Fisherman's Eggs
I just recently found out about this dish. I was looking for recipes that use sardines, since they are known for their high-protein content. I stumbled upon Fisherman's Eggs, and it sounded interesting enough for me to give it a try. Apparently, the recipe originated in fishing towns, obviously, because fishermen needed calorie-dense meals that relied on staples they had nearby, such as canned fish.
In my version, I used diced tomato and zucchini squash (I had to dice it small enough that Keshav would not know I was using squash), and added in diced potato. You mix the crushed sardines into this and bake the mix in a skillet in the oven before cracking an egg on top and baking until the whites are firm. Instead of the recipe recommendation of arugula, which I did not have on hand, I shredded some spinach to use as a green base. I think it turned out lovely!
Fortunately, Keshav loved it. And after he gave me what he could not finish, I loved it too. It goes into the regular rotation for sure. Especially since I now know that as long as I dice it small enough, I can put in vegetables he normally would not touch.
*
There was a moment, during our recent visit to Sacramento, when I remember looking at Keshav as he checked to see if the bus was coming. We had just come from the State Capitol, where we explored some of the historical room mockups and wandered the various floors and halls. It was very quiet there, but I suppose the people who work there are all behind closed doors. Still, it was weird that a working capitol building would feel more like a museum than the center of a working government.
After we left, we intended to catch a train back to our neighborhood. It was really hot outside that day, around 101 degrees, and I could feel it. We saw the train come, then stop, then start up again and go. We were not able to get on it for some reason that is only understood by the people who are driving the train. I wanted to wait at a nearby stop for the bus to come, but Keshav insisted that the stop we needed to wait at was a few blocks away.
It turned out to be four blocks, in 101 degree heat, and my old bones started to feel like they were overheating. I implored my husband to stop and wait at a closer stop, but he soldiered on, and I was left feeling unheard.
When we got to the stop he wanted, I noticed myself feeling a bit resentful and started to shut him out. he can always tell when I am doing this, and to be honest, I think it scares him a bit, because it is a signal that he has fucked up in some way.
I remember resting on a short concrete wall in the shade, feeling my body regulate itself, and this is when I noticed him looking for the bus. I remember it as though it were a second ago--he was wearing blue shoes and a blue tank, and as I noticed the sunglasses he had on (only$10!), I thought to myself that he could use a haircut.
This is the moment I want to try and describe to you, because I felt something in that moment that I have struggled to name.
*
Have you ever looked at someone you love and felt about a million trillion different things? I am currently reading a book that boldly states that many of us never experience "real" love in our marriages, despite these marriages being very successful. I have not read far enough to know what the author's definition of "real" love is, but here is mine: it is when you feel someone both inside and outside of your skin; when you want to kill them at times while knowing without a doubt that you would take a bullet to save them; it is when you can successfully care more for the marriage than your own hurting, especially in the moment when you are hurting; it is when you are feeling resentful from being dragged four unnecessary blocks in 101 degree heat and still feel as though your life's meaning comes from caring for the person who is currently looking for the coming bus.
As I gazed at my husband in his blue tank and blue shoes, I felt a surge of empathy that chilled my resentment, recognizing how very aware he is when I am disappointed in him. My heart swelled as my body cooled, and when he was sure the bus was coming, he came over and sat beside me.
We said nothing, and I did not look at him, still feeling vulnerable, but I knew he knew. He gently, like a butterfly, touched my fingers with his fingers, and I turned to him and told him how scared and annoyed I was. That was all it took--he got it in that second. And then it was over and the bus came and we went back to the motel and I took a cool shower and we took a nap together and then we went out to dinner at a place that was understaffed but the waiter never projected his stress on us and we had a nice dinner and then walked the streets as husbands as the sun went down.
The thing is that I am fully committed to my husband, annoyances and all. I want to go through life with him as my witness, and me as his. In that moment when I was looking at him check for the bus, I recognized that we affect each other deeply, and sometimes that goes both ways. But I married him not because of how well we get along or how many interests we share, but because I am sure. About him. About us. We are safe together, even if that safety sometimes needs a band-aid.
*
Love, real love, is not about liking the same things, not even a little bit. It is about sharing similar values. It is realizing that your well-being is connected to your spouses' well-being, not in a dependent way, but in an interdependent way. When I am suffering, I want him to see it, and touch my fingers, gently like a butterfly, with his fingers. I want to know that he gets it.
It works even if we are not looking at each other.
Comments
Post a Comment