I guess the way that I differ from the book or the movie Julie and Julia is that my relationship didn’t fail. Somewhere amid the throws of unemployment, starting a new job, moving in with my boyfriend, moving to Brooklyn, I feel off the blogging bandwagon.
Life interrupted me, but I kept cooking. I tried new recipes – my first time making borscht (hated mine, love my mom’s), seitan chickpea cutlets, and improvised with my cooking a lot more. I think what I learned the most was that fat would always make my food taste good. So when I wake up on Saturday morning, and we’re starving and looking at a sparse fridge – I know that the fake meat with the Daiya cheese and veggies tossed together will always taste good. And you can always cheat by adding salsa. Salsa is the cheap way to make a good tofu scramble.
The summer went on, work got crazier. I never read her second book, so I don’t know why her relationship failed. I can only guess and don’t care to give it much thought. But for me, as I explored cooking and food, and work and a life with my partner, one day I woke up and my boyfriend proposed to me in the kitchen, the most special and ordinary place in our lives. I am thankful and grateful to have such a loving partner who can recognize that our every day life is what makes us special and make us love each other as much as we do. And I am even more thankful that on nights when I have to work late, I can trust that he can make a mean stir fry.