montana

Our drive to Montana went something like this:

Me: I'm hungry.
S: Well, there are lots of restaurants here. Pick one and stop at it.
[45 minutes pass]
Me: I'm hungry.
S: Well, there are lots of restaurants here. Pick one and stop at it.
[2 hours pass]
Me: I'm hungry.
S: Well, there are lots of restaurants here. Pick one and stop at it.
Me: [Sigh] What is P@nd@ Express?
S: Crappy greasy fake Chinese food.
Me: Oh. Can you hand me those graham crackers?

I just cannot even bring myself to eat at fast food restaurants anymore. I am spoiled by Ethiopian and Thai and the just generally delicious combinations of food in this foodie town.

...

Every place I go, I want to move there. I loved the hills of Montana, and the barrenness, and the long winding valleys. I loved the lonely houses tucked back in the hills, and the self-sufficiency of the tiny towns. If I had a thousand lifetimes, I would spend each of them in a different part of the world, living every kind of life imaginable.

...

On Monday, I found myself standing at a table, making ham buns. (I don't eat ham.)

"Are you having ham buns at the wedding?" I asked J., the day before. "I don't think it would be a real Dutch wedding without ham buns."

"No," she said, "but that is a great idea. I was just thinking that we need some sort of snack after pictures and before the wedding."

So J. and J. came back from the hairdresser in the morning with bags of square white buns (I sent specific instructions on the appearance the buns should have in order to be true ham buns), and while the wedding party was off being photographed, I stood in the reception hall, dancing to Wilbur's music, buttering 36 buns and filling them with ham/turkey/salami and four kinds of cheese. (I made the turkey ones first so the ham and salami would not contaminate them.)

I have a new appreciation for the women who make all the ham buns at every Dutch wedding and funeral. It's a lot of work.