Doesn’t that have such a beautiful sound to it? The air is drier with a breeze, hot, but not miserable. I feel much better today. In more ways than one. Don’t know if it’s the season, but I’m going way, way back to when I first started cooking in earnest in my early twenties. This weekend, I’m going to bake an apple pie from scratch and either top it with whipped cream, or a slice of cheddar; either way is equally delicious to me provided the pie slice is warm. Although I don’t have a fireplace, everything seems bright and cozy as though lit with firelight; definitely lit with candlelight at night, the heavenly fragrance of a cinnamon bark candle burning, and the reflection of the orange light on the back porch through which sails my filmy overgrown ghost. In addition to the apple pie, I’m going back to the Williamsburg cookbook, something I used to love to cook from and make Yorkshire pudding to accompany a lean rump roast I bought today at Joe W’s. The Yorkshire pudding I’ll cook in the old cast iron black skillet, and I might make a horseradish sauce to go with the beef. I enjoyed the braised leeks so much last week I bought another bunch today.
Had a wonderful Klutz moment a little while ago. I want to make cheeseburgers tonight for dinner and used an old New Orleans trick to quickly thaw out frozen meat: put it in the hot sun for just a little while and it will thaw in no time and catch it in time before it spoils and is still cold. Did this with a pack of ground meat on the back porch, went outside to check it, tripped over the threshold of the back porch door and my other foot landed squarely on the ground meat. Which, I can you firsthand, has perfectly thawed, remains cold, and has a perfect imprint of my foot though thank Heaven was wrapped up in plastic and another plastic bag. As Mimi would day, poor Goo-Goo.
Speaking of Mimi, today while at Joe W’s, I bought a sharp Irish cheddar cheese through which port wine had been swirled. Mon Dieu, it is delicious, and I thought of her because it seems like something she perfectly would have loved. She loved gourmet cheeses, and wine, and grapes, and fruit, and cakes and good beef, made the best waffles, and was beautifully avoirdupois to prove it. I know autocorrect will mess up that French term. Hey, it surprised me. Comme il taut, hah. Comm il faut, hah. Papa Bill was not much of a wine drinker, but he was definitely a beer man. He used to drink Hamm’s beer, a beer local to the West Coast, I believe, in a pretty blue can I loved, but I can still hear the jingle for the commercials for Hamm’s, still hear the Indian Tom Tom start, and the words…”from the land of sky-blue waters..” I’m feeling the envie to travel, take a road trip, but not in Louisiana–somewhere else, the badlands, the mountains, streams and wind, South Dakota…but little Colleen is getting old, although stalwart as ever. Mimi and Papa Bill married in their fifties, set out for the unknown to live in California early in their marriage, and what a glorious life they led. It ain’t over till it’s over people. They’ve been on my mind a lot today. Don’t know why.
Had a Saturday lunch; peanut butter and raw honey sandwich. Fell sound asleep after it and awakened with a start because I was dreaming the black shadow of a rat was running across my dining room table. Think I know what triggered this–I was looking at the Halloween stuff at the store this morning and they had those disgusting ghoul rubber rats they sell, something I avoid along with the rubber snakes.
My bathroom convenience is behaving as though it’s haunted–it keeps flushing by itself. Will have to maintenance take a peek. Mass today, cooking tomorrow, and I have kept the house gleaming…laundry on the horizon, but no problem. I feel wonderful.