Tomorrow: An old-fashioned recipe travels well.

I have a new friend. I’ve never met her.
She used to call me about restaurants when I was at The Advertiser. Then, one day — I still don’t know where she got my cell phone number — she called me at home with another restaurant question.
Somehow, we digressed into other topics and discovered we were twins.
Interest twins. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.
She e-mailed me the list of movies she’s Netflixed and it exactly matches mine.
We adore the same romance author, Georgette Heyer, and scorn most of the others. We’re ecstatic that they’re bringing out Heyer’s entire oeuvre in paperback this year.
On TV, we love anything chef and will happily watch reruns for hours.
We order the same books at the library and keep track of when our favorite authors are going to release a new volume. (I’m No. 80-something on the list to get Lee Child’s new one.)
We spend our off hours researching where and what to eat, deciding where to go first, eating, talking about eating, Web-crawling to find out more about the foods, chefs and restaurants in which we’re interested. Last week, we were competing to see who would get to the new food hall at Shirokiya. I won!
I’ve spent 40 years doing research for a living and she runs rings around me. Every day, I get an email that whets may appetite. Yesterday it was, “have you had Fairy Cakes yet?” Just the name was enough. Then she told me the whole history of this confection in its native England.
I’ve been ill lately and my cure may involve a change of diet (AAAAAAAAGHHHH!!!). When I told her about my ailment, she knew all about it. Send me the Web links almost before my e-mail was labeling my note “sent.”
Our views on Annoying Things We Would Ban If We Were Queen exactly match, though she’s a bit more hellish on noise than I am (“Glee” gives her a headache).
We both lived in Seattle for many years and recall many of the same restaurants, coffee shops, candy stores and such — she keeps coming up with the names of dishes I used to savor but that I haven’t thought about in years.
We would, without question, ban most technology except when we find it useful. We HATE, LOATH AND SCORN being “reachable.” We like good books, quiet libraries, English movies, squishy sofas and TO BE LEFT ALONE! Until dinner time. We know we are a dying breed. Luddites. But we do not intend to go gentle. We WILL grumble. And enjoy ourselves immensely the while.
Because she is primary caretaker for her ailing husband, and a bit disabled herself, she has to pick her targets carefully. The other night she went to Eat the Street (the monthly festival celebrating lunchwagons) and brought back a detailed report on Jamaican Irie Jerk, a food truck I’ve long meant to visit.
(What is it about me and food trucks? I drive by, note an interesting truck, realize the time isn’t right or I’m not hungry or I haven’t got any cash or it’s hot and there’s no place to park and then, the next thing, they’re gone. Food trucks are strike-while-the-iron-is-hot prey and I’m a poor hunter.
I’m the only human left in Honolulu who hasn’t been to the EatGogi Korean taco truck and now it seems to have moved or gone out of business (see EatGogi.com or @EatGogi on twitter; no recent postings).
Eat the Street would be a perfect event for me, but have I hauled my it’s-4 o’clock-and-I’m-in-my-nightie butt out to it yet? A’ole!
I wish for you a friend like my new friend: Someone who says, over and over, “OMG, that’s me, too! I think that, too! I do that, too! That’s my favorite, too!” It makes you feel not so alone, not so odd. And the food talk is the most fun you can have without a plate in front of you!

 

Tomorrow: An old-fashioned recipe travels well.