Like a starving man with irrational and obsessive fantasies about food, I'm losing my mind and killing myself over recipes I can't cook. I'm even dreaming about food and famous foodies.
The other night I went to Pangaea, a restaurant I've only ever heard about through fellow writer, Dana McCauley. Her husband, Martin Kouprie, owns the place. Now I've never met either of these people in person, but I had a very elaborate dream where Martin took me on a tour of the place and gave me a cooking lesson. So now I am obsessed with trying something we experimented with in the dream - hot chocolate ice cream. We made ice milk, then poured over a cocoa sauce. Cocoa sauce? Not chocolate sauce? It was a dream after all.
Then last night I had a fantastic dream with Matt Armendariz. Nothing either of our husbands have to worry about, so stop right there. If Matt ever opens the bar I dreamt about he will be a very popular man. Well, popular with everyone but my dad. Inexplicably my grumpy old dad came with me to the movie screening at Matt's bar. The rest of the crowd, full of old friends from university and what my unconscious can only guess are a mess of Matt's friends, enjoyed candy, chocolate, and pastry made by Matt. I can't tell you what movie we watched, but I can still taste the butter and flake of Matt's perfect pastry.
And I thought it was bad spending my days reading magazines and blogs, torturing myself with food I cannot make until I can stand for more than 5 minutes unassisted. Now my nights are haunted by crazy good food and better company that the ladies on The View.