I Remember Nothing: And Other Reflections

by Nora Ephron

I used to think my problem was that my disk was full; now I’m forced to conclude that the opposite is true: it’s becoming empty.

On some level, my life has been wasted on me. After all, if I can’t remember it, who can?

The Senior Moment has become the Google moment, and it has a much nicer, hipper, younger, more contemporary sound, doesn’t it?

There’s none of the nightmare of the true Senior Moment—the long search for the answer, the guessing, the self-recrimination, the head-slapping mystification, the frustrated finger-snapping. You just go to Google and retrieve it.

You used to be my age, and now you’re much, much, much older than I am. You could be my mother. Unless, of course, I look as old as you and I don’t know it. Which is not possible. Or is it?

It crossed my mind that the actual definition of “content” for an Internet company was “something you can run an ad alongside of.”

Ruthie’s Bread and Butter Pudding 5 large eggs 4 egg yolks 1 cup granulated sugar ¼ teaspoon salt 1 quart whole milk 1 cup heavy cream, plus 1 cup for serving 1 teaspoon vanilla extract Twelve ½-inch-thick slices brioche, crusts removed, buttered generously on one side ½ cup confectioners’ sugar Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter a shallow two-quart baking dish. Gently beat the eggs, egg yolks, granulated sugar, and salt until thoroughly blended. Scald the milk and cream in a saucepan over high heat. Don’t boil. When you tip the pan and the mixture spits or makes a sizzling noise, remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla extract. STIR GENTLY, don’t beat, into the egg mixture until blended. Overlap the bread, butter side up, in the prepared baking dish and pour the egg mixture over the bread. Set in a larger pan with enough hot water to come halfway up the side of the dish. Bake for about 45 minutes, or until the bread is golden-brown and a sharp knife inserted in the middle comes out clean. The bread should be golden and the pudding puffed up. This can be done early in the day. Do not chill. Before serving, sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar and place under the broiler. Don’t walk away; this takes only a minute or so. Or you can use one of those crème brûlée gadgets to brown the sugar. Serve with a pitcher of heavy cream.

And I survived. My religion is Get Over It. I turned it into a rollicking story. I wrote a novel. I bought a house with the money from the novel. People always say that once it goes away, you forget the pain. It’s a cliché of childbirth: you forget the pain. I don’t happen to agree. I remember the pain. What you really forget is love.