Last night, Tyler and I made butternut squash risotto from a recipe that required us to dig out the monster food processor for the squash (our Brooklyn kitchen is very small), then stand over heat and stir the pasta rice incessantly.
It’s time I admit that I DVR and watch back-to-back episodes of The Cosby Show while cooking dinner. Last night I selected the latest episode and found that something else had been recorded: a fluorescent soul train swirled its way across the screen instead. A quiet tribute to Don Cornelius.
In this particular episode, there was no announcement or introduction from him as the show began. I’m not sure I even heard the first note of a song. We were immediately pulled into the middle of an easy hip sway. It felt like all the beautiful people on screen had been dancing long before we got there and would continue moving, in a kind of forever dance, even after all the cameras went away.
We slopped our risotto into dishes (pureed squash and creamy rice are not the most beautiful of foods) and waited for it to cool. I tried to mimic their moves, my clumsy self unsuccessfully grooving across the room.
How did they select people to be on Soul Train? I asked Tyler.
I guess you just had to look good, he said.
This is fun. I could dance all night. Because sweaty socks are amazingly good for gliding across a hardwood floor.
After a while, I sat down to my risotto and we moved away from Soul Train.
But I fell in love with this idea. That we would go on living. And they would go on dancing. And we could join them anytime.