My best friend from grad school and her husband are two of my favorite people in Columbia, and definitely Top Ten people in my life, and so after months of sushi, and Mexican food, and hanging-out-at-their-house-instead, I really wanted to have them over for dinner. And I would have sooner, but...
They're vegetarians. And I was terrified of exactly how to go about cooking a meal for vegetarians. Especially one that did not involve eggplant or giant mushrooms, because a) it's almost insulting to cook these things for vegetarians, because it's all chain restaurants ever offer for them besides salad and b) I don't like them.
But I did it! I cooked for vegetarians! And they liked it! (like, for real liked it, got seconds and thirds liked it, not just said-they-liked-it-and-pushed-it-around-their-plates liked it).
This was quite a feat, psychologically, since while there are plenty of times I don't eat meat at a given meal, and I had plenty of ideas of things I could cook that would be tasty and didn't come out of a box with directions, common-sense warnings, and unpronounceable ingredients, I wasn't quite sure how to compose a meal out of said ideas. Then I remembered that I could make risotto in my sleep, and who doesn't love risotto? (If you haven't tried it, and you don't hate refined carbs, you'll like it). I also remembered that people are impressed by risotto and consider it a main dish, even though it's really easy and is basically just a creamy pasta-rice-lovechild. To make it a little less...carbtastic, and a little more colorful, I roasted some grape tomatoes, and served them on the side (though everybody ended up mixing them with the risotto, as I had anticipated). I got a little carried away with my own personal garlicpalooza and decided to whack off the top of a bulb and roast her up, too.
And then, once the risotto was halfway finished (and irredeemably, spectacularly garlicky), the tomatoes were roasting, and the bulb was transforming into mild, buttery, garlicky fabulousity, I remembered that, um, not everybody loves garlic as much as I do. (Side note: I did not realize until my mid-teens that a love of garlic so deep as to stop just short of eating raw cloves whole was not a basic characteristic of femininity in other people's families). So I froze in panic, just in time to answer my phone and buzz in the first of my (two) guests. And after some minor directional confusion, he finds my front door, walks in and pronounces,
"Oh my God, it smells amazing in here."
I breathed a huge sigh of relief and screeched, "Really?! Seriously?! Because-I-totally-got-carried-away-with-the-garlic-and-then-I-thought-OhEmGee-what-if-they-don't-like-garlic-but-surely-they-must-likegarlic-"
At which point he cuts me off and replies, "You shouldn't be friends with people who don't like garlic."
Not as in, because-you-love-it-so-much "you shouldn't be friends", but as in, "people who don't like garlic are not friend material."
And then I knew, for sure and forever, that he and his wife were my people.
Despite thier penchant for tofurky and tempeh.
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