The Good People of the World

false assumptions, missed connections, and the reliability of owls and summer tomatoes

“You look like somebody who knows how to fold a fitted sheet.”

I am walking down a cobblestone street with J in the hipster part of our neighborhood wearing my favorite blue dress, which looks vaguely Greek, and a beautiful pair of chunky blue earrings made by a local artist who looks great in overalls. It’s our 27th wedding anniversary, we’ve just had a nice dinner, it’s a beautiful summer night, and we are trolling for ice cream.

I thought I looked like a lot of things that night — happy, tanned as if I’d just returned from vacation, maybe even a little exotic in that dress and artsy-adjacent in those earrings — so I was kind of surprised when some big guy with a beard walking with his friends chose to say that to me as he passed by.

I am not proud of this.

The funny thing is, I don’t know how to fold a fitted sheet and non-fitted sheets give me trouble too. In fact, I either choose not to or can’t do most housekeepy sorts of things, other than cooking and laundry - but don’t ask me to neatly fold it. My reluctance is a combination of carefree laziness and feminist rebellion, stemming from downshifting my career in favor of family life.

I make myself vulnerable to you here and admit that this has caused some marital strife over the years. When extremely tolerant J bridles at my messiness, my response is usually a line I learned early on from a long-married friend:

“The other person is not you.”

(If you think about it, that’s brilliant. How do you come back from that?)

Though Beard Boy was probably a Millennial and clearly I was giving off PTA Mom vibes (full disclosure: I was a PTA mom. In a leadership role. I even won an award.), my true essence is In-Your-Face Jersey Girl, so I challenged him.

“That’s not at all true,” I sputtered, while J cackled. “What makes you think so?” He stopped for a second to acknowledge me, but then kept on walking and laughing.

An aside here to reconcile myself to the fact that, after nearly 30 years in Seattle I have lost my East Coast/Jersey Shore edge. Some years ago, I took my daughters back East to tour colleges and attend a wedding. They were excited to see me in my element. As we waited in a long airport car rental line, there was an altercation. Apparently someone had jumped the queue and a man in line was not happy. He turned to me, spoiling for a fight and seeking an ally. “He cut in front of you,” he said, ready to defend my honor. My girls reared up in anticipation, thinking it was their chance to see me “go all Jersey.”

Yes, Snookie was my family nickname for a while.

“It’s fine,” I said tepidly, like the polite Seattleite I had become, and I waited my turn.

They lost some admiration for me that day.

I was still thinking about the exchange days later, when J and I were on a hike.

I fantasized about tracking down Beard Boy to delve further into his motivation. Did his friends put him up to it? Did he have a comment for other passersby? Or was he just so struck by my Rule-Following (dare I say Karen) Woman of a Certain Age look that he felt compelled to speak?

“You’re really fixated on this,” remarked J.

We saw an owl on that hike, for the second time in a week.

The thing is, I love a good quest. In fact, one of my favorite books is The Telling Room: A Tale of Love, Betrayal, Revenge, and the World’s Greatest Piece of Cheese.

Seattle used to have an alternative weekly paper called the Stranger, with a “missed connections” column that was fun to read.* I imagined what sort of ad I could have posted.

“Old Ballard, August 4. You: Insouciant Lumberjack walking with friends, apparently struck by my look of practiced efficiency. You told me I looked like I knew how to fold fitted sheets. Me: Devil in a Blue Dress, enjoying a romantic evening with my partner. You don’t know how wrong you are. Let’s meet and transcend stereotypes.

*I know they exist on Craig’s List, but I just Googled it and discovered that Missed Connections is a thing on Instagram now. And also that some form of Missed Connection notices have existed since 1748.

I played the scenario out in my head, imaging the article I could publish after finding Beard Boy and clearing up his misconception. He, and the rest of the world would know that, although I may not look like it, I am somebody who is fascinated by other people and will go to some lengths to find out what makes them tick.

You know this. Remember Jack from Beverly Hills?

We saw Henry the VI, Part 1. It was very good.

In an effort to mix it up a little, J and I decided to attend a Shakespeare in the Park performance on a Sunday night.

Come to think of it, that’s the kind of thing someone who knows how to fold a fitted sheet would probably do.

Leaning into that persona, I decided we needed an elegant picnic that would make the most of our summer produce. So I put on the audiobook of South Wind Through the Kitchen: the best of Elizabeth David and I got to work.

The Best Thing I Cooked This Week

Alison Roman’s Tomato Tart from Sweet Enough (instructions condensed by me. Buy the book. Follow her on Substack. Totally worth it.)

Alison Roman

is a funny contradiction of extremely put together and precise and also unabashedly haphazard and she doesn’t apologize for any of it. Maybe that’s why I like her so much. You can’t go wrong with her recipes, many of which have gone viral. This one is a definite keeper.

Ingredients: For the crust - 6T unsalted butter; 1 cup all-purpose flour; 1/4 cup medium-grind cornmeal; 1 cup grated parmesan cheese; 1 1/2 t kosher salt; 1 t sugar; freshly ground black pepper.

For the tart - 2 lbs thinly sliced small tomatoes (I used a mix of cherry and regular tomatoes and it was fine); 2-4 thinly sliced garlic cloves; kosher salt and ground black pepper + crushed red pepper flakes; 2 T capers (optional. I used them and they were good); 2 T olive oil, plus more for dribbling; 1 T vinegar (I used sherry vinegar); herbs for serving (I used fresh basil)

1. Preheat oven to 375 F.

2. Melt butter in a small pot for 3-5 min, scraping up brown bits.

3. In a medium bowl, mix flour, cornmeal, parmesan, salt, and sugar. Add 2 T water, plenty of black pepper and pour the butter over. Using your hands, mix well. The dough will be sticky.

4. Press dough evenly into a 9-inch tart pan (don’t ignore the sides) and prick all over with a fork.

5. Bake until golden brown - 20-25 minutes.

6. Set crust aside and leave the oven on (you can make crust in advance, wrap and store at room temperature.

7. Assemble the tart: arrange the tomato and garlic slices into the tart shell in an even layer, seasoning with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes as you go. Top with capers if using and drizzle 2T of olive oil Season again with salt and pepper.

8. Place tart pan on a sheet pan. Bake until tomatoes are jammy and starting to brown and caramelize on top — 55-60 minutes.

9. Remove from oven, splash with vinegar and another drizzle of olive oil and let cook slightly before slicing. Optional - serve with grated parmesan (I didn’t think it needed this) and fresh herbs (I used basil).

As always, please like, share, comment, like good people I know you are.

In case you didn’t catch it, title inspired by a line from this Sheryl Crow song. I don’t wash my car very often either.