This past week I played hookie for a day and met Moses in Washington Square Park for a picnic. Though I spent the morning feeling horribly guilty, I kept reminding myself six days a week of work is hardly “normal” and everyone’s entitled to a day off (with no pay).
I have this totally weird thing about “packed” lunches. I find them repulsive and have since I was a really little kid. From what I can piece together, I have a super developed sense of smell (I’m a super hero), and when things are packed in one small container for a few hours, they take on the muddled smell of EVERYTHING in the bag/basket/cooler. In short, this leaves one with the equivalent of edible garbage and I can’t eat it. So I always ate “hot lunch” (equally gross but different) as a kid.
So for this picnic I tried to beat the system by being innovative. I packed our main dish in a big mason jar with a cloth lid in the hopes the smells wouldn’t get muddled.
I’m acutely aware these pictures aren’t a smashing representation of my efforts, but still, my heirloom tomato pasta with basil, oil oil and red peppers turned out pretty delicious (and odor free).
I also brought vegan chocolate chip cookies made from quinoa (instead of flower), which didn’t fair well in the sun due to the carob, but did taste good.
And, though I’ll never be the best “worker bee” in the hive, I’m fairly sure I throw a mean picnic, and that’s really what it comes down to in the end right? How many wonderful random “dejeuner sur l’herbe(s)” you threw for your petit ami? Maybe next time I’ll even stage a Manet recreation sitting, but I doubt I can find anyone willing to be the random naked girl in front…
Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe, Eduard Manet
And there’s your culture for the day.
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