The very day of the Pies of Doom episode, B. surprised me with a gift. This, to be exact.
He had found the original English edition on clearance at one of our local bookstores and hadn’t hesitated to pick it up. (He probably knew that if he had told me he had seen it half-price and hadn’t bought it, I would have grabbed my rolling pin and threatened to hit him with it, quite hard. I have quite the celebrity crush on Jamie’s food.) We paged through the book together during our train ride up to see my family, and I saw so many things I want to make. (Also one thing B. delighted over and I’ll take a pass on – fish stew with fish heads bobbing in it. Sorry B., I am so not ready for that.)
And it touched me most because I hadn’t been very nice to him in the midst of my frustration-fueled meltdown and he still pulled it out of his bag afterwards. (B. and I are learning how to deal with frustration without taking it out on each other. It’s harder than it sounds, at least for me, but I suspect for everyone, pretty much.)
When I looked at what he’d gotten me, it reminded me how much bigger and better love is than I am, and how far I have to go. But also how incredibly rewarding love is, and how patient, how it’ll wait for me to get it right. Which is not bad, for a cookbook, all things considered.