Good morning from a Couple’s Therapy hangover. My friend and I watched the entire most recent season is one sitting last night and all I see when I close my eyes is Orna and her therapist who looks as though she’s just crawled out of a shower drain and thrown a spunky necklace on (in an endearing way. I love this woman).
I don’t remember if I felt this way after watching the previous seasons, but this one left me with the really comforting understanding that (and don’t expect to have your jaw drop to the floor here, I’m kind of just reaffirming something) intimate relationships are simply going to bring us to the edge and hopefully even right into the center of our shit and ask us to address it— for ourselves, ultimately, with the relationship either continuing to be a container for that work or not. In some ways the decision to part or stay together has to do with love (and of course family and lots of other material/non-material factors—I’m watering all of this down), but in most ways it really doesn’t at all. There are couples who very clearly dislike each other that stay together and others that feel deeply connected and destined that don’t. And there is something grounding to me about that because it takes away this concept of right and wrong which is a place I can go when I watch this show. It’s easy to get sucked into theoretical rules and signals that you’ve found “the one”: “we felt like old friends when we first met,” “they feel like home,”—this kind of stuff. The reality is that this can all be true, and remain true or not, but none of us are static and leaving a relationship because you sense/know that it’s time to grow outside of it doesn’t negate any of that other really lovely stuff. And sometimes the couple that clearly hates each other’s company inexplicably decide to continue to torture themselves. But that’s their business. And maybe they’re still digging for that next lesson they’re about to teach each other.
Anyway, brief thinking out loud aside, Couple’s Therapy made me excited to jump back into dating again. This past month has been “Ariella April” where I’ve taken all the time I had been throwing at dating apps/thinking about dating apps/going on dates/thinking about going on dates and reallocated it to cooking for myself. A wild turn of events. The snack bowls are alive and well, but so are well-rounded meals which is a shock.
The other night I cooked ribeye and that’s not something I ever thought I’d say.
(to the tune of Fame)
Steak!
I’m gonna cook this forever
It’s the best meat you can make
(Steak!)
Medium rare or whatever
Give the salt n’ pepper a shake
Turns out, it’s very easy to do this which is something they don’t really tell you.
Before this era, I didn’t engage much with steak. I was living a sad life and really only ate it whenever I happened to be dating a boy who cooked. And once on the opposite side of the dating x food spectrum, I bought a pack of veggie burgers after going on one mediocre date with a vegan. I of course convinced myself overnight I had a crush on this vegan and that we’d kiss soon, so I proceeded to adopt his lifestyle. As one does! A few days before our second date I picked up a pack of Dr. Praegers veggie burgers. To get in the mood? To get on the same wavelength? To send messages out to the ether/universe/divine/ecosystem that me and this man belong together? How cute, they both eat patties made from potato, peas and carrots!
We had the most boring second date of my life. I at one point began to dig my keys into my hand partially to feel something and partially to keep myself awake—and to think I was initially excited, EXCITED, when he asked if we could meet earlier to get a drink before dinner. I had (with butterflies in my stomach) tacked another 15 minutes onto our evening together. He was perfectly nice and had glowing golden eyes (the clear culprit in all of this) and I’m sure would make or is making a lovely partner, but we have zero and into the negatives chemistry. We live on different planets. And not in a sexy way.
The passion with which I’d kill to have crush right now. But also not, because then maybe I would be sitting somewhere eating BBQ chik’n wings and farting through seitan stomach cramps. All in the name of love!
Historically I’ve tended to do that, participate in whatever food the person I’m dating likes to eat. I tried watching Runaway Bride the other night but sadly Richard Gere’s character makes me want to dig my eyeballs out with hot metal spoons only so I can feel something other than overwhelming nausea. But it’s like that part where we realize Julia Roberts doesn’t know how she likes her eggs because she eats whatever type of eggs her current beau (figured I’d use that word once in my life) is making. My thing doesn’t feel as dramatic as that, but it’s runaway-bride-eggs-adjacent. Whenever I’m dating someone I sign up for a NYTimes cooking subscription and get cookbooks as holiday gifts for us to cook through together. Yes, cooking is a legitimately nice activity to share with another human being, but HEY! MY SINGLE STOMACH AND NON-KISSING TASTEBUDS SHOULD BE GETTING SOME ATTENTION TOO.
Well now, thanks to Ariella April:
(I do recommend playing this song in the background as you read on)
And just for the record, I do have a stance on eggs:
Medium boiled eggs with an herby salt
Scrambled eggs on toast with a fruit jam
And I hate them poached. It’s runny snot to me. Warm and straight out of the nose, I’m so sorry.
But back to steak. Here are the steps I took to make mine (instructions via my younger sister via New York Times, with some added flair from yours truly):
The other day I went to a small butchery/market in my neighborhood just to peruse because I buy meat now. This also made me feel like I was in a movie. And even more-so this time because I actually am cooking for myself. I was checking out the market for data that I will use. As I started looking at the meats and making a mental note of what was available, a really cute butcher leaned over the counter, tattoos glasses and all, and asked if he could help me with anything. I smiled and sweetly said “no thanks!” and immediately felt the sweat begin to pour. I turned around and headed for the door in a way that felt really chill in the moment and then played with my hair a little as I walked away. Who am I? I’m the mysterious girl in the neighborhood with effortless, long, wavy hair (I was having a really good hair day, thank god). And who are you? You’re a man who’s wondering if I’ll ever be back in the shop again. The moment I left I worried I’d ruined my future with him. Why couldn’t I have stayed and chatted? This is how you meet people in person. (And at this point in my sweaty spiral I had jumped to): and this person is sensitive and kind and probably has sweet friends and can cook. I’m what’s wrong with my entire generation. But it’s Ariella April. Revisit this in May.
Ok, back to the task at hand. We’re home with ribeye.
Steak makes me sing and dance in the kitchen. And it tastes so much better when I make it for myself. Mostly because I got a fancy herby salt to feel extra luxe, but it feels GOOD to put some time and energy into meals and to buy the fancy seasoning just for me. I have a couple different flavors now.
The placemat really elevates the experience. It’s JLO in The Wedding Planner.
And the sides? Easy! Cut up some veggies and throw in the oven.
What will I cook next? I will not be going Coq Au Vin Julie & Julia on you, but I do think I will keep on this cooking for myself thing. It’s a nice tether as I dip back into dating. An immediate reminder to tend to and nourish myself.
Wishing you all a tasty Sunday and week ahead—filled with steak I hope! And for the vegans and vegetarians out there I do salute you. I ❤️ tofu.
Talk soon,
Ariella
When you put the steak to bed... LoL!
i took a screen shot of the steak song and dance. it spoke to me. 😂🥩❤️