Treasure the gift of love from Charlie

I had a Charlie (Broz) moment this past week; a few of them actually.

I am a mad scientist baker. I see new photos and I take them as personal challenges. Most times, that works out just fine.

Not the same with cooking.

A few days ago, I decided to try a new Mediterranean chicken dish. It was sort of a jacked-up cacciatore thing with some fancy spices. The photo was beautiful. I thought this was something I could make without setting the oven on fire.

I mostly followed the recipe and was rather surprised it came out so well. Without skipping a beat, I picked up my phone and took a photo thinking I had to send it to Charlie.

And then I remembered.

Charlie left this world four years ago this past week. It’s still hard to wrap my head and heart around that.

Charlie was equal parts dork … and love. He loved his sweet wife Melissa. He loved his family and his people. He loved his garden, his students, his craft. He loved to laugh and to help.

The last time I attempted a fancy chicken dish, I followed the recipe that accompanied the shiny photo to the letter, or so I thought. The chicken started to look “funny” partway through the balsamic marinade.

I figured the purple color would lessen once it baked.

It didn’t.

When it came out of the oven, the chicken was a deeper purple but speckled with green herbs and spices. It was … awful. I took a photo and sent it to Charlie; he immediately messaged back and said, “What the hell happened here?”

Tears and laughter.

Thanks to Facebook, I had another Charlie moment. I had a memory pop up on the page; it was a photo of Charlie in PJs, sitting on the couch holding a pistachio cream cake I’d made for him. Melissa took the photo of him in all his glory, eating the cake right off the platter without a care in the world.

Tears and laughter.

I’ve had a few rough days the past couple of weeks. Mostly nonsense mixed with stress and fatigue.

Friday, I got to campus after a medical appointment. Once classes and such were finished, I walked back to my office. On the counter in the commons, I walked by and saw a container of macaroni and cheese. It stopped me in my tracks. A student from the culinary arts program brought it over to share with students. I took a small bowl back to my office, a Charlie hug.

During some medical treatments prior to Charlie’s passing, I was having trouble eating. Melissa told Charlie, who went into the kitchen and cooked. I didn’t know this until the following day when the Broz experience landed in my office: A pan of lasagna for my husband, plain mac and cheese for me because it’s my favorite, and a bowtie pasta dish with cherry tomatoes because tomatoes are good for you.

Tears and laughter.

Even now, the memories take my breath away. How in this vast universe we all ended up in the same place is beyond me. But it’s a gift of love that I treasure. Cheers to you, Charlie.