“Boy you simple!”
She yelled it often. I was a simple minded, stupid, head in the clouds, simpleton according to Mrs. Nesbit. Maybe I wasn’t the greatest Fourth Grade student. I spent a lot of time day dreaming, pencils turned airplanes while chalk clicked out a lesson plan. But the stories I tell my teacher friends as an adult lead me to believe I couldn’t have been all in the wrong.
And yet the word simple still causes a strange ring in my head. Even this morning when I learned the Lamb Dog I lusted over last night could be purchased at home with the simple swipe of my credit card. Now simple joins words like balanced and clean to describe the foods and elements of cooking I’ve grown to love. A smokey hot dog topped simply with bright and briny kimchee. A black skillet of cast iron with runny-yolk eggs cooked quite simply in bacon grease.
So I guess she was right all along. I am quite simple indeed.
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Beautiful and insightful.