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UP UNTIL A HALF-HOUR OR SO AGO, I could safely say I'd never once cried over a cookbook; never even got teary-eyed or a lump in my throat, much less real tears splashing down on the page! But no more...(sniff)...can I make that assertion. I'm about to tell you why.

This morning I said to myself, Do me a favor, Self! It's about time you got busy and used up these boxes and bags and containers of dried foods you have stockpiled in your quasi-pantry cupboard and keep overlooking for quicker and easier options. Uh-huh, you know that you do! Look at all this stuff--three kinds of beans, lentils, quinoa, slow-cooking rice...you oughta be ashamed of yourself!

Self rather meekly admitted she could make up some hummus with that jar of garbanzo beans she'd been pushing to the back of the cupboard and trying to forget each time she purchased the store-bought kind. That's when I and myself put a pot of said beans on the stove to soak, and later turned up the heat.




Then a half-hour ago I went for the cookbook that's been on my counter for a few months or more. I got it green at the used-book store, and (another admission I will blame on Self) it was mostly because she was smitten by the vibrant dust-jacket. Well, that and the motivating title: The Passionate Vegetarian--oh, so inspiring! I planned to tote that book home and become one myself--(no, not a book, Dear Reader!--a regular meat-eschewer!


I've never stopped eating all flesh before, but I was toying with the idea when I purchased that rich-looking bag of orange lentils...and those fine kidney beans.)

So I brought the book home, and I leafed through some of the recipes; there must be a thousand (it's a very fat book)! But I had not read the opening pages--I had no idea I'd find a memoir! And, ahhh--hand to chest--it's a love story! When I opened the book a short while ago, there was no way to know I'd be reading my favorite genre, or that I should settle in with a box of tissues! No. I just stood there, hunched over the counter with my pan of garbanzos simmering away, and I simply devoured the author's story.

And I bit my lip. And my eyes got wet. And I cried as I read that cookbook! Right onto the pages. And into my pan of garbanzo beans.
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If you want to read this chronicle of true life (and true love), you can probably find it at the library. You'll see why I cried. And you'll get about a thousand recipes, besides!

(If you cry into your supper,
remember to add less salt.)

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