Cooking in Theory and Practice
Observations on the Arcana of the Culinary World
Life's too short to eat bad food
In Search of Lost Time
I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.
1976. 2026. Fifty years. Half a century. A trip from Bicentennial to Semiquincentennial. A trip from the mild-mannered Jerry Ford to the waste of skin currently occupying the White House.
It doesn’t seem possible. Yet it is. The fabulous, amazing Pittsford Sutherland Class of ’76 held its Semicentennial reunion this past weekend. I don’t look at that time through rose-colored glasses. There was plenty of pain and angst. Raging hormones, one big unrequited love, and the opportunities I may have missed because of that love.
But that’s growing up, and things turned out darned well for me in the end. Frankly, that’s not what this post is about. It’s about seeing friends who have been constant over those 50 years, and others who became friends after. There was something glorious about those days, when we thought anything was possible.
My wife and I have been together since we went to the 20th. As much as we have enjoyed the rest, the Sunday picnic at each reunion has always been our favorite. Relaxed, casual, allowing more intimate interactions with folks you haven’t seen since the last reunion and may not see again until the next (Goran willing).
I, of course, take that opportunity to display some of the culinary skills I have developed since a time before Star Wars.
This year, when we were leaving, I got a standing ovation from my classmates. Can’t think of a better way to celebrate my life’s journey!
PS. We were sent a survey before the reunion. A couple of my responses were mentioned, but this was the last one of the night:
What’s the secret to happiness now and in our years to come?
Metamucil
