“When I was growing up, I thought all cakes started in a cake mix box. If there was a cake to be made in my house, I was pretty sure Betty Crocker had something to do with it.” –Lu Ann Cahn
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Om
How do I deal with stress? The biggest stressor in my life is work, which oddly enough, is one of the greatest joys in my life.
I’m not complaining. I get to do the job I love. I make a decent living. I work from home, on the shift that I prefer. However, by its very nature, journalism is a stressful career. You can’t surround yourself with death and destruction and crime and politics and twerking and not be affected. Well, I can’t anyway.
While I’m pretty good at maintaining my distance from the events of the day, I’m also human. Covering history as it happens can leave a person feeling emotionally and intellectually battered.
So how do I cope?
* I talk to M. He pays attention to what’s going on in the world. He’s compassionate. And his hugs are positively therapeutic.
* I drink tea. I firmly believe that freshly brewed tea, served in a favorite cup, will soothe both a tired body and an unsettled mind.
* I bake. The act of kneading or whipping ingredients into something delicious provides a physical outlet for channeling one’s aggressions. Plus, when you’re done, there’s dessert!
* I read. I can open a book or turn on my Kindle, and instantly lose myself in a romance, a mystery or a bit of poetry. As my eyes transform the words into stories, my mind is able to focus more on the characters’ problems than on my own. Books give me distance, distraction and, in some cases, enlightenment. (Once in a while though — and I’m looking at you Stephen King, Joe Hill and Chris Holm — the practice of reading to escape can lead to other emotions, particularly dread.)
* I watch movies. When I lived in New York City, I would spend almost every Friday morning at the multiplex, watching double- or triple-features. I did so because I love film, but also as a way to decompress. The movie theater has long been my dark sanctuary.
* I listen to music. Music is probably better for my soul than for my ears (I like it loud). Yet given the right tunes and enough time, most any stress can be defeated.
* I sit by the ocean. Once grounded to the sand, I look at the water and admire the ocean’s tempestuous nature. The horizon is vast, the air is salty, the wind blows through my hair and, in time, I am calmed.
* I wander in cemeteries. Most boneyards are beautiful in any season, perfect for wandering and wondering. They serve as memento mori as well; all problems pale in comparison to death. And, if your problem is death, a cemetery will offer a telling reminder that you are not alone in your pain.
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The Banana Cream Pie Debacle
My husband is a huge fan of banana cream pie. Out of all the pies in all the world, banana cream pie is, by far, his favorite. However, not just any pie will do. As a self-described aficionado, he has some very specific criteria for his banana creams. First, the pie can have a regular pastry crust or a graham cracker one, but it must be really freakin’ good. Homemade is preferred because he likes his crust to have a flaky texture and/or buttery taste. The pudding part must be rich and well, creamy. Instant pudding mix will just not do. There should be an ample layer of bananas sandwiched between the two pudding layers, sliced thick enough for a solid mouthful. And the cream topping should be fresh and a mile high. Whenever we’re in a restaurant that features pie on the menu, M will inevitably choose the banana cream. He’ll dig into the pie with gusto, ever hopeful that this time, the criteria will be fully met. Usually, he encounters sub-par desserts, but every once in a while, he’ll be blown away.
The last time that happened was at the Red Arrow diner in Milford, N.H., a 24-hour dive about an hour and a half from our home. It’s one of the only all-night restaurants in the state, so we try to make the trip a couple times a year. The Red Arrow pie is sublime. Rich, buttery, flaky, banana-y goodness topped with a snow-peaked mountain of whipped cream. Truly delicious.
After my first taste of the Red Arrow pie, I embarked on a culinary journey to replicate it at home. Numerous less-than-successful attempts later, and I finally nailed it. Each ingredient was carefully chosen, and every step of the recipe was carefully followed in order to create a dessert truly worth of the time and effort it took to create. (One caveat: The cream topping was not quite as high as the Red Arrow’s but only because too much cream would keep the pie from fitting properly in our Tupperware holder. Still, my version was pretty damn good, and now he’s always thrilled when I make one.)
Yesterday, M had what could arguably be called the worst piece of banana cream pie he’s ever tasted. The crust was so white and flat, it had clearly not been parbaked. The pudding and banana mixture was mealy. And the cream topping was still indented by whatever cover had been placed on it before the whole disaster was frozen. It was still half-frozen when served to him.
As the waitress placed the pie on the table, she proudly proclaimed it to be the last slice in the place — as if it was so outrageously good that all the rest of the slices had been consumed with gusto. I ate one bite and put down my fork. He somehow managed to swallow a few bites more but the entire time, his mouth was turned downward, which made him resemble the Grumpy Cat of meme-fame. This pie was so foul that M left the restaurant and went to both a convenience store and a nearby bakery, looking for something, anything, to take the awful taste out of his mouth.
Needless to say, we won’t be returning to that diner any time soon.