I was about to start this post with “Dear Matthew” when I realized that I started my last post in a similar fashion and I’m not writing letters here. That said, on the day of our second wedding anniversary, I can’t help but think what I would write in a letter to Matt, who is the first and last person I want to see every day. I might say something like,
Dear Matt, thank you for letting me be ridiculous sometimes. Ok, a lot of times. And not judging me for it.
Dear Matt, thank you for sending me flowers to my work.
Dear Matt, thank you for always calling me or texting me on your way home from hanging out with a friend.
Dear Matt, thank you for always being willing and available to help make dinner.
Dear Matt, thank you for telling me everything will be ok.
Dear Matt, thank you for not being mad at me for buying way too much stuff on Gilt Groupe
Dear Matt, thank you for patiently waiting to eat while I photograph your food until it gets cold.
Dear Matt, thank you for letting me jump on you, and mess up your hair. I can’t help it.
Dear Matt, thank you for aways letting me have the last bite of my favorite things.
Dear Matt, thank you for spending an hour with me at Rainbow Grocery even though they don’t sell meat.
Dear Matt, thank you for hanging out with my grandpa, even though you guys can only say two phrases to each other.
Dear Matt, thank you for taking out the trash. And the compost.
Dear Matt, thank you for always carrying the groceries.
Dear Matt, thank you for always opening the door for me.
Dear Matt, thank you for letting me throw a party on a Tuesday night, even though you were tired.
Dear Matt, thank you for telling me you love me at the end of every IM.
Dear Matt, thank you for being my bestest friend in the whole world.
I’m not really sure how someone like me (an unapologetic swearer, often inflicted with road rage, and a tendency to freak out over every little detail) got lucky enough to end up with a husband like Matt. If the universe is telling me anything, it’s that I am clearly very good at trickery and mirage. Kidding (hopefully!). I’m trying to work on the road rage. All of those cliches I was referring to, in poems and in movies, TV shows and commerials — you know when the guy sweeps the girl off her feet, or tells her she ‘completes’ him. That stuff is real, people. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for me to write poetry anymore.
Lavash Flatbread
*serves four
adapted from the September issue of Bon Appetit
1 large eggplant, diced into 1/2 inch cubes
sea salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
extra virgin olive oil
4 whole sheets of fresh whole wheat lavash
1 cup of cherry tomatoes, halved
1/3 cup of thinly sliced green onion
1/3 cup of roughly chopped basil
1/2 cup of grated mozzarella (use a box grater to coarsly grate it)
1/4 cup of grated Parmesan
red pepper flakes, to taste
4 cups of arugula
1 tablespoon of freshly-squeezed lemon juice
1. Preheat your oven to 450 degrees F. Season the eggplant with salt and pepper and toss it with a tablespoon or so of olive oil. Spread it out on a lined, rimmed baking sheet and roast, tossing occassionally for about 10-15 minutes (until it’s golden brown and tender).
2. Place the sheets of lavash on two baking sheets (wait until the eggplant is done if you don’t have 3 baking sheets, or bake the flatbreads one by one, transfering them to cutting boards once they are out of the oven).
3. Brush the lavash evenly with oil. Top with cheese, tomatoes, eggplant, and herbs. Season with salt and pepper and bake for about 5 minutes, watching it so as to not burn the edges.
4. Combine the arugula, 1/2 tablespoon of oil, and lemon juice in a large bowl. Season with salt and pepper.
5. Top the baked flatbreads with the arugula and slice them using a pizza cutter.
Musical Pairings: Girls – Father, Son, Holy Ghost + Lavash Flatbread
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