So I’m not really sitting next to Basia Bulat, sipping a white wine spritzer and helping her into her Kiss The Cook apron. But as soon as I came home from work tonight – the sun was dipping down, but little rays of sunshine still played on my face through the backyard trees – I gently placed my signed copy of Heart Of My Own into the ancient black boombox peppered with political stickers from the 90s and scraped the ashes out of the barbecue.
MP3: The Shore – Basia Bulat from Heart Of My Own (2010)
Streaks and speckles of black grime coated my hands and flecked my pretty purple dress. As I let the coals tumble back onto the bottom grill and lit the flame, the little blonde hairs on my right hand evaporated in a satisfying woosh.
I sliced open the opaque bag of large frozen shrimp and listened to the satisfying clank as they hit the metal bowl. I crushed a few gloves of garlic, tossed the shrimp with melted butter, and wrapped them lovingly in a robe of aluminum foil. I vigorously chopped a million potatoes and introduced them to a bowlful of happy white onions (I caught them kissing under a drizzle of olive oil and black pepper). I gave them some privacy under the sheets of aluminum and lowered them into the darkness of the barbecue.
Tender shrimpy morsels; soft white potatoes; crisp translucent onions! Summer food is the only food in the whole wide world.