Tomato, Tomahhhhhhhto

I am a food blog skeptic. Not because I haven't found some tummy-rumbling, drool-inducing recipes that have become staples in our weekly menu, but because of the ingredients. Well, it's not even that. It's the brand of the ingredients that drives my frugal self into a budgeting tizzy. There is no need to spend 40 dollars on a jar of grey sea salt when the stuff in my shaker does the same job. Suffice it to say, I have believed- please do not mentally berate me until I am finished- that all canned tomatoes are the same. (I cried just a little-even now- after living in darkness for so long.) So, when I was reading one of my favorite foodie fanatic's recipe for a simple tomato sauce (www.smittenkitchen.com), I didn't just scoff at her artsy pictures of strikingly bourgeois San Marzano tomatoes. I guffawed. Spend 6 dollars on a can of tomatoes when I can 20 for the same price at Shoprite? You must be off your rocker.

Until...

I was shopping at Whole Foods and stumbled across the-you guessed it- the cans of San Marzano tomatoes, regal and stacked with purpose at the end of the aisle. Shock of all shocks, this was the day fate decided I was much too thick-headed for my own good and cleverly displayed a neat little sign handwritten on organic recycled paper: On sale, 2 for $6. Reluctantly, I placed two cans in my basket and my life will never be the same.

Dearest friends. Stop kidding yourselves. Put the shoprite brand of whole, peeled, tasteless tomatoes aside- or serve it the neighbors that let their dog pee in your front yard. Only use these tomatoes. You will thank me, as I, now, owe an entire internal apology to the food blog gods. You were right. You were right all along.

Money, Money

I just checked my bank accounts on-line for the first time in two weeks. For some, this might sound incredibly irresponsible. For me, I'm throwing a quiet party decorated in wine and those lovely little green olives from Whole Foods- you know, the ones that aren't too lemony or too garlicky? Why, might you ask? Because, it seems, that I am on the way to recovery at last.

Control freaks manifest their diseases in different ways. Some must have access to the remote at all times. Others hyper-ventilate at the thought of a surprise party in which they were unable to dictate the flatware or which non-traditional Italian restaurant should cater the gloppy eggplant parm. I, eh hem, am guilty of all of these things and more- including checking my bank accounts at least 3 times a day. Yes. Three. Understand my jubilation now?

God has slowly been teaching me that I-gulp-have-ugh-no-ew-control. Over anything. Not my job, not my weight, not my happiness, not my money. I didn't believe him, naturally. I never have. Until, a few weeks ago when my sister-in-law reminded me of what happens when I let go. So, I thought I'd give it a try. And you know, I still have money right there in that account after not checking it obsessively every 5 minutes. The bills have been paid, we have been fed, we've even done some fun things that I would have deemed "out of the budget" because not only am I a control nazi, I am also a tightwad which translates into no fun. Maybe God does love me enough to care about me after all. Huh.