In my dream, this is the spot in Portofino, Italy where Kerry and I had the best pizza of our lives.
One of the best things about having a sick wife—and, yes, this is me working hard to look on the bright side of a dark situation—is that people practically throw food at us, saving me, the chef in our family, the expense and trouble of cooking.
It all started when Kerry unexpectedly checked into the hospital with heart problems a couple of weeks ago.
Within 24 hours, Kerry’s sisters, Kristy and Kitty, filled the barren shelves of our refrigerator with trays of frozen lasagna, enchiladas, apple pie and Greek yogurt (try it if you haven’t because it’s almost as good as ice cream but healthier) and loads of fresh vegetables. Then people like my father-in-law, Dick, started buying me lunch and dinner every time I looked a little forlorn—which is pretty much all the time these days.
One day, my mother-in-law, Julie, scrounged around in her purse and triumphantly withdrew a $5 bill to stuff into my coat pocket so I could buy a sandwich, which I did. It was delicious, too, piled high with thinly sliced turkey, shredded lettuce, tomato, onion and a thick layer of mayonnaise on bread so French it practically begged to surrender before I even took my first bite.
Once, I got a free chocolate chip cookie from a sympathetic cashier at Noodles—I love their beef stroganoff—because I mentioned that my wife was in the hospital. My family’s received several free drinks in the last two weeks, and my son, Gabe, and I were given free extra-large salads at Red Robin to help balance out the damage we did to our poor bodies with their extra-large hamburgers and bottomless baskets of French fries.
My best friend, Rick, treated Gabe and me to smothered calzones at a local Italian restaurant called Lil’ Nick’s. He also brought Kerry an entire pizza, three-fourths of which was eaten by Gabe, who was still ravenous after eating a large sausage calzone of his own plus at least one-third of mine. Yet he’s as buff as a person can get, and I secretly hate him for it, the youthful athletic bastard.
Then my dad and mom, Clarence and Margaret, treated me and Gabe and my daughter, Lindy, to a fabulous dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, The Elephant Bar, which my grown but malaprop-prone daughter, Rudy, mistakenly refers to as The Elephant Graveyard. Keep in mind that we went out to eat on a weeknight, and it wasn’t even somebody’s birthday or graduation. It was just, “Hey, your mom’s in the hospital, so let’s go spend $80 to eat barbequed ribs and shrimp tonight, OK?”
Wonderful!
My brother and sister-in-law, Dave and Kitty, also fed my kids home-cooked meals many times over 14 days, and let them spend the night at their house several times while I sat, half-dozing, beside Kerry’s hospital bed, dreaming about eating wood-fired pizza with her in Portofino on the Italian Riviera. That was a good dream, by the way, because Kerry was healthy and happy, her long blonde hair looked radiant in Italy’s evening sunlight, and the pizza tasted better to me than any pizza we’ve ever had, even the one we snuck into a movie theater one night when we were still in college.
Back in reality, or what passes for it these days, we’ve been eating like wealthy people for several days thanks to the generosity of Gabe’s hockey team. All the parents on the team chipped in and bought us nine pre-prepared dinners from a company called Dream Dinners. Each gourmet-quality meal is packaged and ready to cook. Entrées include delicacies like grilled honey Dijon salmon with roasted sweet potatoes and butter-garlic garden vegetables, or toasted pecan chicken with a wild mushroom rice-and-whole-grain pilaf–the sort of meals we’d order at fancy restaurants if we ate at fancy restaurants, or if they served lemon chicken piccata at Wing Stop, which they don’t because sports fans feel silly ordering chicken piccata for Monday Night Football.
This is my family having dinner on any given night of the week. Aren't my wife and kids adorable? Love 'em!
I suppose I mention the food here because kind gestures like these constantly catch me off guard, mostly because I expect people to be self centered and myopic, especially where I’m concerned. I’m not important, or especially likeable, and there’s no particular reason why anybody should care enough about my well being, let alone the well being of my family, to actually do something about it. But some of them do, and it’s pleasantly surprising.
Yesterday, for example, I hardly knew what to say when a co-worker I’ll call Susan—because that’s her name—unexpectedly dropped a shopping bag filled with homemade beef stew, a loaf of French bread and a store-bought pumpkin pie on my desk. She hardly lingered long enough for me to thank her, probably because she’s smart and instinctively knew I might embarrass her by bursting into tears—not because I have troubles, but because I love beef stew and store-bought pumpkin pie better than almost anything in the whole world. I was shocked the pie made it all the way home untouched. To be honest, I was shocked it made it through the day untouched.
I guess the long and short of this tale is that with Kerry ill, my family hasn’t eaten this well since….well, never, actually. Which is nice. I’m also really, really thankful to be surrounded by people who care enough about my family to give us food. Food is very comforting in times of distress, unless it’s intestinal distress. Then food seems extremely unappetizing, even repulsive. Fortunately, our stomachs are fine.
In fact, if there is a downside to this gastronomic holiday we’re on, I suppose it’s that this crisis will eventually pass like a painful kidney stone and we’ll return to our normal routine, which involves eating a lot of roasted chicken and spaghetti, the favorite food of men and children everywhere. But I don’t think it’s going to bother me much, because that will be the day I know Kerry’s going to be fine.
Dang! Your co-worker brought you a store-bought pumpkin pie? Now, that’s a friend right there. All kidding aside, you obviously have a very loving family and many thoughtful friends. I hope you are eating roasted chicken and spaghetti again real soon.
You know, I wasn’t kidding about my love for store-bought pumpkin pie. I’ve had the homemade kind, and for some strange reason, I prefer the cheapy store-bought kind that you get from King Soopers or Safeway. I like it ice cold, too, with a little whipped cream on top. You know, like some guys like their “dates.”
I haven’t had lasagna in a while.
I’m totally poisoning my wife tonight.
Thanks for the tip!!
Just don’t give her too much poison. The trick is to incapacitate her just enough so that you get the sympathy lasagna, but not so much that you raise suspicions and get thrown in jail. Either way, of course, you get free food. But some food is better than others, as I’m sure you’ll agree.
Wonder if I mention this at the bar they’ll sympathize and buy me a beer….It’s a long shot…might work though.
Absolutely, yes. Just say that you’re a little down because a good friend of yours is really, really sick right now. Before you know it, the beer will be flowing like water and you’ll be drunk and happy.
Dang! They beat me to it. I was going to mail you some lasagna in the mail.
Actually, I did, but it got returned for insufficient postage and wrapping.
It was a mess!
I am now on the blacklist of postal workers nationwide.
Thank heavens for email.
I’m glad to hear that you are being treated so well by so many. Truly wonderful!
That would be funny to get lasagna in the mail. I think the only food I’ve ever received in the mail is Zombie Brainz Candy, and, perhaps not coincidentally, it came from you.
I hate the captcha thing!!!!!!! I had this really nice long comment that was funny and sweet and then BAM…wrong captcha code.
In a nutshell, and not nearly as eloquent as originally expressed: I’m glad you are eating well, I make food when people are sick too, sorry I haven’t been around so didn’t know about Kerry. Feel guilty for not knowing. She is a lucky woman and you are a sweet man even if you have the evil Captcha code crap on your blog.
**Dude, seriously consider leaving some kind of note for people to copy their comments before hitting submit.
Hey, everybody, listen up: Do as I do and copy your witty comment before hitting submit in case the computer gremlins decide to eat it. I have this friend Jen who’s constantly fucking it up and then complaining about it on my blog. It gets old, let me tell you. (Just teasing, Jen. And thanks for dropping by my little corner of the world. I’m one of those guys who needs constant comments to feel good about myself. Sad, I know.)
Seriously. Jen, same thing happened to me the other day. You just can’t be quite as clever the second time around!
I’m thinking I would really be doing my husband a favor if i were to fall ill, say, for a week maybe. We could use some delicious, made with love, home cooking. I’m a lousy cook…..now cakes, that’s my thing. Oh and pumpkin pie is my personal fav!
Buggys, you definitely, for sure gotta come down with something really nasty. I mean, do you love your husband or don’t you? Man cannot live on cake and pumpkin pie alone. He needs lasagna and beef stew to supplement his diet. You need to show your man that you care enough about what he eats that you’re willing to get deathly ill for him. That’s what Kerry did for me, and I love her all the more for it.
Did you get the meatloaf, gravy, mashed potatoes and apple pie a la mode I sent you? Oops, sorry, looked so good I ate it myself. Sounds like you’re doing fine without it. Glad to hear it.
If this free food for Kerry thing keeps up for much longer, I truly hope it does, I’m going to look like John Belushi right before he died.
This post made me surprisingly hungry.
Here’s the snippit with your blog in it. I promise I’m not that poor of a writer-someone else translates me stuff to the web and the grammar comes out weird :/
http://www.pvc.maricopa.edu/puma/puma-new/fall_2009/blogreviews.html
Wow, that’s cool, Tegan. Thanks for the promotion! And don’t worry about the grammar. I’m so drunk most days, I can’t tell good writing from bad writing.
Awww. How sweet. Sometimes people can be so nice. I’m happy that you and your family are being fed so well. This way your wife can take more time to get well. Some things are best not rushed.
You’re right. People can be so nice. Sometimes.
Dont forget the Rowntree’s Fruit Pastilles. All the food groups are represented there. Red, green, yellow, etc. Also they can put you into a sugar coma very quickly and they are infinitely better than any and all of the above. When you are in a sugar coma all your troubles are far away. I have more, love, Mum
Oops! I forgot to mention my mom, who’s famous for her care packages stuffed with sausage roles, chocolate bars and, of course, Rowntree’s Fruit Pastilles. Mom, you are, and always have been, wonderful and I didn’t mean to leave you out.
You got a free cookie? Lucky dog! Glad to read Kerry is on the mend. Start planning that trip to Portofino so you two can get another pizza.
Cookies are good. So is pizza in Portofino. Or so we hear. Maybe we’ll find out soon enough.
That Susan is a mighty thoughtful lady! I hope you’re not trying to watch your weight through all this!
Oh, I’m watching it all right, and it’s not hard to see, trust me.
Calzones sound DELICIOUS.
Especially ones filled with pepperoni and sausage.
OMG.
I think I just gained five pounds.
I KNOW I just gained 5 pounds.
Really? Hey, if you’re not gonna finish the rest of that pie, I’ll take it. And maybe some of the toasted pecan chicken too.
The chicken’s gone, the pie’s gone and I think I accidentally ate the bag they came in, too. It’s not a pretty sight, I’m telling you.
I offered to treat you to a BFH the next time I’m in town; does that count?
Oh, yes! It counts very much. Even if it’s a guilt hoagie.
Thanks for sharing this.
Of course. And if you feel like sharing a little lobster in turn, please let me know. I love lobster.
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