Got Pot? Marry Me!

Back by popular demand! More ranting! But first, I wish to express gratitude to those who responded to the controversial issue of my ass. I must admit, your replies were brilliant:

from Lolita Latina: "Maria, my ass is bigger than yours. But my husband has an ass fetish, so I guess I'm lucky."

from Sharon Schlepovitch: "Maria, your ass is like matzoh! It doesn't rise!"

from Barbara Bimbo: "Your rump reminds me of a speed bump. So very annoying and yet completely necessary for public safety."

from Dapper Dandy: "I really admire you for putting yourself out there. Well, I guess you can't help it."


Got Pot? Will You Marry Me?

Why is that only married people get really great gifts because they choose to enter into a legally binding relationship? Take my brother and his wife, for instance. I recently spent two weeks in California, during which time I prepared some delectable meals using their cookware. "We got that for our wedding," Janet pointed out, as I sautéed onions and garlic for my soup base. And then there's my nephew and his wife, who apart from being the most adorable recently-married/twenty-something couple in the world, also have impeccable taste. The bridal shower was nothing short of a dazzling display of Williams Sonoma cookware. It was enough to make any amateur cooking diva like myself DROOL. And so it makes me wonder: being single, not only are you bereft of tax breaks, you are deprived of quality cookware.

Seriously: I asked my sister for a whisk and a cutting board for Christmas. Maybe a ten-buck investment, as I didn't demand the best quality. I've been using the same 4 x 4 wooden cutting board for years, which I'm sure is a testament to the strength of my immune system, not to mention the pathological origins of some bacteria that will wipe-out humanity.

Anyway, I inherited two whisks from my sister-in-law, who recently upgraded her utensils.

But I'll have to admit, I was envious of those items from a long-ago bridal registry. Call it the new-fangled woman's penis envy. I love cooking, but I'm not marriage-minded. What's a girl to do? In days past, one married for money. Now, one marries for Calphalon! I fantasize about the slate-gray surface, which I can season ... gently scrub the oh-so-non-stick-silky-yet-hard-as-steel-surface ... how it handles a gas fire ... (yes, that's my next upgrade ... moving out of Miami just to enjoy a gas stove) but I digress, there's nothing quite as pleasing as the scent of perfectly-sautéed garlic wafting into the limbic brain ... hello, lover! And what's more, dear pot, you will nurture me and feed me, provided I keep you hot and well-filled. Is that a good arrangement or what? Pots, yes. Husbands ... eh?

Well, since I'm on this imaginary registry kick, let's not just talk about pot. What about the ONE, the PERFECT knife. This is all a woman needs! Chop garlic, debone a chicken and julienne a leek, while you defend yourself against soldiers from Attila the Hun's army, who just want a bit of quiche before pillaging the town. (Sounds like a Quentin Tarantino movie about Martha Stewart!)

I'd like to conclude with an homage to culinary California. Rosemary and fennel grow wild. Produce is succulent. Yes, I got all hot and bothered about the produce. Is that sad or what? Magenta eggplants, laser-green brussels sprouts, tangy tangerines, mushrooms of exotic varieties next to a tray of freshly-picked shallots ... this was all my eye could register as we rushed through the produce department near Culver City. I'm still reeling over it. Let's not mention the fact that I broke out into hives no sooner did I step off the airplane. Am I allergic to Miami? Does the land of shallots and cabernet sauvignon beckon me?

Two people getting hitched means the newly-formed couple has twice as much crap together as they did during their sorry single lives. Is this fair? I don't think so. If I remain in a state of splinterthood (pun intended), I'll have to marry myself, like Carrie Bradshaw did in Sex and The City, and put my name on a registry. Let's start with a lifetime supply of olive oil ... a ONE perfectly good pot, a decent knife and a sterile cutting board ... just let me know when you want to come over for dinner ... all kidding aside, it will be my pleasure to cook for you, and I'll season with shallots, if I can find them fresh!