I walk into Jenna and Bradley’s apartment and hug them hello.
In land-locked Iowa there were never seafood platters. Sometimes there was shrimp, but it was always frozen and it was often too expensive to be a dinner party staple. The first time I had a tuna steak, I was 16 and ordered it because I thought myself cosmopolitan. I wasn’t aware of how it was meant to be prepared and neither were my parents. It arrived medium-rare , and we sent it back three times before it was fully cooked through.
We placed more value on recipes that had been published and republished in church or community cookbooks. There were dozens of variations of the cheesy hashbrown, an Iowa staple. A thousand ways to make corn. I grew accustomed to neighborhood families bringing the same dishes to picnics, for better or for worse .
The recipe calls for an excessive amount of butter that’s mixed with dry mustard, minced onion, poppy seeds, seasoned salt, lemon juice, and canned mushrooms . The mix is poured into French bread that’s been meticulously sliced diagonally and stuffed with packaged Swiss cheese. In my first month in New York, years later, I decided to cook for friends who let me crash on their couch while I found a place to live. I had not yet been deterred by the small kitchens and impossible-to-navigate New York grocery stores, and didn’t yet know about cheese plates with jam and figs.
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