After you all seemed to enjoy my tiring stint as Ina last year, I asked my editor if I should give life in Martha Stewart's shoes a try. After all, the woman who formally introduced Ina to the cookbook world had to be somewhat interesting and qualified to do so, no? (That is a joke. Obviously Martha Stewart is a genius lifestyle mogul mainstay whose every social media move makes me cackle. Less obviously—and for full disclosure reasons—my mom used to work for Martha, which means she's always kind of been a looming, inspiring, and vaguely menacing figure in my life).
So! Why not attempt to live like her for a week of my entirely ordinary New York City life? Why not?
Oy.
SATURDAY
In order to fully immerse myself in The Life of Martha, I took a quick study at her life (via Instagram). At first glance, Martha is living the dream—traveling to far away places, walking with her luxurious pets, or, of course, hosting wildly put-together dinner parties. I can do this, I thought. I cut and dyed my hair into a chic Old Woman Bob, booked a first-class flight to the Philippines, and invited the highest-up men at my company to dinner on Wednesday.
That is another lie. Though I did, really truly, take a look at some of Martha's older cookbooks and try to apply her general philosophy toward food and life to my cheap-ass plans for the next week. Martha's thesis, I gathered, is to live generously, regardless of your situation. Whether that means creating luxe dishes with the results of a frantic 8 a.m. Whole Foods trip on the last week of the month or inviting your friends over to eat a lil something just to give them a reprieve from the never-ending week is up to you. OK, I actually thought. I can do this.
Anyway, I first tried to make a pound cake to make the apartment smell nice and failed.
SUNDAY
I was discouraged after #PoundCakeGate2019, but not deterred. I had a week's worth of generous living to do! It was a good thing!
I took a quick walk through the nearest patch of nature I could find in the city for a jolt of inspiration. (Oh god, I don't know. I just assume her perma-green surroundings help coddle her creative spirit?) It was in the West 89th Street Community Garden that I realized I really could live with Martha's gusto despite having fucked up one of her easiest recipes (...and, like, not having money). I could still take advantage of the outdoors. I could still cook! Making food is one of the loveliest thing you can do for yourself and for others.
Martha Stewart's Grilling: 125+ Recipes for Gatherings Large and Small: A Cookbook
I ran the 450 feet back home to let my husband know I'd be handling dinner tonight. I flipped through Martha's latest cookbook—Grilling—for something fresh, easy to char, and undoubtedly delicious. I landed on Orange-and-Thyme Grilled Shrimp, which is meant to be marinated lightly, skewered perfectly, and grilled minimally. It was a perfect redemption dish in which I'd show my undying devotion and generous spirit to my husband. I have to say I was both disappointed and deterred to find our starter grill kit had grown mold in it since the last time we'd opened it. Not a good thing, to be honest! Not a good thing!
Still. If you forego the moldy skewers, you still have a pretty cute and filling dish. See? Martha's vs. mine:
I went into the week with the confidence of a freed white collar felon—the world was my oyster.
MONDAY
Per my malking (that's Martha stalking), Martha starts her day with intention. She does the NYT mini-crossword, exercises, eats some yogurt, and has a cappuccino all generally before 7:00 a.m. I am not actually Martha, I said to myself, justifying my 6:30 a.m. Insta Story-scrolling, I am allowed to try and then just quit. I attempted the crossword, made myself coffee and put yogurt into a bowl with some fruit (easy! Delicious! Therefore, generous!) and called it a day.
I mean, I didn't just call it a day. I had to go to work, where I spent a good chunk of time not being generous to myself...by which I mean I stared at a screen for 10+ hours in a decidedly un-Martha-like fashion. Woof.
TUESDAY
With Tuesday came a renewed sense of possibility. I could turn this around—I knew I could! I instructed my husband to go out and buy a TBD fancy cut of steak (sure, yes, Martha doesn't need a man for anything and NEITHER DO I, but he was willing to and I was lazy, it's fine) (also, it was on me!) (SO GENEROUS). We made a plan to tackle the meal together after work, agreeing to forego anything that required using (1) a skewer, (2) any of our, uh, indisposed grill equipment, or (3) a lot of time.
Martha's Grilled Steak with Tomatoes and Scallions checked all those boxes; it was a quick and filling meal with a hit of vinegar on the end that was so sweet it almost made me want to forego dessert—almost.
But does Martha skip dessert? No, she absolutely does not! She also sure as hell doesn't waste food, and I happened to have a half-destroyed-yet-perfectly-pleasant pound cake in my midst.
BOOM, MOTHERFUCKERS. BOOOOOOOM. A regular Martha, right here!!!
Grilled Pound Cake with homemade caramel and fruit and topped with mint (...the fruit was not homemade. You get it.). Lest you worry I wasn't following through, Martha suggests you add the mint "[freshly] snipped." I took great joy in heading out to my garden to snip some real fresh!
Hey, BTW, this is where Martha picks her herbs from:
Somewhere, Martha is laughing.
WEDNESDAY
Did I, while I was living so fruitfully for myself, forget that I had earlier in the week invited over friends for dinner a la Martha and her spontaneous dinner parties? Maybe! Did I rebound regardless and turn around a flawlessly executed meal with perfect napkin, wine, cheese, and everything else pairings?
No. No, I did not.
Around noon, I asked my editor if I could please leave early, as I "had" to "bake a cake—for work." I intended to get home at a leisurely 4:45 p.m. to get my dessert in the oven, while calmly and collectedly finishing my work from home and prepping dinner. Instead, I ran home frantically around 5:45 p.m., all the while texting my friends and my husband to "PLEASE not come right when you said you would!! HaahHAHAHHAAA running late!!"
Michael came home around 6:15 p.m. to find me sweating over a cake tin. Also, he caught me lying about toasting almonds for my cobbler. Who lies about toasting almonds for a cobbler!? Not Martha, that's who.
He also reminded me I'd forgotten to buy nice napkins for this "party," nor did I have flowers, place-settings, or candles in place. Also also, he greeted my friends by telling them "I promise you she did not prepare for this at all whatsoever!"
I hated him. But the moral of this story is not that my husband is the worst, it's that life as Martha Stewart is hard. Keep up.
Anyway, I had a mushy-in-the-middle cake in the oven going when all the guests (two...two guests.) showed up. We spoke politely about our days and the weather—dinner parties! Always fun!—before getting into the wine. It was at that point, vaguely tipsy with some of my best friends, that I realized what an absurd endeavor I'd taken on. I didn't need to freak tf out over having to impress anyone (let alone people I know and love!) with food I hastily put together to make pretty. Whether that's why the One-Pot Penne with Zucchini and Parmesan and the cobbler were both bland and mushy will forever be unknown. Everyone ate it all. They were just happy to be there.
THURSDAY
Hungover and drained, I threw together a Greek Salad and headed to work. My coworkers asked me kindly about the "dinner party" I'd put together, and I told them it was fiiine. What I did not tell them was that I'd lost the wind in my sails; once I realized living generously—a phrase I've thrust upon an icon who needs no help from me—meant doing whatever I wanted, I was checked out of the experiment.
I ate my Greek salad contentedly, resignedly at lunch time and already knew I'd drink more that evening. It's fine—Martha loves her wine, too.
Dinner that night was easy. Chicken Satay Skewers that, yes, I went out and bought non-moldy skewers for. It was salty and meaty enough to forgive the stress of the week that Martha had wrought upon me. That I had wrought upon myself.
FRIDAY
Yogurt. Cappuccino. Phone calls. More coffee. The end in sight. I got home from work and forced myself to cook through endless other recipes—Grilled Sausage with Grilled Leeks! Penne with Vodka Sauce! Watermelon and Orange Salad! Other Things I Truly Can't Even Remember!—and had myself a fucking feast.
What I'm really trying to say is that the week was not easy. The food was good, the company was great, the stress that came with wanting to make sure all of it was excellent was...not worth it. Unless you're Martha Stewart, that is. A queen of food and entertaining and centering herself right in the middle of it all, which makes all of it a little less stressful.
Because if you're not treating yourself to the spoils borne of a stress-making week, you're not really living generously, are you now? And that, my friends, is not a good thing.
