posted Mon, 10 Jan 2005
Part of the bodacious red-headed pediatrician’s therapy for her little problem is telling her story. It’s better when she tells it, but almost as good when I do.
Ilene and I met at a Rice alumni party. It was a BBQ/potluck to send off the new freshmen from M’town, but really just an excuse for the alumni to get together. And have the alumni office pay for it.
Ilene brought this divine appetizer. (Yes, I know you are so surprised that the woman who has shrimp escabeche, puff pastry twists with pesto, homemade toffee with chocolate and pecans, and mulligatawny soup in her fridge right now -- in addition to everything else I listed the other day – made a delicious appetizer.)
So she brought little toasts with spicy hummus. Each one was sprinkled with paprika and topped with half a black olive.
When I asked her for the recipe, she smiled and said it was an old family secret recipe from Israel.
Oh. Well, if it’s a secret, I guess that’s that.
Rats. It was really good hummus.
We continued to chat. By the end of the evening, I knew – I hoped, anyhow – that I had found a new friend.
Ilene must have felt the same way.
“I can tell we’re going to be friends,” she sighed. “And I can’t start a friendship with a lie.”
I wondered what deep, dark secret she was going to reveal. I was not ready for true confessions, even though that is how women establish relationships.
“I bought the hummus at Wild Oats. It’s Rachel’s Spicy.”
She is getting better. Now she tells me when she has bought something instead of making it from scratch. It’s been a tough program, but I am proud of her.