For God’s Sake, Stop It!

I know, I know. This image looks familiar. You’re tired of seeing snow on my blahg. I’m tired of seeing snow out my window. It just doesn’t stop. I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore! And this is coming from a dyed-in-the-wet-wool-socks snow lover. 

If I were a kid again and my father were shoveling the walk and snow-blowing the driveway while I stood in the doorway, a cup of hot chocolate warming my hands, instructing him in the proper method of snow removal, everything would be fine.

But now it’s me who has to clean that son-of-a-bitch-ing walkway, knock snow off the huge yew bushes with a too-short broom. And worst of all, carry bags of seeping, malodorous trash over snowbanks at least as tall as me–not very successfully, I might add. (You try getting the stains and stenches of soured milk, rendered duck fat, and a moldering chicken from the back of the fridge out of your only winter jacket, and then look me in the eye and say, “But it’s so pretty outside, David.”)

Snow, Snow, Snow

I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s pretty and cozy and safe. My detestation of manual labor and laundering has far outstripped my love of the white stuff. 

I never thought I’d say this, but I want heat. I want sticky sweat on the back of my neck. I want long–long as in vernal-equinox-long–days. Hell, I’d even cut the grass with the push lawnmower if it meant I didn’t have to go through another winter like this.

Of course, the biggest joke is that I’m trapped in this house and I can’t even make some of those incredible snowbound dishes like Blizzard Beef, Roast Pork in Milk, or Roast Chicken with Pancetta and Olives. No, Brilliant Me didn’t go shopping to prepare for the storm, because as of bedtime last night, nary a snowflake had fallen. So instead I’m stuck with Lean Cuisines, ancient frozen skinless chicken breasts, and a few boxes of pasta from Eataly–and no sauce. (Note to self: Tell The One what a genius idea it was to clean out the pantry, fridge, and freezer before we went away to Charleston for a long weekend.)

Oh, go ahead, ignore me. It’s fine. I’ll just sit here in the dark and bitch. Oh yeah, didn’t I mention the power went out again? At least I have Devil Cat to keep me warm.

About David Leite

I count myself lucky to have received three James Beard Awards for my writing as well as for Leite’s Culinaria. My work has also appeared in The New York Times, Martha Stewart Living, Saveur, Bon Appétit, Gourmet, Food & Wine, Yankee, Los Angeles Times, Chicago Tribune, The Washington Post, and more.

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  1. Agh. I am clueless about this snow stuff. Living in California as I do, I don’t ‘get it’ about life in winter. I’ve lived in four-season countries and it was ‘fun’ but now…why? I like temperate weather. For gods sake, my retirement plans are the Philippines. I also ‘get’ that people endure bad weather because MOVING simply doesn’t occur to them as an option…which is another mystery. But that moving option usually applies only in ones 20s or at retirement time.

    I’m sure your spring and fall are lovely.

    1. And I urge you to remain clueless, dontcallmeachef. The moving question did came up this year. Until now it was never a bother. But this has been a particularly prickly winter. And I guess my damn age is showing.

  2. Oh David, I’m struggling to sympathise right now. In fact I’m just struggling. It’s 1.23 am and I can’t sleep because it’s so hot – 80.6F to be exact. We’ve been cooking for well over a week – the temperature hasn’t dipped below the low 90’sF for the last 8 days. And I’m fed up with that!

    1. lambsearsandhoney, what i wouldn’t give for a little of that. “Little” being the operative word. I hope the weather breaks, and it’s crisp and cool for you. What have you been cooking for a week?