Love is Dinner for Two, Part 4

This is part 4 of a short series of entries using food to document my most significant romantic relationships to date. Start from the beginning here.

Boyfriend 3, Mister M. Bauer:

2004-2006. Mr. Bauer was always full of good intention. That was what I admired most about him- his sincerity, his honesty, and his patience. For someone so talented, this boy didn't have a drop of ego or pretention. In some ways, you could even say he was a simple man. Sometimes he even referred to himself as "Old Man Bauer." Was it the multiple pairs of velcro shoes? Was it the obsession with second-hand goods? Maybe it was the way everything he owned slowly found its way into the backseat and trunk of his car. Whatever it was, my memories with him are all positive. They are full of cheap, tasty meals, after dinner walks in our Little Ethiopia neighborhood, driving around LA, and bringing an unreasonably bulky, old boombox with us on many a car rides so he could record and interview our conversations.

There are two Mr. Bauer meals that stand out the most to me. This first was this: It was his turn to make dinner for the short-lived but incredibly exciting "Food Cult" dinner parties I started to have, and his theme was off-the-wall. I had made an African-themed meal, Melissa had made French. And what did Mr. Bauer make? A meal of stuffed things. There was a salad of tomato stuffed with chickpeas, onions, peppers, and basil; appetizers of potato stuffed with potato, avocoado, and sour cream, and chinese dumplings stuffed with veggies; an entree of eggplant stuffed with stuffing, and so on... That's a lot of stuff.

The other meal that I thought exemplified Mr. Bauer was his homemade vegetarian meatballs. These meatballs, however, were totally unconventional. Mr. Bauer used every single item in our fridge to construct these growingly massive balls. This included condiments such as dijon mustard and veganaise, to tofu, cottage cheese, and veggies. Yes, cottage cheese! I watched in horror as he made the meatballls, trying with all my might to keep "Kitchen Ellen" under control and exhibit Ellen Ellen, the Ellen that he liked having around and that didn't became a scary witch when it came time to turn on the stove. I had to learn to keep my mouth shut and trust him, as to not inhibit his own creativity. Even though the ride was rough, in the end the meatballs were edible, even tasty, and we can still be friends.

THIS IS egg scramble with collard greens, pine nuts, garlic, and shaved parmesan cheese; homemade whole wheat blueberry, banana, walnut muffin; sliced fuji apple. Breakfast for Mr. Bauer one December morning.

BFF, Breakfast Friends Forever

Breakfast for breakfast, breakfast for lunch, or breakfast for dinner, you are my best friend and my favorite meal.

Not only because I love any excuse to eat an egg, I think breakfast is the most well-rounded of all the meals. Let me count the ways.

1. Nutritionally, it's the most important. Without the Big B, what's going to provide you with energy for the rest of your long, arduous day?

2. Practically, it's my favorite meal to cook. It's easy. It simple. It never tastes bad.

3. Socially, it's a privilege to eat this meal with friends, family, or lover. Most of us are usually in a rush in the mornings, so to sit down and share this meal means two joyful things: 1) that you aren't late; and 2) that you aren't alone. It allows friends to reconvene hungover and post-partying, potential lovers to solidify the prior night fling, and families to act healthy and wholesome. Win, Win, and Win!

4. Emotionally, it is my comfort food. Some of my fondest memories of the short year and a half my mother, sister and I lived in New Jersey include the egg and cheese omelette my mom made for us every single morning. Breakfast = safety.

5. Morally, it teaches the virtue of patience. When else in the restaurant world do people willing oblige to hour long waits with such grace and good esteem?

6. Intellectually, it is the time I both ponder and answer all of life's burning questions. Like the chicken or the egg. This one is always easy over breakfast. (or should I say, over easy...)


THIS IS toasted Old Poland Bakery baguette; Garden of Eve eggs with chopped basil; thinly sliced red onions, heirloom tomatoes, and jalapeno peppers; and sliced apple. Just a lil Saturday afternoon brunch for zo + nance.

Ode to the Egg, My Shining Sun

Hard-boiled, soft-boiled, poached, fried, scrambled, over-easy, sunny side up, steamed, or baked, I love eggs in all its glorious forms. Eggs are the perfect food. The creamy, silky, runny, gooey yolk is so good, you could even say they're eggsellen.

But all eggs are not created equal.

Recently I stumbled upon a vendor at the Union Square Farmer's Market that sells Peruvian eggs. These yolks are not only bright with brilliance but are bursting with flavor. At $4 for a half dozen, they better be; I made the vendor promise they would be worth every penny. And they were! Every subsequent trip to the market I've made it my mission to obtain more Peruvian eggs, justifying my pricey purchase as a way to express gratitude to farmers committed to biodiversity.

The only other eggs that were better than this were from the Garden of Happiness community garden in the Bronx. There they have a chicken coop with two or three hens that produce the most delicious eggs I have ever tasted. Although the eggs were small in size, the yolk was grand and gorgeous. It was the thickest, brightest yolk I have ever seen. I close my eyes in delight just remembering those eggs, with yolks like the shining sun. And because of those six little eggs, my mission once I get a some outdoor space is to raise chickens for egg production. Yes it's legal here in NYC, and possibly better than having a dog. You can eat their eggs! (Learn all about raising chickens in The City Chickens guide from Just Food, the organization I currently work with and spent my AmeriCorps service with in their Community Supported Agriculture program.)

THIS IS my afternoon snack: a soft-boiled Peruvian egg served with fresh baked bread (which I dipped into the runny yolk). Below are Garden of Happiness eggs and the chickens in which these eggs came, and the coop in which the chickens dwell (notice Bronx housing projects in the background). Happy birds make tasty eggs.