Laziness Is Next To Godliness

I want to write something about luck and laziness and the openness to possibility that comes with true sloth.

Organized people never get the satisfaction of lying on the couch reading, then wanting to write something and just reaching down into the couch cushions and finding a pen right there. Hurrah! It’s rare, but all the more wonderful for that.

They also don’t get to make the following discoveries:

Last weekend I threw out some garam masala that had been stored in a Tupperware for a few years. I washed the Tupperware, but not vigorously. A yellow tinge and scent of Indian spice clings to it. This morning, I put my oatmeal in it and took it to work. And so I discovered the complicated deliciousness of steelcut oatmeal with raisins, dried apples, almonds and a hint of garam masala.

Last month we visited friends. Their wonderfully civilized custom is he cooks, she cleans up the next morning. Or afternoon. For dinner one night he cooked an amazing couscous with fresh mint and lot of other stuff. The next morning I sliced up an apple for Enzo. I could have washed the knife and cutting board first. But I didn’t, and that’s how I discovered that apples with a touch of mint—just what was left on the knife and cutting board--are delicious together.

A couple of nights ago, Enzo and I were cooking together. He still sucks at it, but we both enjoy it. And it’s the only interest we share. I gave him a cooked Japanese sweet potato to hack at, but of course he wanted what I was hacking at: a red bell pepper. So I handed one over, partly cut, seeds still inside.

I was making fried sweet potatoes, which are pretty much a dessert. I invented this dish in my mind a long time ago, and finally I decided to cook it. We usually have cooked sweet potatoes on hand in the winter: two and a half hours in the slow cooker on low—no water, just wash them, put them in wet, and that’s plenty of moisture. Anyway, I sliced some cold cooked sweet potatoes, sauted them in a lot of butter, sprinkled them with salt and the spiced sugar that I use for toast. (Sugar, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, ginger, cardamom—your basic fall baking spices.) Oh, and I put some walnuts in there too.

But back to Enzo and our discovery. Of course when he saw me sprinkling the spiced sugar from a little shaker thing, he wanted it. So I gave it to him, and he shook and shook and shook the spiced sugar into and around and on the red bell pepper. Then he mashed it in. I let him do it---let him complete the mess to its fullest, and when the sugar was gone that was the end of that project.

We ate dinner. The sweet potatoes were great—buttery crisp caramelized sugar on the outside, soft chestnut-like savory-sweet on the inside. I think blue cheese would have been good with that, now that I think about it.

We cleaned up. I cleaned up. Of course the red pepper was a mess, but I’m not about to throw away food because it’s been mashed around a bit. I rinsed the sugar-spice off and sliced it lengthwise for my lunch the next day. And it was wonderful—just a little sweeter than your usual bell pepper, still crisp, with a hint of winter spices.

Besides the luck of these combinations, what I learned from all this is that subtly isn’t all bad. My general philosophy is More is Better, and I’m not saying that’s wrong, God forbid. But it turns out that a tiny hint of garam masala is all you really want in your oatmeal. A whiff of leftover mint is enough for a fresh crisp apple. A remembrance of sugar and spice is all a red bell pepper needs.

As my yoga teacher used to say, back when I went to yoga: Do Less. I can only Do Less by accident, it seems. But just being open to accident is something. It’s a start. Oh happy Chance—my personal domestic goddess.