For the past two years, my friend Jessica and I have been doing dinner together and watching Lost. Yes, I know we were late to jump on the island bandwagon but… HOLY JACOB it’s a crazy show! We got back from camping near Steamboat over Memorial Day, hung the tents to dry, slapped some salmon on her grill, uncorked the wine, started with Season 1, and have met semi-regularly for the last 21 months to learn about all the black smoke haunting, others stalking, trekking through the tropical jungle gore. Then last night, it was time for the final episode of season six. A bittersweet moment. We decided to celebrate with some spinach gnocchi and sweet potato whole wheat gnocchi that I made a couple weeks ago when the city was buried in snow and thus my 4×4 kitchen begged to be buried in flour. She made a white wine butter and basil sauce, I roasted asparagus and garlic, we both sauteed some spinach, and it all came together in utter perfection slathered in parmesan and sea salt. Desert was mixed berry cobbler in the crock-pot (I love that spell-check’s first suggestion for that word was crackpot) which was delicious, but we decided would we better next time with more berries and less breading. As we waited the final hour for desert to be finished, our noses pressed up to the glass sniffing for those glorious smells of blackberry and nutmeg, my mind filled with thoughts of how special meals really are. There’s just something sacred about food. And even more when you’re surrounded by love. I felt blessed.
In the end, I have to say, “WTF???” Seriously, that was the final episode? I was still lost.