Octopus

It was a day like none other before or since. New York City with lifetime residents who were now family-in-law. The evening was everyday oatmeal to them. To me it was Eggs Benedict with a side of Baby Blue Salad. Walking in their Central Park neighborhood. Talking with in-laws whose lives could hardly have been more different than mine. (But, of course, they could have been much more different, but there I was with my understanding at the time.) The night’s adventure was supper at an elegant dining room where in-laws had ordered a special meal of “Octopus a la something” on a bed of something pasta or greens with a something sauce. After supper and great seats at a Broadway production of “Pippin,” we went back to Elegant Dining Room for dessert and night caps. The elegant “Octopus a la something” was miserable. I’ve since learned that octopus has to be quick-cooked or slow-cooked to be tender and delicious. Ours must have been in that long spectrum of cooking between quick and slow because the flavor was “what?” and the texture was “did I order the hose pipe?”

This is my most memorable “miserable food” experience immersed and surrounded by wonderful, adventurous moments of “wow” and some of the most wonderful, inclusive, artistic people I’ve had the privilege to meet let alone be related to.

See? How can I not be grateful for this wonderous life?

— Marmar