Out to Lunch
Adri loved food… she loved trying new and interesting items and ethnic cuisines, enjoyed trying out new recipes, exploring new flavors and sharing all of this with her family, even when she was little.
She was an adventurous eater from a young age, willing to try almost anything, even things that many if not most children would frown at: anchovies, blue cheese, olives, escargot, lamb, rabbit, weird hybrid fruit occasionally found at Central Market, and even chicken feet once when she was out with her nonna and a client at an Asian restaurant.
She’d be anxious to prepare meals as well, and in those days when I had not much money I’d teach her how to frugally stretch a dollar at the grocery store and to be creative with what you found in your pantry.
One day when she was about seven, she insisted on making dinner for the two of us. She used a box of mac n’ cheese, some to-go hot sauce packets from Taco Bell, a can of diced tomatoes and garlic and onion powder to prepare it. Other than starting the stove for her, she did it all, and though I may have questioned some of her ingredient choices silently, I let her do it all.
She was one who would definitely believe that one of the great joys of life and made it worth living was the food.
However, her eating disorder as well as meager income level as an adult made it difficult for her to actually enjoy food personally anymore. She couldn’t afford to buy proper ingredients on a regular basis, but still would scrounge and save to buy and prepare her family duck one thanksgiving, for example. She still got enjoyment by the planning and prep, but the actual eating: not so much.
Still, as is usually the case with people like her, food and meals were always on her mind. At least 80% of her Facebook and Instagram feeds would consist of food related topics: recipes, new restaurant openings, grocery store ads for some special, food memes, etc.
She’d often tag me and say stuff like “You need to try this!!”, or “This place sounds really good, you should go there!!”, or “remember when you made this for me?”, or “I really, really want to make this for the boys”, etc.
She’d live a great deal of her culinary adventures now vicariously through me, but I wished and hoped that she’d be able to enjoy some of this herself. I’d buy her cookbooks, usually of the type that showed you how to cook healthy meals on an extreme budget, but also sometimes just cookbooks with beautiful photographs, since at that point she enjoyed looking more than partaking. I’d bring over special ingredients that I occasionally bought specifically for her, but also extras I had at home. She’d be excited to receive them, and text me asking for recipe ideas in general or specific info on the item.
She would save money for the occasional treat, of course, such as kababs at a small hole-in-the-wall spot (that we later used to cater her memorial service) or some sushi plate for Wes and herself, or a hibachi dinner out for the boys’ birthday… but I know it was always less than she wished she could do.
She was an adventurous eater from a young age, willing to try almost anything, even things that many if not most children would frown at: anchovies, blue cheese, olives, escargot, lamb, rabbit, weird hybrid fruit occasionally found at Central Market, and even chicken feet once when she was out with her nonna and a client at an Asian restaurant.
She’d be anxious to prepare meals as well, and in those days when I had not much money I’d teach her how to frugally stretch a dollar at the grocery store and to be creative with what you found in your pantry.
One day when she was about seven, she insisted on making dinner for the two of us. She used a box of mac n’ cheese, some to-go hot sauce packets from Taco Bell, a can of diced tomatoes and garlic and onion powder to prepare it. Other than starting the stove for her, she did it all, and though I may have questioned some of her ingredient choices silently, I let her do it all.
She was one who would definitely believe that one of the great joys of life and made it worth living was the food.
However, her eating disorder as well as meager income level as an adult made it difficult for her to actually enjoy food personally anymore. She couldn’t afford to buy proper ingredients on a regular basis, but still would scrounge and save to buy and prepare her family duck one thanksgiving, for example. She still got enjoyment by the planning and prep, but the actual eating: not so much.
Still, as is usually the case with people like her, food and meals were always on her mind. At least 80% of her Facebook and Instagram feeds would consist of food related topics: recipes, new restaurant openings, grocery store ads for some special, food memes, etc.
She’d often tag me and say stuff like “You need to try this!!”, or “This place sounds really good, you should go there!!”, or “remember when you made this for me?”, or “I really, really want to make this for the boys”, etc.
She’d live a great deal of her culinary adventures now vicariously through me, but I wished and hoped that she’d be able to enjoy some of this herself. I’d buy her cookbooks, usually of the type that showed you how to cook healthy meals on an extreme budget, but also sometimes just cookbooks with beautiful photographs, since at that point she enjoyed looking more than partaking. I’d bring over special ingredients that I occasionally bought specifically for her, but also extras I had at home. She’d be excited to receive them, and text me asking for recipe ideas in general or specific info on the item.
She would save money for the occasional treat, of course, such as kababs at a small hole-in-the-wall spot (that we later used to cater her memorial service) or some sushi plate for Wes and herself, or a hibachi dinner out for the boys’ birthday… but I know it was always less than she wished she could do.
Cindy and I subscribe to Blue Apron, a home meal prep service, and we get one box a week with three meals in it, mainly because we both got tired of trying to think of new things to prepare each week. The meals are proportioned correctly as well, and also makes more financial sense at times. We don’t have to buy a $15 jar of romesco sauce for just one tablespoon, for example. The meal kit has one tablespoon in a packet for you.
Once Blue Apron accidently sent an extra meal, so I brought it over to Adri. She was thrilled and loved everything about it. She and Wesley had a great time preparing it for dinner that night, but of course she didn’t allow herself to be constrained by some dogmatic recipe instruction card that came with the meal: no, she said she made changes on the fly and said everyone loved the results. She told me that maybe one day if she was “rich” she would love to do that more often.
One of the more common things she shared in her feeds was for a particular type of seafood restaurant that has become popular as of late, at least in the DFW area. These places put everything in a large plastic bag and steam it. There will be potatoes and corn on the cob in there, and you choose the shellfish (clams, crawfish, different variety of crab, shrimp, etc.) as well as sauce and spice level.
The photos always look fantastic and delicious, but of course they’re expensive, usually starting around $25 and going up. There was no way Adri could try any of them, especially since the rest of her family probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it and she wasn’t about to spend that much money on just herself.
Looking at and posting the photos on Facebook would have to do.
I saw these in her feed, and one day decided I was going to take her to one as a surprise. I asked Stephen first if he could watch the boys for a couple of hours, and then went to pick up Adrianna. All I told her I was taking her to lunch, but not where.
She was hesitant; she didn’t want to leave the boys or Stephen, but we all finally convinced her and off we went, just she and I, just like the old days.
As we made the 15-minute drive (because nothing is close in Dallas) I could tell she was excited. I looked at her next to me in the passenger seat and remembered all the road trips we’d taken, all the time in the car driving from one class to the next in the summers, or to the library, or Six Flags and the Discovery Zone, and the trips to the airport. Drives that were filled with laughter and music and heart-to-heart talks about boys and life and dreams and the future.
I was a bit overcome in the moment, realizing for the thousandth time how quickly time passes, and how that little girl all those years ago so excited to be going somewhere was now an adult with a family of her own, and that such moments together were getting rarer and rarer. Like most parents, I suppose, part of me wished I could have held on to that little girl forever, but another part was excited to see what her future would bring as she created and maintained a life with her own family.
I was just glad to be able to share such moments with her as rarer as they had become, realizing that it was the best of both worlds. Looking at her that day next to me in the car I knew she thought the same.
Once Blue Apron accidently sent an extra meal, so I brought it over to Adri. She was thrilled and loved everything about it. She and Wesley had a great time preparing it for dinner that night, but of course she didn’t allow herself to be constrained by some dogmatic recipe instruction card that came with the meal: no, she said she made changes on the fly and said everyone loved the results. She told me that maybe one day if she was “rich” she would love to do that more often.
One of the more common things she shared in her feeds was for a particular type of seafood restaurant that has become popular as of late, at least in the DFW area. These places put everything in a large plastic bag and steam it. There will be potatoes and corn on the cob in there, and you choose the shellfish (clams, crawfish, different variety of crab, shrimp, etc.) as well as sauce and spice level.
The photos always look fantastic and delicious, but of course they’re expensive, usually starting around $25 and going up. There was no way Adri could try any of them, especially since the rest of her family probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it and she wasn’t about to spend that much money on just herself.
Looking at and posting the photos on Facebook would have to do.
I saw these in her feed, and one day decided I was going to take her to one as a surprise. I asked Stephen first if he could watch the boys for a couple of hours, and then went to pick up Adrianna. All I told her I was taking her to lunch, but not where.
She was hesitant; she didn’t want to leave the boys or Stephen, but we all finally convinced her and off we went, just she and I, just like the old days.
As we made the 15-minute drive (because nothing is close in Dallas) I could tell she was excited. I looked at her next to me in the passenger seat and remembered all the road trips we’d taken, all the time in the car driving from one class to the next in the summers, or to the library, or Six Flags and the Discovery Zone, and the trips to the airport. Drives that were filled with laughter and music and heart-to-heart talks about boys and life and dreams and the future.
I was a bit overcome in the moment, realizing for the thousandth time how quickly time passes, and how that little girl all those years ago so excited to be going somewhere was now an adult with a family of her own, and that such moments together were getting rarer and rarer. Like most parents, I suppose, part of me wished I could have held on to that little girl forever, but another part was excited to see what her future would bring as she created and maintained a life with her own family.
I was just glad to be able to share such moments with her as rarer as they had become, realizing that it was the best of both worlds. Looking at her that day next to me in the car I knew she thought the same.
When we got there and she saw what it was her excitement overflowed. She of course kibitzed and fretted about how expensive it was (this is what I get for teaching and modeling frugality to her all those years), but that was all forgotten when she broke into the bag of seafood and the steam and associated aromas escaped into the dining area. She smiled and started in.
It was a good day, and as it turned out our last shared happy moment that was just the two of us.
I wish she could have enjoyed food guilt-free, with enough financial security to share wonderful food and meals and experiences more often with her family, but I know she did the best she could. I know the times she was able to do this for herself and her family were some of the highlights of her life. Considering how much the boys talk about the meals she made and the food adventures she shared with them, I know they thought the same.
It was a good day, and as it turned out our last shared happy moment that was just the two of us.
I wish she could have enjoyed food guilt-free, with enough financial security to share wonderful food and meals and experiences more often with her family, but I know she did the best she could. I know the times she was able to do this for herself and her family were some of the highlights of her life. Considering how much the boys talk about the meals she made and the food adventures she shared with them, I know they thought the same.
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