Spinning didn’t quite happen tonight.  I got a call from my mother after work and opted for a Pilates class with her instead! It was my first time doing Pilates, too.  It’s a fun work-out.  The teacher was energetic and bubbly but also worked us hard (“Just two more, guys! One, two… Good — oh, let’s do just one more!”). I’m pretty familiar with yoga, and Pilates is a different sort of work-out, but if you’re looking for something different and fun, I recommend it.  Bring a buddy (or your mom ).

I had planned on stuffing this lone little pepper in my fridge for dinner tonight, but I was sort of a miserable monster today and decided I wanted something more comforting instead.  Comfort = cheese, of course, so I came up with this:

Two eggs over easy on toast with Cabot cheese straight from the outlet in VT.  Jack says hi, by the way.

Currently I’m attempting my first ever chicken stock with chicken leftovers I’ve saved from recent dinners.  We’ll see how this goes!

On Sunday the Boyfriend made us girls a roasted chicken with pistachio butter and farmer’s market green beans. He brought home pistachio butter and pecan butter (a la peanut butter) from work a while back. The pecan butter I have incorporated into my daily routine as if it were oxygen, but the pistachio butter left us stumped. It was tasty, but too savory for toast and oatmeal. But when Boyfriend smeared it on the chicken and used the leftover butter and drippings from the roast to make a sauce, it was heaven.

3. I did not take a picture because I was too busy, uh, stuffing noodles and beef and sauce into my mouth. Not only is it easy to eat a large bowl of this stuff, but the dish is quite easy to make. The recipe comes from The Ex-Boyfriend Cookbook by Erin Ergenbright and Thisbe Nissen, which is a fun and colorful collection of recipes.

It would make an awesome housewarming present for that cute, artsy friend we all have, the one who makes her own jewelry and whose house is effortlessly chic. The friend you love so much despite the fact that she makes you feel kinda bad about yourself. I also read the introduction and I sort of want to hang out with these girls. They seem funny with a bitter streak — just my type. But I digress…

Basically, buy The Ex-Boyfriend Cookbook. I feel awkward passing out the recipe (I feel like we can’t be friends if I breach copyright laws), but I will tell you that the ingredients list is simple: butter, onion, beef tenderloin, mushrooms, pepper, nutmeg, and sour cream. Hello.

To combat the Monday night’s cream and beef, I went lighter for dinner on Tuesday. Using my farmer’s market zucchini, I made Disappearing Zucchini Orzo from Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal Vegetable Miracle. Only it was Disappearing Zucchini Rotini since the supermarket did NOT have orzo but my pantry shelves had rotini. (I’m still bitter about this — what kind of freaking supermarket doesn’t have orzo? Have you no pride? Nothing so super about not having orzo…). The dish, consisting of zucchini, parmesan, thyme and oregano, was yummy enough, but ultimately the purpose of the recipe is to promote using fresh, high-quality ingredients. My zucchini was straight from Saturday’s farmer’s market trip, but my thyme was the dried stuff I have in the cupboard, and the parmesan, while nicer than what I normally buy, was still on the budget-friendly end of the cheese spectrum.

Dinner with Sam Adams:

Whew. I’m full from thinking about all that I ate this week

Pizza is an all-around comfort food; homemade pizza is comfort food with the added fuzzy feeling that comes from a meal cooked in your own kitchen.  When I was younger, my mother turned pizza-making into an art, including fresh dough, caramelized onions, and special homemade pizza sauce.  The last time I made homemade pizza was after a day of apartment-hunting with an old roommate and her boyfriend.  They came back to our house for dinner and I pieced together a pizza and a salad while we chatted over wine.  I felt like my mother, who is always throwing together something delicious in a pinch, and I wondered when I became the cook, the one who makes sure everyone is full and happy.  We ate dinner on our porch by candlelight, the warm evening closing in on us.  The moment was almost elegant, yet familiar and warm.  We felt as if we were children acting like grown-ups, pretending to have a dinner party with our yummy pizza.

Pizza is fast to make and very customizable.  Tonight we bought dough and mozzarella and used leftover sauce, pepperoni, and mushrooms from the fridge.  I shooed the Boyfriend from the kitchen so I could relish the process alone.  Cooking is my favorite therapy.

As I went through the motions of dinner, I focused on the task at hand; the chaos of the day and stress of the week were insignificant to the moment.  I murmured things occasionally to the cat and the dogs, my wordless kitchen companions.  To make quick work of shredding the cheese, I put together my food processor, like a child with her favorite puzzle.  While the pizza bakes I sit in the hot kitchen to take off the chill of the day.  I steal these last few minutes to write, to sit, to be silent.

In a bit I’ll cut up the pizza and two of us will bring glasses and plates into the living room and catch up on a show.  Side-by-side we’ll sit on the couch, thankful that, in these zany, sometimes distressing moments, we have each other.  And we have dinner.