Raw cuisine

I had plans for Valentine’s Day, but I had to change them.

Valentine’s Day is a date that singles, separated and stranded people in general love to tease. To begin with, because of its scandalously marketing origins: publicist João Agripino Doria, father of the former governor of São Paulo, invented this story in 1949 to help commerce in June, then a weak month for shopkeepers.

It’s a shameless cheesy thing, this Valentine’s Day thing. Strawberries and flowers pouring out of every orifice, heart-shaped candies, chocolate waterfalls and waterfalls of sparkling candy.

The night of June 12 is for queuing outside the motel, Paris 6, Coco Bambu and Era Uma Vez um Chalezinho, where couples voluntarily skin their bank accounts to eat fondue.

Fondue, here’s something I miss. It’s often expensive and bad, but it can also be good and even more expensive — if you buy the cheeses that no restaurant uses. And it doesn’t even have to be a romantic ritual: fondue was born as a community meal for peasants to enjoy old cheese.

This spirit of camaraderie gets a little complicated in times of a pandemic. Sticking your fork in the bubbly pan is something you should only do with people who already share your saliva in more lewd situations.

What is left for the single then? Spending 80 contos on a cheap fondue box to eat it alone, sadly, by the light of an LED lamp and the sound of Reginaldo Rossi? No, better abstain from fondue.

With no fondue, no girlfriend, no regrets, I had plans for Valentine’s Day.

I was planning an absolutely normal Sunday with my 9 year old son. Home programming, movie on TV and board games, without facing the jungle of lovers in restaurants. But then Covid came, and I had to isolate myself. The virus will be my date this June 12th.

I had two years and three months of invincibility, I even began to suspect that I was somehow special. Guess what: I’m not. Here I am, with my body given over to illness, which punishes me in bed as few have done before.

Jokes aside, I developed mild symptoms, thanks to the three shots of vaccine.

The coronavirus is not the ideal date – on the contrary, the expression “better alone than poorly accompanied” fits perfectly. Chasing him out of my life is not an option, unfortunately.

The solution is to wait for him to leave and, in the meantime, common sense dictates respecting him. More: it is necessary to negotiate a possible coexistence with the intruder. Considering he’s always right.

The virus has strictly vetoed the wine I intended to drink this weekend. Our dinners will be water-based, lots of water.

Feverish, I tried to convince him that fondue would be a good idea, after all, I have some soft cheeses in the fridge. But the virus brought me back to my senses. No fondue. He demanded soup. Soup the virus will have.

(Follow and like Cozinha Bruta on social networks. Instagram It’s from twitter.)

LINK PRESENT: Did you like this text? Subscriber can release five free accesses of any link per day. Just click the blue F below.

Leave a Reply