I’ve always admired dancers. Not just for their grace, but for their lithe, lean bodies — stretching, leaping, and sculpting themselves into willowy figures.
Mine, however, seems more amenable to sitting.
Hips that endure endless hours at a desk. (Writing and various secretarial jobs come to mind.) Stamina able to withstand the rigors of a steering wheel. (Which reminds me… I have about 10 years’ worth of trucking adventures languishing in a file… was thinking of publishing excerpts here in an upcoming series?)
Sturdiness borne from settling into “me” — with no regrets. Or ballerina slippers.
Willowy I’m not, but I can drive (or sit) 12 hours at a time without flinching. Not that I didn’t give dancing a go in my younger years.
For anyone old enough to remember Lawrence Welk, I used to emulate “Bobby & Barbara.” (They were “the” dancers before Barbara’s replacement, Cissy.) After watching them glide across the dance floor, I’d bust a few moves and convince my sister that it was perfectly fine to recreate a few aerials (with Mom & Dad’s double bed serving as a safety net in case I missed…)
Body-shape notwithstanding, this particular recipe prompted an outright Fred & Ginger fest in my kitchen. I started tap-enade dancing after one bite!
Although a warm baguette would have been optimal — or pita chips — Club crackers sufficed. Then, I began searching for the perfect “dance” partner…
And ended up serving it with a spoon and my favorite counterpart in the kitchen (or on the dance floor):
Whatever shape you’re in (or whatever your shape is), celebrate the art of the dance… especially on your taste buds.
Enjoying the “tap”enade,