Usually it’s a silly refrain that’s unrelated from anything in my life du moment. Snappy things. Like the old Enjoli and Oscar Mayer bologna commercials. Or every single jingle Barry Manilow ever wrote.
Sometimes, though, I find there’s an emotional frisson, as if my heart created a playlist for my neurons to thrum. Like the time I was tossed aside by The Man Who Proved Not to Be The One–that Brit shitwit who cheated on his not-yet-ex-girlfriend with me and then on me with his not-yet-ex-girlfriend’s best friend. For months I couldn’t get We Do Not Belong Together from “Sunday in the Park with George” out of my mental music queue.
Lately there’s a new song–well, okay, an old song that I just downloaded–that’s taken up residence in the glittery jukebox in my head. Maybe it’s the warm weather, or the five pounds I lost, or the new meds, but it’s a sassy little flirtation that sums up my feelings at the moment: “Come On-A My House” by the incomparable Rosemary Clooney. The One thinks it’s a dirty ditty. He thinks Rosemary offering all those apricots, figs, cakes, and Easter eggs really represents unfettered access to her lady parts. I think he thinks too much about lady parts.
I have a hunch the reason why the song’s number one with a bullet on my personal music chart has something to do with all the entertaining we’ve been doing. For the past few weeks I’ve wanted–just like Rosemary–to jam as many family and friends into our house and stuff them full. With everything. Things I’ve cooked a hundred times (like tagliatelle with leeks and shrimp and lemon curd cake) as well as things I’ve yet to try (turducken and whole roast pig, anyone?). I want to hear great roils of laughter rising up and curling over themselves in the corners of the ceiling. I want to serve handsome platters of grilled meats, bowls of potato salad of every imaginable sort, and tray after tray of sweets. I want to pour wine from enormous carafes held high above my guests’ glasses while tossing my head back in gut-shaking guffaws at the latest lewd joke and never spill a drop. And more than anything I want everyone to bang on the tables and whistle until the room grows very quiet, which is The One’s cue to turn down the lights and shine my iPhone’s flashlight app on me as I sing a few ballads from the ’40s and ’50s, including our song, When I Fall in Love. (Now that I think of it, maybe what I really want is to be a contract player in an old MGM movie.)
Clearly, I’m not alone. Last weekend Kate Morgan Jackson of Framed Cooks invited The One, me, and several other guests over for a languorously long day of food, wine…and song. From her iPod–the one on her sideboard, not in her head–blared 103 songs, all gastronomically related. It started with Red Solo Cup and a chicken-green bean salad for lunch on the patio; transitioned to Hungry Like a Wolf and Cornbread, Molasses and Sassafras Tea for mid-afternoon fortifications in the kitchen; segued to Everyone Eats When They Come to My House underscoring lobster macaroni and cheese in the dining room; and ended up with The Candy Man and dessert in the family room. After more than six hours of music, what didn’t I hear? That’s right. My darling Rosemary’s call for guests. I sent Kate the song, this coquette that has been tickling my medulla oblongata for weeks, as an invitation to come on-a our house. I wonder what she’ll send as an RSVP?
[Editor’s Note: Okay. ‘fess up. What music do you use to feed your food mood? It can be a particular song or a general genre. We’re just curious.]
1. I wanna come to that dinner party! We have to have music at dinner.
2. When our five–yes–five boys were growing up, we always had music for dinner with dancing after while said sons were doing dishes.
3. This past Christmas in Puerto Rico, we had roast pig cooked on a gate it was wired to and turned once an hour by several hefty Coasties (including son # 5).
4. Made a turducken once with three different stuffings. Aforementioned sons called it Frankenturkey, but enthusiastically scarfed down every scrap.
5. I’ve been teaching one of our parrots to whistle the Bridge on the River Quai song. Suffice to say, that is all I’m getting on the brain iPad.
1. Come on along!
2. Dinner and dancing. Boy, you have us beat.
3. I was in Puerto Rico in April. Had excellent coffee and léchon.
4. Frankenturkey! Love it.
5. You do mean Colonel Bogey’s March, right?
Yes! Thank you, Col. Bogey’s March. Sux getting old! The diligent parrot is still working on it and it’s my morning march too. I feel like it would work so much better with a swagger stick. Lol. We loved the Puerto Rican coffee so much that #5 (the Coastie) sends me shipments of coffee and the natural sugar I got used to there. I’m enjoying it this morning…
Funny, The One and I loved the coffee in Puerto Rico.
Great piece of writing, David!
“I want to hear great roils of laughter rising up and curling over themselves in the corners of the ceiling” is pure poetry.
“Hungry Woman” is my new favorite song, and loved all the links in the comments.
Danke, Chronis. Perhaps we need to create a playlist for our Second Annual Mount Desert Island Frolic?
I recognized Rosemary right away. Wouldn’t you love for George to show up for dinner? Hubba-hubba! Thank goodness we now can Google a bit of lyrics & “name that tune.” I do that often as those old commercial jingles from way back pop into my head often – but don’t ask me the name of the movie I just watched. Selective memory can be frustrating.
“My baloney (bologna) has a first name…” lol
Hey Martha, it is so great we can look up al those songs and lyrics. I have a great time just humming along as if it were 1966.