Cravings

          Maybe it’s because the weather has been so mercurial here lately that I’m having such intense food cravings.  Saturday night I wanted barbecue. “I’ve been here two months!” I told John, “I want some Texas barbecue!”

          I remembered the barbecue we had in Houston, back in the 90s: succulent pork, juicy sausage, chicken that fell off the bone. I’d recently seen an ad for a local barbecue joint here, and suggested we try it.  When we got there the lot was empty except for one truck.

          “I’m not going in!” John insisted. “If there’s no one here, that’s not a good sign.”

          “They’re all at the parade!” I told him. We’d just driven past the festivities – tree lighting, Santa, carolers – at the county courthouse.

          We decided to drive a little further and checked out a fish restaurant. I wanted to see the menu before we were seated. No clams – too far from the coast. (Note to self: when in LA order a bucket of steamed clams!) I told the waitress that I was in the mood for barbecue and how we’d driven by the place that was empty. “They’re all at the parade!” she said, so John agreed to go back.

          As I sat in the family-friendly, brightly lighted restaurant, with Wheel of Fortune on a TV in the corner, over the bread/pickle/onion station, I dove into perfectly smoked brisket and felt my body melting into my chair. The sauce had lovely citrus overtones. I liked that a cop was at the table next to us, his gun visible; and that a family with a tiny baby and a toddler was gnawing on ribs. What had gotten in to me, the three-time vegetarian who can go weeks without wanting to defile my digestion with the suffering of fellow mammals?

          Then, yesterday, at HEB, I stood before the olive station, transfixed. How long had it been since I’d had a Greek salad? I loaded up on marinated olives, feta, sweet-spicy red peppers.  In the refrigerated section I found a case of figs, my favorite!  At home, in the evening, standing at the kitchen counter, with a glass of wine, I could almost taste the salty air of the Mediterranean as I experienced the tart, bitter, salty flavors. Dr. Oz  would be proud of me.

          Then, tonight, I decided to make a tuna casserole, accompanied by frozen baby lima beans.  I chopped some of those sweet-tart peppers and crispy celery and added it to . . . yes, I admit, a can of generic mushroom soup. I cooked egg noodles, and tossed them with the soup/veggie mixture, added one can of white and one can of light tuna and shook Tabasco over the whole thing.

          Now it’s time to eat. I hope when I get to the kitchen I’ll still be in the mood for extra-salty, highly processed dinner and not a Parmesan crusted chicken breast or a big bowl of slurpy soba noodles.