Count Up from a Divorce

It was a week. A significant week. On Wednesday I signed the papers that gave me license to start anew. The signing was the final step across the rather large minefield I had created by choosing to dismantle the life I had known for 15 years and got the green light to begin rebuilding. So ... making a back porch dinner for a random list of good, infinitely loyal friends seemed like the least I could do. On Thursday I sent out e-mails for an impromptu celebration supper.

It’s summer. This is the first summer in over 20 years that I will not have to be at the front of a restaurant. I want to relish it. I just want to return to the familiar rhythm of the home kitchen and cook all summer long. My son is almost 12; his father has left now for six months, funny how things work out. So this will be the summer of friendship, food ... footloose and fancy free to explore the regions of myself that I haven’t been able to and, write a new recipe for my future. Adding on new layers as one adds ingredients making up a recipe.

What started out as a small celebration, by 4 p.m. on Saturday had turned to dinner for 28. I had overslept and didn’t get to shop till noon, which turned out to be a good thing, because my brother’s family added on in the morn with the caveat that their house guest, Spencer, was making ribs, and now he had to make ribs for all. So the ribs became the center of the menu design, which in itself was a good thing, because I was in serious waffle territory. Budget was wreaking havoc with what I really wanted to do: whole poached fish, lamb ... wasn’t happening for the now 28. So the ribs became my direction. Not my decision, but seemed fitting, because in this supposed new life I was directing my self to take new roads that presented opportunities, and one less dish was an opportunity. But then again, I didn’t want a typical barbecue, so the layering of the menu began.

A month ago I had catered a party, mostly vegetarian, and put out an oversized platter of roasted vegetables. It was pleasing, and I decided to repeat that. There is a soothing rhythm and simplicity to washing, cutting, tossing in olive oil and coarse salt and roasting the vegetables, using every vehicle possible, timing the more delicate like pea pods with the heartier carrots making their appearance out of the 450 degree oven last, all timed by sight, touch and a good instinct. Then taking the vegetables, their color magnified and deep and arranging them on the platter, hands moving back and forth, back and forth, color against white, a mandala. It all seemed metaphorically correct.

Last week I had eaten a salad that looked like shredded zucchini, it wasn’t. It was shredded broccoli stems. How financially prudent, since I had the stems of the broccoli sitting there, the florets glistening with olive oil and coarse salt through the oven window. It didn’t seem enough. And I wanted cucumber: cool and crunchy. So a salad was born, lazy cook that I am all in the food processor. Shredding blade for the broccoli, slicing disk for the cucumber, and then a handful of dill, the juice of two lemons, and a lovely container of fromage ... and because I wanted rich, another container of crème fraiche, salt and pepper, the ends of a couple of cucumbers thrown in and a dressing was spun.

The fish I had dearly wanted became roast chicken with lemon, dill and garlic ... and butter. Once again I threw everything in the processor (a couple of the rinds and all). And once again taking comfort in the familiar the rhythm, softly slathering the mix over the large roasting pan of chicken. Decking the roasting pan with the remaining lemon rinds, sliced and appealing: a sense of accomplishment. Into the oven at 450 for 20, then turned down to 375 till the tops are golden and bubbly, occasionally basting to keep the tops moist. The definition of simplicity with minimal, yet necessary care.

The chicken needed a partner. Wild rice. I had perfect apricots. I found roast almonds and a salad was born. The price on the wild rice for 30 was prohibitive, so I compromised and purchased a nutty blend. There was no recipe, except a splash of good olive oil, a bit of salt and pepper, and at the very end a squeeze of orange and two shakes of sherry vinegar. I tossed the sliced apricots, and slivered almonds with the rice and the spice, all while still warm, and over the course of cooling the flavors melded into one. I tasted it, and thought that this is how I would like my life to be, crunchy, sweet, salty, and unlikely all coming together to create a textured and completely compatible existence.

As the numbers grew so did the need for more food, more choices. I got some sausage, hot and sweet to grill. Nothing more to do than prick the skins, par boil and stick on the grill, which my brother had offered to do. Grilled sausages say summer and summer brings smiles.

I still needed more. Tomatoes. Mozzarella. But I am a lazy cook, so I bought the tiny perline mozzarella and small grape tomatoes. No effort, so simple, was cut the basil from the garden, toss it all with olive oil and coarse sea salt ... and the sausages have a partner. And as I look down at the platters complimenting one another, side-by-side, I think this is the way relationships should be, simple. Will I learn?

The buffet was set out; it was bountiful and colorful, as I want my new life to be.

When I looked at the group seated on the back porch, plates on laps, lively conversation, smiles and laughter, I realized each couple and each person represented a different part of the equation. The happy group included friends who have known me my whole life, and some who have known me less than a year. I had brought together a group who really didn’t know each other yet; it was if they were all old friends. The ingredients melded and the flavors balanced and the buzz was there. This is the way to start new. And even those who couldn’t be there were part of it, and they will be on the back porch next time with the corn bread pudding made from the left over corn bread in the freezer, with fresh raspberries and cream. Because each recipe inspires the next. Because that’s the way life is. One step encourages another and each day there is a reason to cook.

Photograph of Alison Price Becker courtesy of the author.

Tags: chicken, dinner party, food, friendship, new beginnings, sausages, summer, tomato

Alison Price Becker , formerly of Alison on Dominick and Alison by the Beach, lives in Manhattan with her 11-year-old son, cooking, catering and considering the next ‘Alison’ restaurant to be located in New York City.

Comments

I'm sure you meant this to be...

By: katherinekatherine | Sat, 07/11/2009 - 03:35

...insightful, thought-provoking, deep, bittersweet, whatever. But I was distracted by the poor, poor writing. Stick to cooking, and perhaps take a writing class at your local community college if you're interested in improving your writing.

Neither Bountiful nor Colorful

By: Now Now | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 23:49

"Everything into the processor", including metaphors and stock phrases, is not only how the quasi- cook/author/wife approaches cooking but also apparently her writing and her life. Ms. Price Becker's laziness does not merely extend to failing to treat her guests to anything more recently imagined that fare from the late-80' --the last time any one saw wild rice salad was 1989 and what kind of a half-hearted nellie does faux 'wild', settling on a cheaper tamed blend instead of the real thing? No, the author's laziness of mind, heart and stinginess with herself might be at the core of her failed marriage and her two failed restaurants. Alison's unintentional metaphors seem far more apt and revealing than her mixed-up, conscious ones. The author's unwillingness to reach deeper or conceive life or food more fully is the fatal sign of a dilettante who's not really wild like a true bohemian creator (or rice salad) but just another "nutty blend." BTW: wild rice is the same price per 8 oz.as creme fraiche.

your article

By: amcintyre | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 20:24

I'm really sorry, I hesitate to disagree with you (you are great looking and I'm single, which makes it very hard for me to not agree with each and every thing you say).... but I would bet, from this quote of yours "My son is almost 12; his father has left now for six months, funny how things work out" that you maybe had a little something to do with his dad not seeing him... true? false? correct me loudly here if I'm wrong...

As a single parent, exactly half the time, for the last 12 years, of a fantastic and great 15yr old first and only born male child... that I'm so proud of I can't stop talking about him sometimes (he's recently fluent in chinese, jeez)... do you think you've been in any way positive in reinforcing your son's relationship with his father? Or have you done what I've seen so many times from divorced women, stabbing the relationship with a knife as much as you can... (apologize in advance for the graphic metaphor)

Andrew

Point?

By: mustireallyweighin | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 19:19

I am wondering what the point of this post is? If you think anyone thinks that there is some deep meaning in "simple recipe = metaphor for relationships" then that's absurd.

A shopping list does not make for engaging reading.

Confused

By: MeTuTu | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 15:43

I don't know if you claim to be a writer, cook, or philosopher in this article but it is poorly written, the food doesn't sound very good, and the life metaphors are weak at best.

Nice Article

By: Chicago | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 13:34

I agree that the strange, angry post is mystifying. Perhaps he read the title and nothing else? In any event, lovely article -- it's wonderful to be surrounded by such good friends and family (and food!) in difficult times.

to lisarkindel

By: Davaldod | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 13:26

Hi, there,

When I read the "PIG" posting I had a desperate urge to reply with a firm "Please stay off my side." With all due respect, I feel my posting was sober and measured, without any meanspiritedness (if that's even a word). If anything it was more observational than critical.

I suppose what I was trying to get at it is this... that many men of my age (of marrying age) are upset that from childhood we are sold this idea that women are far more evolved emotionally, spiritually, compassionately, and loaded with intuition, understanding and sensitivity that men can only dream of some day attaining in themselves.

But then when things go wrong in a relationship, nine times out of ten the conventional wisdom is that it was the man who was insufficiently committed or compassionate or communicative or helpful. So then our next logical question becomes, where was all that superior feminine intuition and sensitivity when it came time for you to choose your mate? Now it's the man who "hid his true self" from you?

Look, most men also dream of falling in love and getting married. We also dream of staying married. But what we see so much of these days is a celebration of impermanence coming from the women's side of the equation. And it feels, well, unromantic.

Wow, such meanspiritedness

By: lisarkindel | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 12:23

I was blown over by the negative comments that were posted following this article. Are people not allowed to end a marriage? And if they comment on the end of it, are they not allowed to keep the details of why there was a divorce to themselves? The point of the article was not the reasons for the dissolution of marriage, but of this woman's celebration of starting over. I think that is not a sin nor is it something that requires the name, "PIG," to be called. And what is with the man who claims the women don't really want to get married, so quit hauling men to the altar? What is wrong with you people? I wanted to marry my husband because he was sweet and kind and loving. But now with two children, I am faced with a man who is still sweet and kind and loving, but he doesn't help at all with the children, house or yard. He wanted and yearned for children soooo badly, but now he sees them as intrusive and annoying. He doesn't want to work and quit his good-paying job on November 29, just in time for us to not be able to celebrate Christmas. He had the nerve to complain that he didn't get a Christmas present. Two months later, he got his old job back, but complains bitterly all day every day that he has to work. Meanwhile, I work 40 hours a week, attend college full time so I can keep my job so I won't lose benefits again at his whim, and am responsible for all the cleaning, cooking, bill paying, etc. Many women live with a man who hid his true self while dating, lied about his dreams and desires, and vowed to always be true and supportive. As soon as the marriage deal was sealed, the gloves of civility came off and a petulant child was revealed.

Perhaps, sir, you would like to keep your cruel and weird remarks to yourself. You do not know the situations that each and every woman goes through when dealing with a husband. And you have no right (especially since you are certainly not paying any of my bills or any other woman's bills except for your wife's) to lay pompous generalizations at our feet. Grow up and realize we are all individuals, we all have the right to fix the mistakes we made (even when those mistakes are marriage) and try to build a better life for ourselves and our children.

Geesh.

Divorce Dinner Party

By: rwimer | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 11:57

You are a PIG!!!

Anyone who celebrates an end to a marriage has got a screw loose! Your article doesnt mention any type of abuse or infedlity on your ex- husbands part, just your egotistical self importance that makes you think you are gods gift to the world. Honestly I think your husband is the smart lucky one. From the your unappreciative attitude, I would have left your sorry butt too. Im sure your recipe for your new life is being the so called Cougar when in reality all you will become is an over the hill mudshark that has ruined your reputation and picked up so many STDs that any decent man would never even consider you.

Good Luck!!!!

What It Feels Like For A Man

By: Davaldod | Fri, 07/10/2009 - 10:46

It's not that I don't congratulate you on your new liberation. It's just that these days there is a tsunami of evidence that not only are women desperate to get out of their marriages but perhaps they never wanted to get married to begin with.

So what is a man in love supposed to think or feel? It's axiomatic that men have to be dragged to the altar. But seriously, can you now blame us?

I've always believed that men are, by nature, far more romantic than women. Women are often ruthlessly pragmatic about their love lives. But men tend to mate more like wolves or pigeons -- for life. Men don't fall in love with parts. And we don't recover as well from a lost love. And we don't throw dinner parties to celebrate when it's over.

So the next time I hear a woman's lament over a man's reticence to tie the knot, I'm going to be skeptical about her true feelings. Am I unfairly generalizing? Of course. But it feels like more and more women resent the men they choose to pretend to spend the rest of their lives with. Which makes me wonder why they even bothered to pretend at all.

This is not to suggest that men are blameless in the come-apart of a marriage. Not at all. But the recent female fever of glee associated with the disolution of these unions is enough to make a man in the mood to marry reconsider whether his beloved is really in it till death do us part.