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Adaptable Metaphors
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Yesterday my mother, Michael, and I went to lunch, and we ordered A, M, R, and Y.  We ended up with A, N, S, and Z, and though we ended up having to send A back because it was undercooked, we ate the other dishes, not truly complaining that we didn't have what we ordered--though I kept longingly waiting for Y to show up.  I had given up on Y by the time the coffee arrived, two thirds of the coffee order cold, one third (mine) warm--but maybe next time I'll have Y and like it.

Then Michael and I came home, and the very interesting roast idea he'd had as well as the comfit onions were overdone.  Well, that's being generous about the onions--they'd turned into little skins full of nothing.  So we'd expected succulence and ended up with carbon.

The ordering and cooking experiences of yesterday reminded me of just about everything.  You intend for one thing and another comes back.  You put your best out there, and it burns up before you can even experience it.  Or maybe it wasn't your best and you just thought it was--the next time, the burned crispy onion smell still in your nose, you try it again and it works.

So here's the metaphor I came to:  we have to do a lot of ordering and cooking to figure it out.  And then it's all in the adaptation.  We enjoyed the strange dishes that showed up at the table, not understanding what was coming or when but happy that it was food.  Michael pulled apart the roast, finding the small bit that was still juicy and made a sandwich. 

It's the same as the saying about lemons and lemonade--and it works with small plates and it works with roast.  It's an adaptable metaphor, and that's a good thing.

Jessica