It was barely 6 a.m. when I read a few weeks ago on Yahoo! that Asian markets had plunged. Oh no, I gasped, where will I buy my bok choy and bean sprouts? About half a heartbeat later, I realized that the news was about Asian stock markets. I cringed at my stupidity. Clearly, I have food on the brain. It's a job-related illness that has no cure. Think all day in cups and tablespoons, slices and slivers, and then try to function in the outside world. It just doesn't quite work. Here are a few of my worst episodes: During last year's Gourmet Institute, I was chatting with some guests about the recipe-development process. They asked whether we were told what recipes to develop, and I said we were given "free range." I caught it as soon as it came out of my mouth. I tried to say it was a pun, but if it was, I knew it to be the involuntary, deeply subconscious kind. And again, I was recently reading a beautiful cookbook on Italian cooking with gorgeous photographs of Italy. A recipe called for well-washed spinach, and being captivated by the photos and flavors, I wondered what do you do if you haven't got a well? I need a break. A vacation away from food and perhaps with cushioned walls. After some quiet time, perhaps I'll be able to think properly.
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