Sole Meuniere
*Recipe follows story
Sometimes I imagine that the best part about getting older is:
1. retiring to a beach or a community where there’s a pool
2. water aerobics
3. not giving a shit, as much, about how I look in a bathing suit when I stand up
The closest I get to this dream is when I visit my parents.
My mom is still working and my dad never goes to the pool, but they do live in a nice little development where the majority of the folk are retired.
I love retirees.
On my last trip, I took notice of the women in the pool.
While I snacked on dips and cheese, I watched women in their late 60’s and early 70’s straddle noodles and bounce up and down in the pool like beach balls on the verge of deflating.
There was huffing.
There was puffing.
There was talk about going home after water aerobics and needing a nap.
4. mid-day naps
While at the pool, I made a friend. Our friendship blossomed because I complimented this bodaciously blonde Southern belle on her bathing suit choice - and her fantastic pool hat. She had a sassy sense of style.
In return, she said: Well, before you said anything to me - I looked at you and thought she must be visiting. You look like you could be from Spain or Italy.
Imagine - before I open my mouth and Brooklyn punches you in the face - I looked as though I might have an elegant accent …
I appear to be classier and more refined than I really am …
Dreams do come true.
5. giant hats - like giant and big and loud - and so ugly they’re beautiful
She then proceeded to tell me that I look young, not a day over 25. You can’t quite possibly be 31, said with charm, and genteel grace.
She was doling out the compliments and I was in love.
I smiled. I tossed my ponytail. I told her all about key super foods and how I balance my love for vegetables, fruit, fish and pig fat in my diet.
She giggled.
She shared with me her love for Paula Deen.
She spoke of her love for travel.
She made me long to turn 65.
I glowed with hope and it wasn’t just my Hawaiian Tropic inspired tan.
6. cooking with as much butter and cream as I want without feeling as guilty or ashamed
7. using tablespoons to sample food
The prospect of retiring and getting older has become more and more appealing to me over the last year or two, although I have a solid 35 working years ahead of me.
My pool friend made me wonder about life and where it will go.
Now that she’s retired, she travels to Paris, with her husband, 2 times a year.
8. taking extended vacations
9. sharing my time as an old lady with a fine companion
I thought about a trip to Paris when I was 21 and one I took with Su and Nan 3 years ago, and I wondered when I’d go back. On my last trip I made Susana hold hands with me while we walked through the streets. I also made her try my fish dumplings in brown butter sauce, and I also might have made her drink too much wine.
I didn’t take advantage of her, I promise.
10. unlimited glasses of wine - any time of day
I took today off from work and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to make a special lunch. On this sunny, 80 degree Monday, I went to the fish market, with Sole Meuniere in mind. Fast and French I thought about Paris, poolside conversations and life’s possibilities.
Sole Meuniere
*for one
1 6 oz. filet of sole
2 T. butter
1/4 c. flour
Kosher salt & freshly ground pepper
1-2 tsp. lemon zest
Juice from 1/2 of a large lemon
2 tsp. flat leaf parsley (minced)
-Dredge sole in flour (seasoned with salt and pepper) and put aside
-Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat
-Once butter melts, place floured sole in the pan and cook for 2-3 minutes then turn over gently
-Add lemon zest and lemon juice and cook for 2 more minutes
-Serve sole, pour brown butter sauce atop, and garnish with parsley (and a pinch more of salt if need be)
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WARNING!
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other peoples’ gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickles for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
