"She can boil water," says Mel. "She's not good at it, but she can."
MEL MAY BE THE MORE EXPERIENCED COOK in the family, but not by much. If their roles were reversed -- if Francine were a man of her generation -- she'd be perfectly unremarkable, of course. No one would make jokes, there'd be no blueberry sculpture or fake fur apron.
Diet she's got in spades, but you won't find much else in Francine Levinson's refrigerator.
(Kyoko Hamada)
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She herself says she doesn't like to cook those eggs because "I know I'm going to be stuck in the house waiting for them to boil." And home is not where Francine is likely to be found. She's up and out early, so routinely that Stephanie says, "If it's after 7:30, you might as well call her on her cell phone." As Francine reasons, "There's nothing for me to do in the house."
Why doesn't she cook? "It's too time-consuming," she says. A waste of time, since she can buy food ready-made. "There are 10 things I could do with that time."
Francine has never been one to make things with her hands. "Ask me to chair something or do a business," she says, and she'll eagerly accept. Asked about other traditional women's hobbies, she laughs at the idea of her doing knitting or pottery. She's more the rollerblading or horseback-riding type. And she thrives on running things. She was president of the Metropolitan Police Boys and Girls Club for three years and is now on the board. She opened a lingerie shop and ran it for nine years. She
co-founded the first women's bank of Maryland, serves on the Woodrow Wilson Council, chairs the board of Women of Washington. Somewhere along the way she went to acting school. Now she is co-authoring a book on female celebrities.
Besides, food simply isn't of much interest to her, or to her husband. "We don't have to have an organized dinner," explains Mel. "We could pig out on jelly beans." Somewhere in the Levinson apartment are stashes of jelly beans, licorice, dried dates. They go to the movies a lot, and, he says, "our dinner is popcorn."
"I'd rather eat junk than food," says Francine. "That's why I work out so much."
Like about half of all American women, she is usually on a diet. "I've tried every diet. You name it. All protein, a staple in my ear, Atkins, South Beach." Mel was on Pritikin for seven years. Even now, Francine is so driven to keep her weight down that she wakes up by 4:30 and goes straight to the gym in their building. She usually eats nothing until noontime, then is abstemious with lunch and dinner.
Some nights Francine consumes a dinner of several hard-boiled egg whites (she throws away the yolks).
For their usual Saturday lunch at Moby Dick House of Kabob, Francine and Suzanne share a chicken sandwich, and Francine picks apart her half, leaving most of the bread.
The lamp store is now in Bethesda, and Moby Dick, just down the street, is nearly the family lunchroom, though sometimes they go to the nearby Chinese restaurant or a pizza place. On weekdays, Francine lunches at Houston's (orders a salad), the Daily Grill (a salad), the Holiday Inn across from Saks Fifth Avenue (always a salad). For dinner she frequents Pines of Rome, where she likes the veal chop, but has been known to dine on just a Diet Coke. At Woodmont Country Club, she usually orders a fruit plate with low-fat cottage cheese for dinner.
Saturday night she breaks loose. The Levinsons typically dine with two other couples, and are booked six weeks ahead. Francine likes to dress up and go downtown, and she is very put out if their companions prevail upon the group to do otherwise. "I'm formal. I like that look," Francine says.
If they are going to the ballet or a concert at the Kennedy Center, they'll eat upstairs in the restaurant or cafeteria. If they have tickets for the National Theater, they'll dine at Chef Geoff's or Marcel's. They go to the Four Seasons, to the upstairs lounge, with its casual menu. Francine likes Cafe Milano, where she always orders the pasta with lobster -- always. At the Palm, she has Steak à la Stone, a tomato-onion salad and a taste of someone's cheesecake or Key lime pie. At the Prime Rib, the veal chop and a salad, a glass of pinot grigio (Mel, a nondrinker, orders "a 2005 Diet Coke"). She also samples the potato skins and hot fudge sundae that have been ordered for the table. Francine likes restaurants that will prepare their dishes without sauce. "I don't get sauces," she says.
