Why Don’t You? #128



Why don’t you spend the weekend making cakes that you can eat throughout the course of the week? I have been meaning to make myself an Opera cake so that I can gorge myself on it, ruin my resolution to lose 15 pounds, and fall into depression. It will be worth it because there is nothing more delicious than an Opera cake. I even have gold foil to put on top. It freezes well, I’m assuming, since I’ve purchased it at the amazing frozen grocery store, Picard, in Paris, more times that I am willing to admit. So, when I have some free time this weekend, I’m going to bust out my Le Cordon Bleu recipes and head into a sugar coma. It will be wonderful. And it will taste like Paris. And I’ll cry happy tears.


Why don’t you choose a new diet for this new year? Because I have Multiple Sclerosis and am cursed with wanting to live forever, I have long been researching the impact nutrition has on health and longevity. My conclusions, thus far, are to follow the Mediterranean Diet. I came to this conclusion rather macabrely long before I was diagnosed with a disease in a beautiful cemetery in Nice. I was reading about the Blue Zone — regions where people routinely become centenarians — and this was the most common diet they followed. As a vegetarian, the prospect of eating fish is not thrilling, but I think I’ll give it a go. Also…red wine…ew. I’m a rosé kind of guy. I only drink red on intercontinental flights. But I’ll try. I do feel bad about having to give up my title of vegetarian if I go through with this. So, it will take considerable consideration.


Why don’t you go shopping for some new freezable containers, preferably in glass, and then load them up with homemade soup? This is a great addition to the cake, and if you follow the rules of your new diet for 2017, it will be a convenient way to eat dinner when you get home from work without slaving over a stove. I’m going to do this one of these days when I have nothing else to do. I’m going to make my beloved Moroccan Chickpea Stew, potato soup, minestrone, several varieties of lentil soup, and vegetarian matzo ball soup, and tomato soup, and every kind of soup I can think up. I effing love soup.


Why don’t you get around to doing a passion project you have long ignored? Aside from the endless novels that are in my head, I have long wanted to put together a coffee table book that includes charming essays and gorgeous photos of the various Carnival traditions around the world. I think it would be lovely to see glossy prints of Mardi Gras in New Orleans and the parade in Nice and the charmingly over-the-top festivities in Venice. I’ll get it done before I die, I hope.


Why don’t you write, as I fully intend to, a kindly missive to President Obama? This is our last week with that generous and good man, and I’m a mess because of it. The march of progress is rarely steady, but we seldom go from such noble grace to madness. Ah well, what can I do about it now? I take little comfort anymore, I must admit, that my vote didn’t aid the madman that will soon occupy the White House. We’re ruined, readers. But I need to thank the President for all the good he did for me. I need to think and plan and find the right words, but I plan to send both President Obama and Secretary Clinton notes of my thanks and eternal gratitude. I was blessed to become an adult in their era. I weep for the youth of today. And for me.

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