Under My Own Flag

I had so many tomatoes that needed my attention-so I roasted them along with some peppers and onion and fresh garlic-and turned them into roasted tomato soup. Now just about everyone that knows me-knows that cooking is not my gift- I have spent my life eating whatever was put in front of me without judgment - aside from liver, perhaps. My palate was never refined. I was just fine, and mostly grateful, for whatever bit of food was put in front of me.

Well after quite a bit of time with the immersion blender bits of tomato pith and seed remained. Now I knew that would not be popular so I strained it and added a bit of heavy cream. Everyone ate it with a lovely grilled cheese sandwich on whole grain sourdough bread-though the cheese did meet a bit of challenge melting before the bread darkened - not nearly to charcoal but perhaps to burnt log after a bonfire. Everyone was grateful and aware that any critical comments about food prep impacts the week ahead.

Someone commented that the soup would make a lovely base for stuffed peppers, so I went to the farmstand and bought five - peppers of the same physique usually aid in optimal cooking times and presentation. In setting out to work I realized how specific each family member is in their tastes and how much of my life I have sailed my culinary ship sporting their burgees. One likes them plain, another tomatoey and another not at all. And now as I face these peppers-taking up quite a bit of vegetable drawer real estate- they need to be cooked under my own flag.

There are times I think that we all take to wondering what ‘everybody’ might want without including ourselves in that ‘everybody’. Maybe it comes down to making our lives easier as we ask- Which restaurant? Whatever you want. What should we watch? I don't have a preference. Where should we go? You decide. What shall I cook? What will everybody eat? Sometimes taking ourselves out of the mix becomes less of an answer and more of a habit.

At this stage in our lives perhaps it is a wonderful time to rediscover our preferences. What do I actually like or love? Not what is sensible. Not what keeps the peace. Not what somebody else will agree to. What music do I want playing? Where do I want to spend Saturday afternoon? What do I want for dinner?

The morning lies before me and old habits die hard. Perhaps some joy does come from bringing joy to others. I'm not ready to give that up.

But there are five very handsome peppers sitting in my refrigerator waiting to see whose flag they'll be sailing under.

I think at least one of them ought to be mine.