Today I’m at B & K’s wedding, where rumor had it they would be serving (hallelujah!) breakfast for dinner.
I almost didn’t come. I almost threw a hissy fit and insisted that I have the power to make my own choices about my time, and told my husband that while I valued B & K’s friendship and feel so excited about their union, B is really his friend, and I had every right to stay home in Seattle and sleep my way out of my overbusy spring. In fact, I did throw that fit – sort of, only quietly over email, to my girlfriends.
Then, just as I’d settled down to muster up the courage to tell my husband I didn’t want to go, I got an email from him, sent originally to the groom’s sister to be read as part of the wedding ceremony. Like the most tender moments of any wedding ceremony between two people whose lives are meant to go together, it reminded me that I married him because, among other things, he always makes time for me.
He wrote from LAX, exhausted from a redeye from Hawaii and probably pretty stinky, which is exactly how the groom would have liked it:
Feeling this busy reminds me that time is the most valuable thing any of us have. It is always in short supply, and we are always trying to get more out of it– as if minutes and hours could be manipulated and stretched into longer bits and chunks just by willing it so. And yet the moments we get with our friends always seem compressed, not expanded. For B and K, idle times are rare, but as a couple they continually find time for each other, for their families, and for their friends. Their happiness arises from making time for each other and the people around them, no matter how busy they are.
This, in my mind, is what it’s all about. A marriage vow says “I will never be too busy. I will make time for you. I will always make time for you.” In fact, that’s the same reason the rest of us show up for the wedding. Sure, we’re celebrating, but we too are making time and promising to keep making it. If we have any wisdom, we use our short supply of time on the people we love. How else could we spend it?
It’s as if he knew that I’d been sitting at that very moment on the couch with my knees pulled up to my chest defensively, trying to decide whether skipping what promises to be a memorable weekend would cast a dark shadow over my relationship with B and K. He’s right: there is no better way for me to spend my time. I think I’ll be very, very glad I went.
Here’s a recipe that hardly takes any time at all.
Recipe for Rhubarb Clafoutis
Recipe 97 of 365
A clafoutis (pronounced kla-foo-tee, sometimes spelled clafouti) is a really simple, traditional French dessert, made by pouring a quick batter made with eggs, cream, and sugar over fruit, typically cherries, apples, or pears. It’s usually served family style, but I find that when I make a whole one, I can’t stop eating it, so I made individual servings, which worked perfectly for me – just double the recipe for a larger crowd. Some recipes call for flour, but this one doesn’t, it’s more custardy and Passover-friendly, for my mumzie. And it takes about ten minutes to make, so preheat the oven before you do anything.
TIME: 10 minutes prep, plus 25 minutes to bake
MAKES: 4 servings
Butter for greasing the ramekins
1 cup chopped rhubarb (from about 3 thin (12”) stalks, halved lengthwise and cut into 1/2” chunks)
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1 large egg
1/2 cup milk (I used whole, but skim or cream would also work)
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.
Grease four ovenproof 1/2 cup ramekins or crème brulee dishes with the butter. Toss the rhubarb with 2 tablespoons of the sugar, and divide the rhubarb evenly between the four ramekins. Place the ramekins on the baking sheet.
In a small mixing bowl, whisk 1/4 cup sugar with the egg until thick but not yet lightened in color. Add the remaining ingredients, whisk to blend, and pour an equal amount of the batter into each of the ramekins, so that the liquid comes up almost to the top of the rhubarb but doesn’t quite cover it.
Bake the clafoutis (the baking sheet should make it easier to take them out of the oven) on the top rack, for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the custard is barely set. Cool for ten minutes, and serve warm, garnished with whipped cream or confectioners’ sugar, if desired.