate chips in the zucchini bread it’s pretty hard to make the claim of healthfulness. But an apple a day–even one that takes a multi-step process to prepare–is a good thing.

Bring home the plastic bag and rubber band to wash and reuse another day, of course.

Sure, it's a little fussy.  But even before coffee, I can usually get one of these assembled in a minute-thirty.

Sure, it’s a little fussy.
But even before coffee, I can usually get one of these assembled in a minute-thirty.