The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [132]
“I started writing about cooking at home, or cooking something at home and bringing it to events like this,” I went on, correcting myself quickly. “And now that’s what I do pretty much all the time.”
Everyone cheered again. I turned to Scott. He nodded at me as if to say, Well said. And then I passed the microphone off to Tom on my left.
A few weeks later, I was perched on a rock at the Manhattan waterfront venue Solar One. It was one of the warmest days of the late summer, without a cloud in the sky. Beneath a white, flapping tent at one edge of the yard, C. J. Jacobson and his team were doling out plates of grilled ribs, corn, and other sides as the party’s barbecue feast. On the stage, Greg was providing beats as the DJ. Along one end of park, hibachi grills were set up as the seven Highbrow Barbecue cook-off contestants prepared their stations. Among them were two contestants who had won different awards at the Great Hot Dog Cook-Off, the winner of the last Chili Takedown, and Serpico himself, Michael Cirino. I’d just come back from chatting with them and some of my fellow cook-off judges and a few other foodie friends who were looking on.
The cook-off was a little less streamlined than I would have liked. There was a long wait before the chefs were given the cue to begin cooking, so since we were all sort of standing around and waiting, I had returned to my earlier post at the rock, beside Jordan. There wasn’t much seating in the outdoor space, so we’d claimed a tall rock facing the deep blue East River.
In the past month, Jordan had surprised her doctors with her progress. She was determined to recover and reclaim her normal life in Brooklyn much faster than their initial predictions, and miraculously, she had succeeded. After the last checkup, she decided it was time to come back home to her one-bedroom apartment, all by herself. She’d need to heave herself up the four flights of stairs to her apartment on crutches, but this was apparently a feat of endurance that she was happy to challenge herself with. I’d offered to let her stay at my place or to stay with her at hers and help out, but she was willful—and optimistic. She’d see how things went. “Takes a lickin‘, keeps on tickin’”—the engraving on her new iPod—couldn’t have been a more fitting statement.
Jordan’s crutches were leaning against the side of the rock. I could tell that she was frustrated and exhausted from having to carry her entire weight around by her armpits. She complained of sweating a lot, and of course it didn’t help that it was the hottest month of summer, and just sitting down in the sun was causing beads of sweat to pour down her pale forehead. She’d been indoors most of the summer, so the sun was also probably doing a number on Jordan’s fair skin and turning her blond hair even lighter. Still, she had been excited to hang out with friends again and to come along to this barbecue. I was speechlessly grateful that she’d hobbled all the way out here to support another one of my crazy food adventures.
Unlike so many of my new friends, Jordan has never been a “foodie.” She didn’t have a penchant for cooking, and once admitted, laughingly, that she still hadn’t turned on the stove in the apartment she’d been living in for six months: “Not even to heat anything up,” she’d cracked.
Our friendship was obviously never based around food or cooking together.
As the sun blazed down on our backs and a gust of wind threatened to topple Jordan’s crutches from their post, I was humbly reminded of how friendships—and life—did not revolve just around food.
Corn and Black-Eyed Pea Succotash
This was one of the crowd-favorite sides at the barbecue I co- chefed at Hope Lounge with Mark and Michael. It works great in late summer, when fresh corn is in season, or in the fall,