The Perfect Bite

That perfect bite. There's often--but not always--that one perfect bite, and I've never been able to plan it. Some people can plan it, but for me, it's a serendipitous occurrence. The perfect bite comes to me when it wants to, not when I will it or hope for it.

Sometimes the perfect bite happens during a momentous occasion, like Thanksgiving dinner. Then, it's a magical confluence of turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy all in ideal ratios on the fork at the same time. (A four-element perfect bite requires small bits of everything and perhaps some leniency in graceful deportment, as it quickly becomes unwieldy.)

Other times, the perfect bite happens when you're eating meh-quality, grocery-store sourdough smeared with peanut butter and jelly. There you are, munching along, really just assuaging mid-afternoon hunger, when suddenly your mouth sits up and says "Oh, hang on here. That WAS pleasant" because it just got that one bite, that lone, solitary bite that was toasted to perfection and imbued with exactly the right amounts of everything. 

One perfect bite happened in a Chinese restaurant when I was trying to politely choke down honey-walnut shrimp. I'm not a fan of Chinese food anyway (pausing to let you throw stones, hurl invective, and advise me that I just haven't had proper Chinese food), and this particular restaurant was no more than adequate. But THAT BITE was flawless--crunchy mixed with saucy, a little sweet, and a little shrimpy. I've subsequently ordered honey-walnut shrimp and been barely able to choke it down. (It's true, I just don't like the stuff.) That bite was a unique, ethereal occurrence, and I shall not see its like again.

I've often wished I could arrange, stack, engineer or somehow force the perfect bite. But experience has taught me I can't. And, upon reflection, I realize I'm more grateful that the perfect bite just finds me at random times and in unpredictable circumstances. It's a gift, pure happenstance, a spontaneous blessing not to be anticipated or seen as anything more than an impromptu reason to be grateful.

I wonder if the perfect bite has some cosmic significance?

Wherein Valentine's Day Bitterness is Opposed

Ohhhhhhhh, Lordy, here it comes. It's almost Valentine's Day, and here come the bitters. Every year, the approach of this lovers' holiday gives rise to an unseemly public tantrum over its very antithesis--the single life. Some of us are single because we chose to be, some are single as the result of stupid choices, some are single because we lack the essential compromise-and-surrender gene, and some are single because of what can charitably be described as rotten luck. Some, your humble correspondent among them, are single for ALL the foregoing reasons.

There's a lot of backlash against Valentine's Day, most of it from people who are single and would prefer not to be. Look, right under the heart-shaped chocolate box--yep, there it is, bitter resentment. Oh, and there's some whiny self-indulgence perched on that gorgeous bouquet of red roses. There are sour grapes just alongside that alluring love poem. I've even overheard angry mutterings about "a Hallmark holiday just designed to make people feel bad and spend money." (Ummmm, NO. Hallmark profits nicely from Valentine's Day, to be sure, but they didn't invent it. Seriously--Google it. It's linked to ancient Roman observations of Lupercalia, medieval ideas about birds' mating seasons, and the Victorians' passion for covering absolutely everything with lace and ribbons and doilies. So please, let's not blame Hallmark, because they're not the bad guys.)

More recently, the single culture has given rise to Galentine's Day and Palentine's Day, which, while admittedly twee and little forced, certainly beat the hell out of publicly stomping and snorting because one is alone. Such rituals encourage single folks (okay, primarily single women, if we're honest) to celebrate and fuss over what they DO have--good, close, reliable friends. I can happily subscribe to that idea. 

For myself, most of the time, I'm happy to be single--I WANT to be single. Do I get lonely? Yes, sometimes. (That's where the "good, close, reliable friends" clause kicks in.)


Do I occasionally wish I were half of a couple, fused for life to a tall, deep-voiced, crazy-smart, gentle-hearted, funny man who would protect and shelter me while strewing tulips in my path and decorating me with sparkly gems? Of COURSE I long for that fantasy man--sometimes. Naturally, my improbably perfect hero would also help me whip this poor house into shape, and he would understand my frequent need for a protective bubble of solitude, and we would have wonderful adventures and take tender care of each other and shore each other up during life's inevitable storms AND THEN HE WOULD GO HOME. Unrealistic, you say? Too good to be true? I KNOW that--I made him up. But no,I'm not immune to, or ignorant of, the charms of couplehood.


But life didn't work out that way for me, and I have little time to waste pining over it, especially in public. And the last thing I want to be is one of those tedious, moaning women who injects her own battered ego into a married friend's joy over her vast bouquet of pink roses, who sighs like a petulant teenager without a prom date at someone else's gift of Valentine's Day jewelry, who throws cold water onto a good pal's giggling, glittering account of her Valentine's Day date. I would rather open a vein than try to turn someone else's February joy into a pity-me party. (Not a saint--you're all welcome to feel sorry for my singleness when I meet a burly six-footer who rocks a Brooks Brothers suit as well as he fills out a snug pair of jeans, whose conversational baritone makes me all squishy, who knows his way around both Handel and the Grand Ole' Opry--in short, a guy who is perfect except he doesn't fancy me.)

This Valentine's Day, I challenge my single friends to join me in being genuinely happy for our coupled-up buddies. Let's drop the self-pity; let's really find selfless joy in their romantic stories (whispered confessions optional); and let's make sure those good, close, reliable friends know that we're worthy of the affection and trust they've bestowed on us. We can reflect on our own singleness the next time their husbands screw up royally, and then maybe those thoughts will lead us to a whole different, happier conclusion.

And in the meantime, the Palentine's Day brownies are on me!