Love and Zesters

Disclaimer: I just finished midterms and am a little zapped. That is why I can write about a zester and make it sappy.

A few nights ago, I was using a potato peeler and a knife to get zest from an orange and a lemon. It was a lot better than the cheese grater I usually use, believe it or not.  

As I sat at the table chopping my orange and lemon peels I talked to myself about how deprived I was as a self-respecting lemon chicken and orange roll lover. So many of my favorite foods need zest. So many of my favorite chefs use zesters. The Barefoot Contessa, several Iron Chefs and my Aunt Sandi were mentioned by name. I was channeling my inner Lorelai Gilmore as I monologued into the early hours of the morning. “Aunt Sandi thinks every one should have a zester.” I told the chopping board that I had made enough yummy food to warrant owning a zester. After a few more minutes of happily talking away, I dumped the zest in my kitchen aide, baked my muffins and then happily forgot about my fresh zest, the Contessa, and zesters.

A few days later, I was putting clean dishes away when my heart stopped for just a moment. I saw an OXO zester stuffed right next to my whisks and wooden spoon. Brandon bought me a zester. While he was studying for a very important exam on that late, late night when I was making orange and lemon poppyseed muffins, he was also listening to me talk about zesters and all the important people who had them. Without a word then or the next few days, Brandon bought a zester and waited for me to lay my eyes on it.

This little thing, and other little loves like it are what marriage is all about. It’s about the surprises and about paying attention, even when attention doesn’t need to be paid. And not being annoyed by 1:00 AM zester monologues. 

I married a good one. And now I have a dang good zester.