I’m not a flower child of the 1960s, but I’ve met enough aging free spirits to appreciate the tumultuous decade. I gaze with fondness at peace signs, despite not being old enough to wear a bra in that decade, let alone burn it.
My husband Paul equally likes all-things 1960s. When younger, he was a wild child, speeding across the country on his motorcycle, letting it all hang out while the wind tousled his mane of hair (no helmet laws yet).
Today, his wheels stay a lot closer to home.
Speaking of home, where “flower power” was once a symbol of non-violence, now my sweetheart refers to “flour power” when choosing our kitchen appliances.
“Look honey,” Paul called out from his computer search, “This standing mixer has a Flour Power rating of 14 cups. Is that far out or what?”
“Yeah, groovy, man,” I muttered under my breath. “How much is this thing going to cost just to make some pizza dough?” I no longer muttered; I yelled.
“Cost? Who cares about the bread, man? It has a 67-point planetary mixing action!”
“Greeeeaaat.” I’ve managed to make meals with a wooden spoon that wields enough power to whip everything into submission. I simply raise it at my bowls of wet and dry ingredients and they snap to attention. No flower/flour power ideology need enter my kitchen.
And there’s the hand-held mixer with three identical speeds that I was given when we married. Still beating.
Paul wants to take us from a yellowing $15 mixer to a $730 pearl metallic powerhouse. Bummer. And here I’m trying to lessen my carbs!
We enjoy celebrating special meals with a glass of wine or two. But you can’t drink and drive so that means taking a cab or Uber from the restaurant. That also means going into the cold dark night after your cozy meal.
Sometimes cabs and Ubers aren’t quickly available. Waiting 20 minutes in a restaurant doorway is a definite buzz kill . . . behold, the pleasures of home cooking.
Yet the motive for home cooking hasn’t been to save money. If anything, our grocery bills have grown savage. For instance, I ate a couple of fresh-baked cookies and discovered they called for a $5 bag of ground pecans. Didn’t taste a single nut. The recipe also included several dollars of chocolate chips and toffee. The only way I’ll reduce our grocery bills (and waistline) is to wire my mouth shut.
How the times have changed from the 60s to today. Now when I ask, “What’s your bag?” Paul answers, “Flour, baby. Best for bread, rye and multi-grain.” His “secret stash” of baggies are filled with fennel and rosemary.
Power to the people. Make that power to my tie-dyed chef.
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