'There are far worse foods to be thinking about than gnocchi the moment right before a car crash. Far worse pastas to be rattling around in your head when your husband tells you he hooked up with a stranger from the gym the previous week.'
Photo: Don Mason/Getty Images The first thing I ate in 2020 was a multigrain bagel with cream cheese from Dunkin’ Donuts at 6:15 a.m. The bland mass of bread food was especially insulting because I was at JFK, a few miles from New York City, where I’d just spent New Year’s weekend eating real bagels with friends before flying back to Los Angeles. My breakfast was a choice of circumstance, or at least that’s what I told myself then.
My husband and I didn’t have a perfect marriage, but like everyone in any marriage ever, I thought it was good enough. Dayenu. So what if he liked 14-hour black-and-white Polish film anthologies and I liked watching Love Island on my laptop in the bathroom — it was our differences that made us stronger or whatever. We rubbed off on each other: Like a freshman film-studies major, I got really into Eric Rohmer. He binged Nailed It and Great British Bake Off with me before bed.
We picked up a baguette and a triangle of brie and a pack of salami and stuffed it in our mouths while we walked the trail. The whole way up, he was spouting some nonsense about how prospectors buried treasure on these trails during the Gold Rush because it was too heavy to carry back with them.
At some point during our time in Los Angeles, my husband became a super-fit guy. Like one of those guys you drive past in West Hollywood with their cinched waists and tight muscle tees and think, Wannabe actor. He had never been fat per se, just sort of dad-bod–ish — I liked to say “accessible” — when we first moved out. He joined a gym and started lifting weights. He walked everywhere because he was unemployed and hated L.A. driving culture.
Gnocchi was what I was thinking about right before my life blew up. Specifically, butternut-squash gnocchi with brown butter and an apple balsamic reduction. It was the night before New Year’s Eve, and I was on my laptop already looking at the menu of the fancy Italian restaurant we were going to that night. A reservation my husband had actually booked for us as my holiday present. It was weird.
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