Michael Clayton was next, but a family member who also wanted to see it is dining elsewhere tonight, which is a story unto itself, and perhaps one day we will go into it. But to go with the chili, I dug out a movie that has been in the collection for some time. I knew it was not going to be pleasant, but figured I’d be finished with dinner before that part got started.
I was right, and I was wrong.
It is not a good dinner movie, especially the beginning, which is the birth of our hero. But I stayed till he emerged from the cave, and found the second redhead. By then I had finished my chili and salad, and came in here to watch this.
At Whole Foods last night, I wanted to get some chowder for a family member who was working late in SF. Alas, there was none to be had. There was shrimp bisque, crab and corn chowder, northwestern chowder, cioppino and a Thai soup. As I was pondering the matter, a customer walked briskly up. He checked the contents of each pot, letting the lids fall with a loud bang. He picked the cioppino.
The family member makes a very excellent cioppino of his own, and as I was debating whether to just forget the soup, another gentleman stepped up. He headed straight for the cioppino.
I got the small container. Then I headed for the ice cream section where, after much deliberation, I chose Rice Dream marble fudge, Ciao Bella mango sorbet and a dark cherry soy ice cream. More on these another time.
Turned out that the family member ate duck and fig handmade sausages in SF. He was still talking about those sausages during dinner tonight.
Yes, I’m still watching the carbs, and while it’s true that one does not get hungry on this diet, by the dinner hour, it’s time to focus on the main meal of the day. Especially when one has forgotten to eat a snack, and has a forkful of avocado and orange sections on the way to its destination. It is not a good time to hear from a telemarketer.
But this was someone representing Apple, wanting me to pay attention to their protection plan. I have every intention of getting this plan, but was not willing to put the fork down and dig out my credit card just then. I treated the caller to a detailed account of my computer problems, to which, of course, he had no decent response.
Last night, as I was soaping a pot in order to cook another much-anticipated supper, the phone rang. It sounded very much like the same caller. Checking to see if I was ready to buy. Did he catch me at a bad time? Was I going to rinse off my hands and go get my credit card? Did I give him a piece of my mind?
Does this diet make me grumpy? Nah.
I know these people have to make a living. I also know where I can get the plan for a lot less.
Wasn’t sure what to expect, maybe a depressing film at best, given the synopsis. But it’s a delightful surprise, bewildering at first, but very, very funny.
Back into a few more carbs since the family member still faithful to the South Beach diet is now coming apart. Dinner was spaghetti and Vietnamese spinach soup.
Last night, the woman behind me had two geraniums, a pot of New Guinea impatiens and a rubber tree plant. My cart had a vat of olive oil, some artisan sausages, chicken legs, steelhead salmon fillets, cashew nuts, and a bag of oranges. Plus a very large hydrangea bush for ten bucks.
I try not to stare at my fellow shoppers and the interesting combinations of food they buy. A few sidelong glances sufficed Saturday at Trader Joe’s (again). The gentleman in front of me was very wide through the middle with average size arms and legs. He was clutching three bags of the guilt-free potato chips in one hand, two jars of almond butter in the other. Then he offered his profile. If you recall the Nowhere Man from Yellow Submarine, this man was the almost-but-not-quite morbidly obese version.
After about three weeks on the South Beach, I’m coming unglued and easing back into carbs here and there. Not a lot, but some. I have energy!
One of the items I looked forward to as a snack was almond butter. Once you get the hang of natural nut butter, it’s nice to know there’s only one ingredient: nuts. However good for me the almond butter was, nutritionally speaking, it was unsalted and very bland. Even though I stored it in the fridge in the approved manner, i.e. upside down, the solids still managed to part company with the oils, and I sometimes had a gob of stuff to coax back to the creamy stage. Given the choice between that and the usual sugar-free popsicle, I made the obvious choice (can’t eat cheese and cheese-related items on the diet).
Three weeks without sugar will sharpen your taste buds. I bought some sunflower seed butter at Trader Joe’s last weekend, and was surprised at the sweetness. The ingredient list contains evaporated cane juice. Very tasty.
The option key on my new MacBook Pro didn’t work right. It’s the closest I’ve come to pounding on the keyboard, and productivity plummeted.
So there I was in line with my name up on the big screen. My first time, but sadly, not the last. The genius pried off the top of the key, showed me what he thought was wrong, fixed it as best he could. It was higher than the other keys, and a part underneath was bent slightly. However, if the problem persisted, he said the Mac would have to go in for an extended stay.
This is actually okay, I have a backup, the older G4 laptop. Next time, maybe Cho’s will be open and I can get potstickers as part of the whole Palo Alto thing.
And I got to mess with the Air. Wow. But I do believe that the air (the kind we breathe) is better in an Apple Store.
Has someone gifted you with some bear meat? Are you wondering what to do with it? Whatever you decide, be very, very careful to cook it till it’s completely done. Not medium rare. Done. Use a meat thermometer.
If you don’t, you might get trichinellosis (also known as trichinosis), a nasty infection formerly associated with eating undercooked pork. Just because the meat was frozen doesn’t mean it’s safe. At least one species of this parasitic roundworm can survive for a long time in a freezer.
There we were, finishing up a nice supper, when the two gentlemen (who arrived after we did, and got their food before us) headed toward the exit. One reached into the back of his pants with both hands and either rearranged his shorts or gave himself a good scratch, hard to tell which.
A family member has been told by his doctor to shed the extra weight. Since the South Beach diet worked in the past, and is easier to take with a fellow sufferer, I decided to go along. Day 2, Phase 1. It’s going to be a long 12 days. But I found a box of sugar-free popsicles in the freezer this afternoon. From last summer, I think, and they look edible through the wrappers. No no, I’m not hungry enough to eat the wrappers, at least not yet.
So it is with some irony that I find myself making tarts for photos. Actually, they aren’t so hard to resist because cheese makes me itch. I spent a large part of the weekend looking for raspberries, but had to be content with strawberries. These early berries seem more fragile, and at least one carton furred up with mold before I could use them.
Currently, there are three tarts stacked on top of one another in the fridge. I’m out of the bought glaze. I’m on the last roll of toilet paper again. My tax person is hounding me to make an appointment, but I’m not ready.
Dinner was on the light side, and I watched the episode of Farscape where Crichton is in a coma and plotting revenge on D’Argo, cartoon-style. It was confusing enough to kind of take away my appetite. That was followed by the last episode of the MI-5 DVD series, the one where two important cast members are put in unholy jeopardy. My entire GI tract shuts down during these shows.
A few hours later, and I’m hungry. There are scones, both blueberry and apricot, but something in them makes me itch. Two slices of Marie Callender apple pie left, too, but I don’t want anything that sweet. The only real possibilty is a spinach salad with avocado, orange sections and homemade croutons, the latter being soggy after several days in the fridge. This was made for a photo session, and the avocado is still fresh and green, having had a lot of lime juice added to insure their pristine condition. Because it is my dessert, I added two large dollops of mayo.
Tomorrow I begin some serious work with the chocolate chopped last week.
It lingers, the bug. Just when I thought I was free, back it comes this afternoon, a vague queasiness, tiredness, a froggy throat. The runs came back as well.
At dinner, I watched as a family member ate leftover barbecued baby back ribs and hash brown patties. It smelled good, but I was having none of it, even though my stomach was beginning to rumble. Nothing in the fridge appealed, most of it being raw.
We had to run out to Whole Foods, whose pastry department is the best place to get a surprise gift for someone who’s done something very nice for you and isn’t going to send a bill. After I picked out three of the big fancy desserts, including the one shaped like a coffee cup, I headed for the soups/stews island. Rejected most, settled for the turkey.
All this wearing my heaviest coat, which is heavy indeed, the kind with two layers of fasteners. I was happy to see other shoppers wearing overcoats, though none quite as extreme as mine. Then I saw something that made me feel much better, and finely dressed at that.
Over by the fresh mozzarella, highly favored by another family member, a couple was talking to a clerk. The guy was dressed in a light jacket, the woman had on black furry boots that looked to be made of bear. At least six inches thick. I must find these online and post a picture.
The turkey stew/soup was most excellent, I should have gotten the big container.
Mired in January doldrums, a bug that won’t go away, an inability to get ahead on work thanks to that bug - this is the perfect kind of film to watch in the evening (after a visit to my tax person). Nothing too deep here, highly entertaining, somewhat nifty special effects, child actors who are not annoying, set in a place where I used to live (Seattle).
Dinner was the leftover beef stew from last week. The meat was more than tender, the potatoes all melty in a tomatoey broth. A big spoon, a big bowl.
Last week, I made wontons for a photo shoot. I didn’t get around to cooking any, leaving them in a couple of plastic bags in the fridge. At some point over the weekend when I was sick, a family member placed some heavy objects on top of the bags.
Today, I am still queasy, and discovered the wontons. Had I been a bit more careful, I might have a photo op with wonton soup, but alas, they were all glopped together. Even after I dropped them into broth, they insisted on remaining unified. After breaking them apart as best as I could, I have a soup that is unappetizing to look upon, but tasty.
If you can’t get out to the henhouse and seize a chicken to make a proper broth, Trader Joe’s is a fine substitute.
The beef stew cooked for over four hours while I dealt with taxes. Don’t ask. This is the perfect movie to be entertained by after such an ordeal. While scooping up warm stew full of potatoes, carrots and beef so tender it made me glad I’m not a vegetarian.
I knew the movie would be fun, and didn’t require a lot of heavy thinking. The other choices were Bourne Ultimatum and Jindabyne, neither seemed right for a Friday night.
When I’m in the food picture-taking mode, the fridge is filled with pretty stuff. Currants, blueberries, uncooked but filled wontons. Shrimp patties with salmon and cilantro. Fresh dill. Fresh mozzarella. Creme soda. There would be strawberries, but even in California, January is not such a great time. I know, because I shopped last night in vain.
Outside the fridge, there are wondrous-looking biscuits from Whole Foods. Sourdough rolls from Trader Joe’s. Avocados. Cara cara oranges. Baby yellow potatoes. An enormous assortment of Christmas hard candies.
Of course, it depends on what family members have been trained to recognize as ‘Don’t touch that open-faced sandwich’ or ‘The pudding has stuff that’s not food’. So far, no one has actually eaten anything destined for photographing. Maybe because the grub I usually dish up for meals looks nothing like what I take pictures of.
Just in time for January’s weight loss attempt comes the latest in the M1-5 series, known in the UK as ‘Spooks’. I try to catch up on this kind of British viewing during supper, and lately, it has been the Monarch of the Glen shows, which are excellent for dining to.
But M1-5 is another animal entirely. Dinner tends to gets cold while I sit white-knuckled. It’s the best of its kind that I’ve ever seen, engaging characters, horribly intense situations, breakneck pace. I forget to breathe. Don’t make the mistake of watching the interviews too soon. Or even reading the Netflix descriptions too closely. The writers have no qualms about killing off key cast members.
After a long time away from the show, despairing that I’d ever find out what happens to the crew, now Vol. 5 is out. There’s a ‘long wait’ for the first disc at Netflix. I guess I’d better eat supper while I can.
The sun was out. This was not in the forecast. Taking advantage, a family member and I headed out for groceries. My rain jacket was still a mess from numerous trips out to take pictures in yesterday’s downpours, so I just wore a waterproof vest. First mistake.
A couple of seconds after leaving the car at Costco, the umbrella inverted itself. Inside, it was as if the apocalypse was arriving tomorrow, with gridlock in the aisles, hostile-looking people pushing carts aside in their rush. At the banana section, one whole side had only green ones. The other side was really picked over. I clumsily pushed one box aside. Second mistake. Immediately, the woman next to me reached over and got the two best bunches. Not a word. I uncovered another box as a man pressed in, waiting to do the same.
I heard a shopper say to his wife that they needed toilet paper. Family members know that I stockpile enough to last till the apocalypse.
It’s been a challenging holiday season, so I’m just now getting around to making Christmas dessert. No family members suffered, because there were sugar cookies. These were so laden with additional decorative icings provided by the usual suspects that if I ate a Christmas tree (bigger than the star and bear ones), I would tremble for several minutes after.
The chocolate cake was made this morning. Tonight after dinner, the above-mentioned went off to Yoshi’s in SF for a concert. I whipped the cream, made the chocolate buttercream. Next, I thickened the cherry juice and added the Trader Joe Morello cherries.
Then, because I can’t wait till 11:30 p.m. or whenever they roll in, I made up one for me. First the cake cubes. Cherries were spooned over. A layer of pudding next. Repeat. Dollops of whipped cream on top. No liqueurs used, my preference.
They’ll be surprised, I think. I always wind up making these things at night when I can’t get a picture. Tomorrow, perhaps.
We’re not talking beef bouillon as comfort for the ill here. What we’re really going to discuss is meat, mostly of the pig variety, placed directly into an alcoholic drink.
Some time ago, I mentioned the bacontini, a favorite of those who prefer a slight fatty sheen to their refreshing beverages. But at this site, items bringing an extra punch include ground pork, sweet Italian sausage and Spam. Yes, that Spam.
There are photos. One looks like squirrel brains at the bottom of the glass.
Just as good the second time around.
The roast duck was purchased, but the apple slices cooked with a bit of cinnamon and sugar, and peas in cream were home-cooked.
No Dark and Stormy drinks were ingested for the first time in two nights, because the family bartender was having dinner out.
Obviously not the usual bright stars and Christmas tree variety of cookie, but fascinating.
Today is to be spent making various cookie doughs of the normal holiday kind, so they can chill overnight. Tomorrow will be spent making a huge mess with glittery colored sugars, red, green and white icings, sprinkles and all the other fun things that can go on dough and still be edible.
This year’s gingerbread houses will be more ambitious, although the idea goes against the wishes of family members who love to pour on the candies. Later, there might be pictures, depending on the outcome, and how much more shopping and cooking has to be done.
Warm and homey, tender, hokey, familiar as an old friend.
The stew as pretty good too.
The film is about dreams and the stubbornness of dreamers. So much of the real world wants to destroy dreams and those who have them. Or else ridicule or otherwise discourage. Why is that?
Yesterday, a friend recounted the tale of her accident last week on a slick freeway ramp. During the morning commute, an airborne vehicle sailed over the car in the next lane, and collided with hers on the passenger side, sending her down a muddy embankment.
She landed four feet from a tree. The airbags did not inflate. Glass covered the baby seat in back, thankfully, her grandchild was not along. All four tires were flat. The back end was completely caved in. The driver of the other car came running over. The woman in the next lane offered her services as a witness. Another driver stopped and called 911.
The other driver said he swerved to miss the car that cut in front of him. The Highway Patrol thought otherwise, but let it go.
My friend escaped without so much as a scratch. I went over with a plate of homemade chocolates, which she began eating before I was completely inside the door. I told her not to stop till she had eaten it all.
The plan was to hit the outlets at Gilroy after dinner at the Black Bear Diner. Knowing how dead the stores can be on a weeknight this early in the season, I joked to family members that there certainly wouldn’t be the usual long line at the diner.
There was. Worse, even. I looked around at the huge number of kids, most with balloons. It was around 7:00 p.m when we were seated at last. The stores closed at 9:00 p.m.
Either it was the biggest birthday party ever, or some sort of family reunion, since everyone seemed to know one another. It turned out to be a fundraiser for a local school.
After our pot roast, fish and chips and chicken pot pie, we headed out to see what shopping could be done. Very little, unfortunately, but I learned something useful. In the future, if I want the above-mentioned family to shop cheerfully, enthusiastically, and even browse in stores they’d normally refuse to be seen in, I should make sure they eat a hearty diner meal beforehand.
I’ve been to Keeble and Shuchat’s three times. The first time, the staff completely ignored me due to the highly visible aura of ignorance around my entire body. The many stories about their snottiness seemed to be quite true. When I was looking to get a light tent, I wandered in again, just to check what they had against what was available online for lots less.
The third time was, of course, the charm. Having placed my order at Cho’s for potstickers and eggrolls, I had a little time to kill. K & S is just down the street. I decided to test the mettle of the help, who began melting away as I approached a counter. Any counter. One lone fellow stayed behind, certain to be the brunt of many a joke for even speaking to a woman. Surely, if a female photographer was full of herself, and wanted to be taken down a few notches, K & S is the perfect spot.
I asked to see one of the vintage cameras at the very top of the back shelf, a Rolleiflex in excellent condition. After all, this being Palo Alto, I could well have the price of the thing tucked into a compartment of my trendy running shoe. He was overweight, fretful. Nervous that I was actually handling such a camera. I held it for almost ten minutes, which is how long Cho said it would take.
I’m still polishing off turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce. A friend told me once that she only truly enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner when all the hubbub was done, and the pressure was off. Nothing being timed in the oven, no sink full of dishes. No carcasses.
From time to time, I find one in an Asian store deli. Over the summer, as a matter of fact, I spotted a glorious one. (I am always looking for photo subjects.) Alas, there is a language barrier. The proprietor failed to fully understand my meaning, perhaps. I certainly failed to grasp why anyone would pay the price I thought he suggested. The transaction was not to be.
This morning, another head rested in a metal pan next to the ducks and assorted cooked meats. For $5, it was mine. I nodded. Before I stopped nodding, I heard a CHOP! Then another CHOP! I waved my arms wildly, No, No, I want it whole! Stop!
He stopped, the head was wrapped, I paid. I pictured a split down the snout, and thought, with a little luck, maybe I could Photoshop it all back together. The family member accompanying me said he thought the ears had been removed.
The chopper and his friends were smiling behind the counter. We asked for the ears. He looked blank, then waved over a counter person who spoke English. Ears, I said. I need it all for a picture. Ah, she said, and the chopper located the charred ears from some unseen location.
Tomorrow, with a few toothpicks, possibly duct tape, I will try to reattach the parts. There might or might not be a photo posted.
Yes, yes I know online shopping is best for people like me. But then I’d miss all the drama.
I got some at the farmers’ market bakery, and they were attractive and, uh, delicious. We wound up eating several, and by photo time, only three were left. They were bendy in the middle, and didn’t have quite the look I wanted, being made of puff pastry.
Friends had told me some time ago about a local restaurant famous for its breadsticks. I stopped by tonight, waiting patiently while the man behind the counter took an order by phone. When he finally looked up, I asked how many breadsticks came with an order to go.
Man (very Italian): You want side order or whole?
Me: Not whole, I want just the breadsticks to go. How many per order?
Man: Three. But that not what you want.
Me: (Raise eyebrows)
He staples the phone takeout order to another piece of paper, and turns to the cook in back. They confer. For a long time. The place was deserted, but I think it was closing time, or very near. Finally, he turned back.
Man: Now, what you want again. Breadsticks.
Me: How many in a side order?
Man: That not what you want. No. I tell you why. You order side of bread, you get three piece. Cost $8.00. You want big whole order.
Me: No I don’t. I want the small order.
Man: No no. Come, I show you. (He goes over to a refrigerated case full of small tubs of a yellow substance.) You see that.
Me: Yeah.
Man: You order side of bread, you get three small piece and the little bitty tub of cheese spread.
Me: I just want to take photos of bread sticks.
Man: (long-suffering look)
Me: So I only need a few.
Man: Come with me. (He goes to another refrigerated case, and takes out a round of dough cut into wedges.) You see. You buy for a dollar more, you get all this, and the really big tub of cheese spread.
Me: (tempted) I’m sorry, I really thought you had the bread in sticks.
All the way to the car, I kept thinking I should go back and buy the whole thing and the big tub, and just plan a meal around it. Maybe Sunday.
Billed as the French ‘Top Gun’, we had high expectations. While the jet sequences were wondrous, I would rather have sat through 90 minutes of the titles alone. Now those were exceedingly well done.
A very simple meal of shrimp sauteed in their shells, greens and rice. But coconut cream pie for dessert.
Two large bags of yams. Two large loaves of white bread for making stuffing. Cream cheese for pies. Two cans of pumpkin filling. Spinach and lettuce for salads.
Clerk: So. You going to make yam sandwiches?
Me: (long-suffering look)
Clerk: I had to stay with relatives once, and they were poor. They mashed up some vegetables so they looked like meat, and put that between bread slices. Tasted like sawdust.
Me (to myself): What am I forgetting. There’s other stuff I need.
Home at last, I remembered. Pie crusts. Egg nog. More on special sandwich fillings in a bit.
As I was debating which mini dessert to get, the older fellow in front of us turned around abruptly.
Fellow: Cannoli? It’s sooo good.
Me: Uh. . .
Fellow: I mean, look at all this stuff. It’s all great.
Me: Yeah, I . . .
Fellow: But me, I can’t eat it. (Pats stomach) Man, I’m just getting this for my mom.
Me: Heh, that’s . . .
Fellow: But, gee, the cannoli!
I got the carrot cake muffins, which turned out to be vegan.
Because there are no clean spoons, and due to dental work on both sides, even scrambled eggs are hard to eat. However, I did manage to try the block of Callebaut white chocolate, which is very excellent. I’m so glad my dentist couldn’t follow me home to see my afternoon’s food.
Knowing my fear levels, the dentist put me under while she filled a couple of teeth and cemented the crown. My legs felt like they were out on the balcony dancing while the rest of me stared at the ceiling and wondered if that flying stuff was getting on my contacts.
I’m done for the year. Just in time for turkey, stuffing, pies and all those other wondrous holiday edibles.
Still by the front door looking a little forlorn. A few Nestle’s crunch bars with caramel. Three or four See’s peppermint sticks. Assorted Tootsie Rolls. The Milky Ways have been delegated to a family member’s bedroom way in the back to keep them out of my sight.
I still have the temporary crown and instructions by the dentist to stay away from sticky food. But I can have things like Cherry Garcia ice cream. Plus I got a pint of Ciao Bella chocolate gelato in case there was a need for a little something else.
I can’t eat dairy without consequences. Earlier, I made sausage gravy for a photo. Then, as I was scrambling my breakfast eggs, I added some gravy. Just a little.
Wow. It took the eggs to a level of fatty, decadent wonder they never imagined. About 20 minutes from now, I’ll see if my digestive system can cope.
A friend took me to a celebratory dinner tonight, and because the restaurant offered no desserts, we wound up at Whole Foods gazing at the myriad choices in the bakery department. After trying the patience of the clerk, we settled on a chocolate eclair and the key lime tart, both mini-sized, therefore somewhat guilt-free. We laughed so hard when I told her about the oxtail incident that I’m sure some calories were lost while eating.
While I was in the restroom, someone entered the next stall. There was a loud exclamation of the sort I’m too polite to utter in public places when I am a victim of hovering.
Today around lunchtime, I’ll be sedated. My very excellent dentist, Dr. Amy, will be working on teeth she has worried about for a long time.
The bright side is that this will be the last lengthy appointment (no more root canals). But I’m having a lot of difficulty focusing on work this morning. I ate pancakes laden with El Rey chocolate. Should have gotten a shot of the oozing, molten chocolate, the light this morning is lovely and diffused by fog.
A family member has dined at some of the fanciest SF restaurants, and still keeps a Totino’s or two in his freezer. For you, Chris - be sure and read all the comments.
The boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese (Blue’s Clues version) brought back from the boys’ college apartment needed to be used up. Using a trick from one of Jane and Michael Stern’s books (I think), I used two boxes but three cheese packets. The proper proportions were two packets to each box of macaroni, but I didn’t push it. I added half a stick of butter.
The salmon was served with garlic butter and fresh dill (which is also very photogenic, but tends to turn brown before I get it photographed).
Loved the movie the second time around just as much.
According to a family member who accompanies me to local farmer’s markets, fellow customers are frequently puzzled by my shopping style. I will root through an entire pile of pears, kiwis, squash, plums, tomatoes - what have you in order to find the perfectly photogenic item. Sometimes the person behind me will politely ask what’s wrong with all the others, and then I tell them.
Many times they think I know what to look for regarding taste. At the Palo Alto market Saturday, I leaned over the crate of mixed pears. The lady across the box was also picking through, and as I began my typical culling, she handed me a large Bosc pear. ‘Is good’, she said. ‘You eat.’
I nodded, but she was persistent. She pressed it in my hand. ‘Taste good, fruit salad I make. Some better than apple. Cream.’ I smiled and held on to it while I looked at the red ones.
‘Red good too?’ she asked. I looked kind of blank. What usually happens is, I get the fruit home where it might sit for a few days, depending on how many things I’m photographing. Lots of times, fruits get dark spots or worse, and they are relegated to the compost heap before I have a taste. So I hated to tell her I didn’t know what these were like.
At this particular market, I run into elderly ladies who seem more in need of conversation than food. At times, I need the dialog just as much too.
I did indeed buy the pear, even though it failed my picturesque test. But I think I will take a photo now that it has a personality, so to speak, attached.
All this time, as scientists tried to devise ways to kill the antibiotic-resistant superbug MRSA, the solution was simple and close at hand. Thousands have died when they encountered MRSA in hospitals, especially the elderly and others with suppressed immune systems.
Yesterday I went to the neighborhood chain grocery because oxtails were on sale. I refuse to pay $5/lb, which seems to be the going price elsewhere. Before chefs and foodies made them trendy, oxtails were considered offal by many. Here they were $2.99/lb, a veritable bargain. I generally toss them in a big pot, and simmer for about four hours. The meat takes on a silky texture, there’s nothing else like it, especially when there’s a chill in the night air.
Trouble arose at the meat counter when I could only find one package. Summoning the butcher, I told him I needed more. He scratched his head, always a bad sign.
Butcher: I think that was the last one.
Me: When will you have more?
Butcher (looking sheepish): I really don’t know. Not today.
Me: I guess I should get a raincheck?
Butcher: Sure, ask at the checkout.
The checkout woman was a kindly sort, pointing out that I neglected to get the free 12-pack of Coke since I bought four. Wow, free Coke. The bagging clerk seemed to take his job seriously.
Bagging clerk: Paper or plastic?
Me: Plastic.
Bagging clerk: Hmmm. Oxtails. What part of the cow does that come from?
Me: (Silence. Restrain from the first impulse, which was to slap him silly.)
Awkward pause on all sides.
Me (peering carefully at the clerk): Uh, the rear part, the tail.
Clerk: Oh, really? You can eat that?
Me: You cook it a long time, yeah.
Checkout clerk: Soup. In soup, right?
Me: Yes.
About 2/3 of the way in, I started saying this was another movie that was never going to end, but it was meant in a positive way. We didn’t want it to stop till there was proper closure. One of the most entertaining movies I’ve seen this year, going to watch it again in a day or so.
Dinner was pulled pork (homecooked for 4+ hours in a
slow oven) on white. I really should cook a veggie sometimes, but thought the bag of salad would be okay. It turned out to be brown from a long stint in the crisper. No, I wasn’t that desperate.
After a session at the dentist, I was sedated and in no mood to cook. Luckily my teeth were functional, so we dined on the Colonel’s finest, and watched the movie till I fell asleep at 7:00 p.m, maybe before.
Ryan Gosling more than holds his own against Anthony Hopkins, and I’m looking forward to the conclusion this evening.
Tonight, there might be chicken pot pie, depending on how my workload goes. Not from KFC leftovers, but from a Costco chicken.
Excellent dinner, steak with chanterelles, potatoes au gratin, cantaloupe. For dessert there was coconut cream pie because there was a birthday this weekend.
Sometimes there is no decent chocolate in the house. A family member is between residences, so to speak, and boxes full of ramen, cup o’ noodles, macaroni and cheese and assorted collegiate goodies are stored in the garage. I threw out most of last Halloween’s candy that had accumulated in his apartment from parental supply runs.
But I couldn’t bring myself to toss out the bags of Turtles. Year-old candy isn’t that bad, it lacks something, true, but doesn’t go stale like chips. Kind of loses its sparkle though.
You probably thought I killed it after taking pictures last week. That’s what any sensible tomato grower would have done.
None of the pictures came out well because it never stopped moving its mouth parts. It was late afternoon, and where I was shooting, it was not very bright. I didn’t want to turn on the lights, which might have made it twitch. Not only did it move more than I thought it would, it produced an enormous amount of droppings. No doubt because of its nonstop eating. Didn’t the plant-eating dinosaurs do this?
So I put it under a plastic dome, actually the lid of a spindle of CD-Rs. Left it with plenty of fresh tomato leaves, courtesy of a lush patch of cherry tomatoes. Plus the half-eaten green tomato.
The next day, I didn’t want to face the subject, which seemed quite active, moving around its pen on top of an outdoor table. I could see it out of the corner of my eye as I worked. The leaves were wilted.
I still wasn’t up to it the following day, or the next. But I kept feeding it. It kept crawling around the perimeter, kind of like a fat green train.
Before I knew it, almost a week had passed. Normally tomato worms don’t bother me, although they must be one of the most repulsive-looking creatures, especially when you find them on your healthiest tomato plant. But my previous episode with the pistachios left me a little more squeamish than usual. Perhaps there is a little pistachio left in my system still.
A family member remarked that the worm looked less than happy. Perhaps, I suggested, it was preparing for its next stage of development. He couldn’t find a suitable container for it (although he didn’t look very hard).
I am very relieved. Sometime I will discuss the writhing mass of larvae in the compost heap, but not today.
I heard it was funny via a source that will be regarded in future as being somewhat unreliable. In other words, what he says about a movie must be weighed against what he doesn’t say. Which can get tricky. But the only other option was The Lives of Others, deemed not a better choice to dine by.
So I didn’t expect the heavy weaponry and elaborate bloodshed, but then it was a parody, so it should have been okay. Who seemed to have the most fun? A tossup between Timothy Dalton and Jim Broadbent.
The steaks, hash brown patties and broccoli were mostly eaten by the time the mayhem began.
Half a barbecued brisket sandwich (light on the filling, eaten very slowly). Much gratitude that there were no more food scenes than there were. Pondered why there hasn’t been a movie with Edward Norton and Sean Penn as brothers.
Most importantly, by the time a main character was shown in the throes of cholera (including loss of essential fluids orally), the worst of my pistachio episode had diminished.
See, I still can’t deal with that word yet.
Would I recommend this movie for a sick person? Well, no, I can think of better ones. A movie about a cholera epidemic is not going to be uplifting. But don’t go renting ‘Horseman on the Roof’ either if you’re queasy. While the disease there might not be the cholera of The Painted Veil, although it’s referred to as such, there are several scenes to cause much distress to the nauseous viewer.
Tonight, two family members who never, ever bring home food unbidden, showed up bearing goodies. One brought a large amount of barbecued pork brisket, the other had a box full of Beard Papas. I had horrible gastrointestinal symptoms (see previous post).
On a normal day, I would have been ecstatic. I could smell the fine aroma from the pork as I headed to the bathroom in fear and trembling.
Much of the food remains in the fridge, and I have it to look forward to tomorrow, when I just might shower the squirrels with three remaining pounds of pistachios.