Daniel Richardson

Professor Jesse Miller

Writing 110 H-4

Favorite Meal Essay

20 September 2017

Taco Tuesdays

Tuesdays are terrific. A typical day is started with unpleasant morning awakenings for work, or school. Next would come the motley stew of the busy day, and taking orders at work, followed by the unpalatable ride home. To top off most ordinary days, I would just go home and rest for the next day, rinse, repeat. But tonight is Tuesday and I will be seeing Justine, my girlfriend, masterchef, and best friend, after work. Together, we have taken on Senior year. From humble beginnings, to being inseparable English partners, to becoming best friends, to becoming winterball king and queen, concussions,  graduating high school, and everything inbetween. While we have been through so much together, one thing that has always been a constant for us is Taco Tuesday. This amazing “staple in our diet” consists of making tacos together every Tuesday. It can happen at either of our houses, but it is more common that we cook at her house. Although one unfamiliar with our time honored tradition may dismiss it as just another alliteration-inspired marketing ploy by the food industry, to us it is a celebration of happiness, relaxation, relation, reflection, and above all making yummy food and  memories alike.

It’s 5:45 pm and I am sitting in the chair, eyes on the few beach patrons in the water. I have spent almost the past 8 hours lifeguarding, I am tired, lonely, and hungry. Bored out of my mind, the only conversation that I know is that of the life that is going on below me. I am as a gargoyle statue on the roof, all seeing, but never speaking. My body, encrusted in thick layers of the oily white sunscreen, is stone. The sunscreen has carried into the air. I know only the smell of “SPF 30”, cigarette smoke, and the boiling gatorade next to me. The next 15 minutes pass by as hours. I can’t stand to look at my watch. I finally do. It’s only been two minutes. More people yell and blow smoke into my face. The beach patrons do not agree with the rules. Sorry folks, I do not make them. I would run away from home if I had some of these people as parents. Stop looking at your phone, watch your kids. Yet, I am actually jealous of these people. I wish that I could spend my summer days as they are, and enjoy it with my friends and family. I have sparsely if even at all seen them this summer. “BOYS DON’T DRAG EACH OTHER UNDER!”, I yell. At this point the day is toning down, so I’ll only call the major infractions. I hear my stomach rumble. The glare off the water is blinding. I cannot see even see my watch at this point.  My will to get out of this terrible place, and my excitement for tonight are the only things that get me through it.  Finally six o’clock rolls around and begins the mad dash to pack up and leave this seemingly terrible occupation.

I leave the park with windows rolled down and proceed to turn onto RI 44-East. After roasting in the sun all day, the cool breeze is a welcoming feeling. Turning onto Durfee Hill Road, I find myself staring only at trees, very few house. When I reach the end of the road, I shift into four wheel drive, and begin down the dangerous and windy dirt roads until I reach the turn for Willie Woodhead road, where Justine lives. I take the sharp left, take a big gulp and pray that I can make it up the rocky uneven slope of their driveway. I have learned the hard way that if I take my foot off the gas even for a second, I will begin to slip back and fall down the hill only to be padded by the surrounding trees.

Thankfully making it up the driveway, I am greeted a chorus of barking, courtesy of the welcoming party of the dogs, Buddy and Bailey. I can hear Justine’s dad, Luie, on the backhoe in the back, however I note his presence more by the foul, but familiar stench of his cigar. I ignore it as best I can. Laboring since getting home from work, he will go to church and then band practice with Justine’s mom Patty. Patty is most likely resting in her room to prepare for the long night ahead.  I will probably not see either of them for the rest of the night. Walking to the door, I hear the gravel crunching under my feet. With every step I take, a little more skin is chiseled away from my face until I am overtaken by smile. No butterflies in sight, they are all inside me. Fluttering around in my stomach, I feel them traveling up into my chest. My heart beats until it matches the tempo of the butterflies.

As per usual, Justine is waiting for me at the door,I know that she’s been waiting all day for this. My excitement is reflected in her eyes. I grab her and give her the tightest embrace that I can, so close that I can smell the apple shampoo in her hair. In her arms, I find myself immediately in a different welcoming world of peace. I give Justine a hug and kiss, her tied back hair smells of apple shampoo. I run up the stairs and throw my things down quick, scaring the cat as I dart back to the kitchen. We sit down at the table for a few seconds and discuss our respective days.

“How was your day?”, I ask. “Well you know…First I had to help Patty with this, but I got yelled at before I even could help, then I had to drive her, then I came back. So yeah… I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day”, with a slight frown. I cannot help but feel pained in my heart at hearing this, but I know that there is still hope for the rest of the night. I give her another hug and say “Me too. Me too” and add a delayed “I love you.” Finally her smile begins to resurface. Our somber, but friendly chatter is especially meaningful, as it is my first of the day. While we values our chats, we know that we can do it as we cook. Putting our list of ingredients together, we break and race to gather supplies.

“Dan, can you get the…”, Justine begins “Meat and seasoning?, I finish her sentence, “No problem, I’m already on it.” “Okay! I’ll get the pan!”, she responds.

While cooking may be dear to both of us, it holds especially close to Justine’s heart. Early in Justine’s childhood, her mother was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. The state of her condition is debilitating at times, leading Justine to have to learn to cook and to support her family at an early age. She however has turned obligation into inspiration and hobby alike. It may be hard at times, and there have been some breakdowns along the way, but it has made her a much stronger person as a whole. It is often that friends of the family remark that they cannot believe that Justine is smiling when we see them.

Thinking back, I realize how miserable she always used to look in school. I hope that this more hopeful attitude has something to do with me. Who knows, maybe something as simple as taco Tuesdays give her something to look forward to, after all the  kitchen is both her workspace and her preferred office of therapy. It is only there that she may distract herself, while productively contributing to the household.  It is this sense of finding comfort in the kitchen that brings us together. Cooking is our couple’s activity and we love it. To us, cooking is similar to writing a cookbook together. Every recipe we make, strengthens the binding of the book. Standing there at the counter, Justine gets to thinking

Taco Tuesdays have become almost like a holiday for us. The time we’ve spent in the kitchen together is some of my favorite memories. From browning the beef to cutting up the lettuce and tomatoes, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The process of creating tacos really does bring us closer.

It’s a simple process, but a rewarding one. First comes the sizzle of the meat as Justine throws it in the pan. The scent is rich, I hear my stomach growl. Justine hears it too and we both start laughing.  As the meat begins to brown, I come to life. I purposely begin to stir the meat excessively to get a rouse out of her. Soon enough I begin to dance around and lift her above my head, running across the kitchen in a figure 8 pattern carrying her. I am no longer a statue, but a beating heart and moving body. Putting her down as I pretend to drop her, I run back to the kitchen and begin to stir obscenely again.

As I mind the meat and set the table, Justine gets out the cutting board  and proceeds to carry out her gentle but precise, practiced rhythm of cutting tomatoes and lettuce. Her work is that of a practiced surgeon, each cut more defined than the last. After cutting, she systematically places each and every “topping” into coordinated bowls. All the while, I want to make a joke about her perfectionism, but I hold off.  It would get a laugh out of her, but I am running out of these jokes, so I need to cherish every last one of them. Instead, I turn my attention to draining the fat from the meat, turning the hot water on in the sink to avoid a clog. By the time I stir in the water and seasoning, the air is filled with a whole new sensation. The feast has just begun to come together. We lay the bowls across the counter, and carry napkins to the tray tables waiting for us in the living room.

While the process of cooking may be our strong suit, all chefs need to enjoy their own creations and appreciate their peers every once in awhile. Rightly so, we plop spoonfuls of meat onto our tortillas, and top them off with salsa, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. Each new topping adds a new sensation. It is as we have just finished baking a birthday cake and it is time to decorate it. The tomatoes the crisp texture that Justine seeks, the salsa because it incorporates a little bit of everything, for me, a jack of all trades.  We then head to the couch. As she characteristically does, Justine puts the television on low volume for background noise. After a long day of sitting in the sun for 8 hours, nothing feels better than sitting down and talking a loved one. I savagely start digging into my meal, meanwhile Justine is much more delicate in her eating. After chowing down a couple of bites, Justine turns to me with a sarcastic grin and says “Do you like it?”. I go “Of course I do! Tacos are the best!” I notice a sparkle in her eyes, a real smile, followed by a more sarcastic one where she bares her teeth and closes her eyes. I reciprocate.  While a moment of happiness, this is also a time of reflection. Justine breaks her smile a little, but lets the sparkle in her eyes show through in almost a sad way. She looks at me and says,

I love the process of cooking, but I also love just as much how this dish can bring family together. Maybe we differ, we customize our toppings, but at the end of the day we eat the same thing, together, it is a great representation of while we are all different, we can come together as a group and share common ground.

As I will not see my family tonight I know equally that we will most likely not interact with her family tonight. A concept that is sad to me, but relatively normal for them. Her parents will have church and then band practice, we will leave plates out for them. Her older brother Nathan will be out with his friends. Austin, her other brother, only 2 years older than us is finally back stateside after 18 months in South Korea, but stationed in North Carolina. I feel a tinge of sadness, the house, moreover the world suddenly seems so empty.

While this initial emptiness may loom, my mind begins to slowly flood with memories, some happier. Of my childhood at home, with friends and their families, and of course Justine. I begin to think of the sheer impact that taco Tuesdays have had on my life. They have given me not only good food, but great times, and priceless memories since December. I look at Justine and I let my face convey my feelings, I hope she understands my facial expressions. Still hungry I dumbly say “I’m so thankful for tacos”, and give her a peck on the cheek.

Since going away to college, it is exactly this feeling of unison that I miss the most. The simple summer days, the anticipation of 6:00. Every Tuesday that goes serves to remind me of these happier times. I can picture Justine standing at the counter carefully slicing the tomato, smell the meat as it sizzles, laugh at our conversations, but I cannot touch any of it.. I know now only the dank scent of the dorm, masked by bad cologne, the sound of my alarm and muffled conversation coming from the hallway, the plainness of the walls that entrap me. The bland Decary food represents the absence of not only taste, but the absence of loved ones. The sad “chicken tacos” that they serve, are not the same. Even if the food was good, it would be lacking the key ingredients to me. As I walk slowly back from the library tonight, and stare southward, I shed a tear, forever missing all that I hold dear. While the path is dark, the few scattered stars provide my light, my hope. Reaching Avila hall, I run up the stairs and into my room, quietly as not to gather any attention. I kiss my few framed memories goodnight and close my eyes.

Recipe for Simple Ground Beef Tacos

Ingredients:

3 pounds of ground beef

2 cups of water

3 packets taco seasoning

1 container salsa

1 tomato

1 packet cheese

1 packet soft tortillas

Breadcrumbs (optional)

 

1)      Ready all your ingredients

2)      Take medium to large frying pan and heat it up on the stovetop until pan is noticeably warm

3)      Open package of meat, remove from package with hands, and crumble meat as you throw it into the pan in handfuls

4)      Stir meat occasionally, leave it in the pan until browned

5)      While meat is browning, cut up tomato or other optional vegetables as you choose. Pour salsa and cheese into their own bowls. Place your tortillas on a plate. Set your eating area.

6)      When meat is browned, drain the fat residue, by either draining the meat by using a strainer over a separate bowl or the sink if you hove hot water running in the sink before, when, and after when you drain the fat into it. (You can also diminish the fat in the pan by throwing breadcrumbs into the pan to suck the fat up as an option.)

7)      If meat is still in the strainer, dump it back out into the pan, keeping a low heat going. Add water and stir in seasoning.

8)      Once seasoning is thoroughly mixed into the meat, remove from heat.

9)      Your meat is ready, let sit for a minute, add to your tortillas.

10)  Add toppings as you choose

11)  Enjoy!

 https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9t-k1rJ4UWDd3Z5ZTFSLTVOQlI0UVMyZlIzQy1UcVVvUHhv