Sometimes the best days are the simplest days. I hate to sound like a fucking Bon Appetit article (see, now they can't use it) but sometimes just fuckin' around, cooking something and hanging out is the best medicine.
Discovering is also good. You have to practice having fun -- you just cannot manufacture it. You have to discover what constitutes fun, but you also have to sweep partners into the game, and all of them -- repeat, all of them -- must also share your vision. Kind of like one organism looking to have fun. It can be a drifting, mindless organism, or it can be a symbiont; every separate part part of the same brain devoted toward the common goal.
What is fun? This has occupied almost every specie since the dawn of . . . oh, David Attenborough, GET AWAY, GET AWAY!
Fun is good times, dudes and dudettes! I hads fun tonight, YEE-HAW!
Yo, listen up: Tony the Schmonie Greekazoid called and wanted to see what was up. Well, guess what was cookin', oaf-lookin'!
I swear, this was the best goddamn dinner I've had in seven decades. Longer than my grandfather's been dead, folks!
I say now that to grill is to conquer EVERY ail that travails ye.
Just LOOK at that oafish schmirk on Tony's face as he contemplates the amazing feast that he was the grillmaster for. Ouf.
AI YAI YAI it was amazing. Chicken thighs first brined by me, then marinated in olive oil, balsamic, lemon juice, oregano, tarragon and thyme and then STRUNG UP AND SKEWERED to perfection.
Jumbo shrimp, shells on, stabbed through the heart, everything slathered with basting medium (garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, butter, olive oil) and GRILLED on my tiny little spaceship grill over hardwood.
White wine, Eliane Elias, a nice table, lots of laughter and amazing tsaziki from Parthenon and added to by Brigitte . . .
Crisis? What crisis?