I bought a bamboo steamer yesterday. I had a lovely, generous gift certificate to Williams Sonoma (thanks Ellie). I think I was a little overwhelmed, because I didn’t know what to get, I wandered around in a daze, but I saw this and thought Malcolm would like it, because he likes steamed dumplings. Today, in between being really fun, sorta sucked. We went to the creek, that was fun. And then Malcolm threw furniture around and told me he didn’t like me, because I said he couldn’t watch TV or buy candy. It was horrible. I thought he’d want to help me make dumpling dough, but he didn’t really (he’s a 9 year old boy). But I made dumpling dough. I made a filling of roasted grated beets and black beans, and sautéed beet greens, and pine nuts, and fresh basil and cilantro and lime. I had a lot of fun doing it, and I thought Malcolm would like all these things. I made the dumplings. I steamed them. I dropped the whole mother flippin thing on the way out the door. I ruined all the dumplings, I broke my brand new dumpling steamer. I broke the plate I was going to put the dumplings on in a fit of rage. I sat on the ground cursing. The boys ate rice and dumpling-dipping sauce, and they were happy. But I was a ridiculous mess, and I ruined dinner because, although I’d already had my tantrum-moment, I couldn’t let it go. Shit. Then I pretended to put laundry away, but I lay on the bed crying. Malcolm came up and gave me a hug. We stuck together because it’s so goddamn hot. He lay next to me, facing the window, and we just … were quiet for a little while. And I feel a million times better. Poor little dumplings. I was looking forward to telling you about them. I’m sorry!
Here’s Etta James with All I Could Do Was Cry.