The pleasantness of surprise

"Isn't it wonderful," he marveled with that twinkle in his eye, "that every time we make love, it's different? Sometimes quick, sometimes slow, sweaty and cool, furious and calm. Never the same way twice, but always amazing. Don't you agree?"

She returned his glance with a sly smile and arched eyebrows. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "In fact, I think there's a good case to be made for sameness, a sort of McDonald's approach to marital bliss, if you will. Imagine knowing exactly what to expect--the same every time!" She nuzzled in, close to his ear. "Think of it, standardized lovemaking, no surprises, either unpleasant or pleasant. Wouldn't that be reassuring!"

He smiled and nuzzled back, "Ah, so you agree."

*****

With the gift of a few quiet hours today thanks to my Darling Husband, I took my time in the market, allowing myself to look at items that don't usually land in my cart. An intent-looking fellow crossed my path, reached in to a familiar spot on the shelf, and took a can, only glancing at the label long enough to make sure he got the right thing--the thing that he presumably always buys. I looked at my usual canned tomatoes, and opted instead for the small (and BPA-free) aseptic box of tomatoes. Yes, I will use these in tonight's spaghetti sauce, along with a good number of the tomatoes from the farm, where summer has finally taken hold.

At home, the sauce does look different; the sausage and onion are the same, but they are joined by sweet peppers and carrots and lovely heirloom tomatoes, yellow, black and green. The boys note the difference in appearance right away, but the first taste wins them over. "It's different," mumbles Number One, with his mouth full. Little One finishes his sentence with a slurp: "But really good."

*****

Little One has the bright idea of making our own sorbet from some roadside blackberries. I recall a chapter in The Curious Cook by Harold Magee where he discusses ratios of fruit to sugar and water in terms of flavor and scoopability, so we pull it off the shelf. I wend my way through the passages preceding the recipe tables, and smile to myself when I reach the part where his mathematical formulae fall victim to the vagaries of fruit's natural sugar content, which depends on many factors, many of which are unknown and certainly beyond the control of the casual cook.

Yes, we use recipes to provide ourselves with predictable results. But when we always reach for the same package, we deprive ourselves of the unpredictable and pleasant surprises that nature willingly gives us. We need to find the freedom within ourselves to diverge from our usual paths. Ah, but you say, for things like baking, we need to follow the recipe exactly. To which I say piffle, remembering the sweltering weekend when the wedding cake would not rise even though the math said it should. Nature, like the love of a good woman, will not be made predictable. Isn't it wonderful?