Witnessing someone you cared about experiencing a seizure was one of those things that scribed itself indelibly on the canvas of your mind. An incessant flame torched her lungs, chest, and even the back door of her tongue. It left a burning sensation in the center of her chest. She couldn’t get the image of Marcel having his seizure out of her mind. And she imagined them shattered in broken shards, being blown down the pavement of 69th Street.įor some reason, on the drive home from Marcel’s apartment that next morning, all Ivy could think about was her mother and that faceless man in broken pieces, perhaps some aspects of them still stuck in cracks and crevices of the sidewalk, mistaken as grit. Ivy visualized her mother and that man breaking into countless fragments, like a spilled box of jigsaw pieces.
She once heard her mother speaking of her break up with an emotionally unavailable man. When Ivy was a child and she overheard adults talking about their break-ups, in her young feeble-formed mind, she imagined it in the most literal of essences. A lapis lazuli sky was blanketed by gunmetal gray clouds as it wept crocodile tears across the parched Los Angeles landscape. A nearby bakery fanned its daily offerings. “THE NEXT DAY WAS RAIN-SOAKED and smelled of thick sweet caramel, warm coconut and ginger. The Cookbook Club: A Novel of Food and Friendship There was a gorgeous galaxy-colored ceramic plate of balsamic-glazed brussels sprouts, with, from what Margo remembered of the recipe, crispy bacon crumbles, sour cranberries, walnuts, and blue cheese, which was- Margo tasted it with hope and was not disappointed- creamy Gorgonzola Dolce.” Depending on which poison you were okay with and which you were trying to avoid. Whoever made those knew that deviled eggs were almost as compulsively delicious as potato chips with French onion dip. They were creamy and crunchy and savory, sweet and- thanks to an unexpected pocket of jalapeño- hot, all at the same time. The Deviled Eggs were there too, thank goodness, and tons of them. But there hadn't been a Dorito in her house since college, and she kind of thought it ought to be a cause for celebration when she finally brought them back over the threshold of Calvin's ex-house.
Not that she couldn't have finished all the Doritos that went on top that quickly. There was also Cool Ranch Taco Salad on the table, which Margo had been tempted to make but, as with the shrimp dish, given that she had been ready to bail on the idea of coming right up to the last second, had thought better of, lest she have taco salad for ten that needed to be eaten in two days. Which made sense, since Trista had, as Aja had pointed out, done quite a lot of food porn postings.
There were also the two versions of the coconut rice, of course, and Trista had placed them next to the platter of gorgeously browned crispy baked chicken with a glass bowl of hot honey, specked with red pepper flakes, next to it, and in front of the beautifully grilled shrimp with serrano brown sugar sauce.Įvery dish was worthy of an Instagram picture. Skillet Broken Lasagna, which smelled of garlic and bright tomato Fluffy Popovers with Melted Brie and Blackberry Jam (she started eating that the minute she picked it up and could have cried at the sweet, creamy-cheesy contrast to the crisp browned dough). “When they got to the table, it was easy to recognize some of the dishes just from their pictures in the book.
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