Here I am, in the bustling, mile-high metropolis of Denver. Woo, Denver! Unfortunately I'm waiting out a five-hour layover in the airport. However, aside from the kitschy brewery my cousin and I sampled last week, I don't think I'm missing much. Sorry to say it Denver, but despite your extensive and delicious varieties of beer, you are not the most happening city in the West. Fortunately for my cousin and I, our vacation would take us (three) bus rides away from this city, to the beautiful town of Crested Butte, Colorado. Crested Butte--town of stoners, coffee shops, and twenty(/thirty)-somethings with college degrees and no imminent plans to use them.
This vacation was everything I needed. I ate well, I drank well, and I got to spend time with a few people I really care about (and am starting to really care about). Evan, who just HAPPENED to be visiting family in Colorado the same week, joined my family for our first night at the cabin. After suggesting (pleading?) for him to stay the night, Evan finally succumbed. It was a magical first evening in the mountains. Evan arrived at the cabin bearing gifts (locally-brewed beer!) which thrilled my parents to no end. After happy hour on the porch spent watching the sunset, we all went out for Mexican at our favorite neighborhood spot. The food was surprisingly mediocre. The company was unsurprisingly brilliant.
Evan had to leave early the next morning (the Navy has rules?), but the night was well worth the difficult goodbye in the morning. We even DTR'd that night in bed (for those of you who haven't used this vital acronym to ease the "What are we?!?!" angst, DTR=Define The Relationship.) I can't say with much certainty the outcome of the conversation (...really high altitude, all that Sunshine Wheat going to my head...) but I think we may have agreed not to see other people. At least until I leave for the motherland? Are we idiots? To be determined. All I can say is this: How did anyone ever sustain a long-distance relationship before sexting?!
After Evan's departure, it was simply a matter of surviving the rest of the week in a very small, very remote cabin with my parents. Fortunately for everyone involved, my cousin was there and made the week immensely pleasurable. She encouraged me to hike, I encouraged her to drink, and we encouraged each other to eat.
The first night after Evan left, I knew the perfect activity to cheer me up. Cooking with tons of pasta and cheese! For as long as I can remember, I've been making lasagna with my aunt at the cabin. This year it was time for me to go it alone. I relished every second of cooking and every ounce of pride in knowing I could perform this labor of love for my family without my aunt's guidance. The record weight of our past lasagnas was about 18 pounds, though this year's epic creation might have tipped the scale closer to 20. I started by simmering onions, mushrooms, and garlic in olive oil and salt, then gradually added whole stewed tomatoes and a small can of tomato paste. Once seasoned and ready, I layered the sauce with cooked lasagna noodles, ricotta cheese mixture (16 oz. ricotta, 1 cup mozzarella, 1 egg, salt, pepper, oregano), fresh mozzarella, provolone, spinach, sliced black olives, and Parmesan cheese. There was no meat in this bad boy, but rest assured there was enough cheese to result in at least two subsequent days of heartburn.
And now my lovely vacation is coming to an end, but I can't say I'm totally disappointed because...Evan is coming to visit tomorrow!
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