One should never understimate the power of food, love and more good food. No one appreciates a meal more than my husband or my brother. I used to think both of them were ridiculous. However, I think there is nothing wrong with being a "foodie." If anything food is a simple reminder to be thankful for what we have but also enjoy new flavors and new conversations and just the beauty in simple pleasures. 

Generally, there is one day over the weekend where my husband is required to work "late." Late could mean 6:00 or 7:00 or even 8:00. It depends on the day. Nevertheless, on Saturday, I generally go food shopping at our nearby Aldi market, and I have lately been allowing myself to buy something "different" to try. For example, this week was tortilla chips, habanero salsa and guacamole. This may not seems very exotic to the average being, but these items are ones we rarely buy. In addition, I always find something warm to cook for him that is timed at the perfect moment. Perfect meaning he can come home after a long day and the whole spread is waiting for him like magic. 

And it is magical because generally, he goes from 3:00 AM until 7:00 PM without a single meal. Quite unhealthy, but that is where he is at in his life unfortunately. However, not so unfortunate for me, I can turn an honest and bitter truth into a whimsy to look forward to. He never expects anything from me. In fact, there have been times where he comes home from a long shift and then insists on helping me cook. This-I think is simply ridiculous. I wouldn't even be able to function after a day like that. 

Tonight, I had hummus and warm bread ready with homemade egg pasta (a favorite Sunday dinner invented by my father.) And then I realized something funny. I was giving myself credit for this whimsy when in fact it was a whimsy I had grown up with but just forgotten. Every Sunday, my dad would cook this amazing meal when we were growing up. It was always tasty, it was something he had on his mind for an entire day and then he would work his magic at 5:00-6:00 at night. It wasn't expected and although routine, it was always whimsical because he never made the same dish. It was warm and filled with love and creativity. The whimsical traditions we are brought up with are a true testament to their whimsy when the traditioned is carried out without any realization or no how. So thank you to my dad and his mom for passing on a love of whimsical weekend cooking. I plan on carrying on the same tradition with my own children some day. Because conversation is always better next to a warm bowl of pasta, some bread and a passing around of smiles, simplicity and love. 

And I suppose thank you to my husband and his late night escapades for also allowing enough time for this whimsy to occur.