Is this not one of the springiest, loveliest things you’ve seen in a while? Hot damn! Toasted bread, Bûcheron, sauteed asparagus, arugula pesta, eggs. Stovetop -> oven -> table. Fab with the wine. And now to Mad Men.
Musings from a servantless, stay-at-home, cooking-obsessed mom
So, after bath time, I ran downstairs to get my phone, thinking I’d take a cute shot of the boys, but as I headed back up, to hysterical cackle-type laughter, I caught sight of the above. Oliver’s sweet bum with WHAT tucked inside? Apparently, a small bit of styrofoam packing material from the box in which my new sandals were (still?) nestled.
Really, this moment perfectly encapsulates Ol’s mischievousness, the sort of comedy which makes Jack tick (I about peed in my pants because as a surprise, this was hilarious), and my day.
Butts come up SO often in my daily conversations. It’s just remarkable. As such, it may not surprise you that I am, at the tender time of not-yet-seven, at the very-last-drop end of my second glass of wine. It’s an excellent bottle of wine, if that makes any difference: the Greywacke 2012 Sauvignon Blanc from Marlborough, NZ. I highly recommend it. As with many NZ Sauv Blancs, it’s nearly clear in the glass; straw-colored I’d say if forced to choose a hue. Immediately you are confronted with the fabulous, racy, herbal grassiness of good NZ SBs. I absolutely love these wines when done well. Each and every sip manages to cleanse, satisfy, excite and entice. Which is one reason I’ve just finished la deuxième.
I am dying, DYING to make the Giant Green Pie recipe published in today’s NYT Dining section, but I am NOT sure I want to wait two more hours for the finished product. Instead I might do something with the enormous mess o’ arugula I recently culled from my garden. A pesto? A spread? Ooh, what about a Bûcheron and arugula pesto frittata? And that’s a go.
Ol had a school holiday today, so we’ve been busy. Read: I am now pooped, and we’ve been down a man since Jack stays for chess on Wednesdays. Yo! The party is just about to get started.
At some point this morning, we headed to the market (I don’t live there despite how it must sound) and were thrilled to run into what look to be actual farm strawberries; fresh, local, just-picked. I’m sure some of that description is a romanticization, but you know how agri-companies’ (Driscoll’s, etc) berries are giant, uniform, lacking in scent, too white near the stem, and have no flavor? Well, these don’t look, smell or taste like that. Also, local berries means enough warmth has finally trickled into our area to ripen these babies to maturity. Yippee!
I can’t wait to get going on these and am thinking strawberry-rhubarb pie jam!
Oh my god, y’all. I am in my car in the school pick-up line, heard my name, thought my window was more open than it is, swung my head out and BASHED the area where my nose meets my under-nose area. Throbbing! Red! I feel like an ass, and I was not the Emily being sought. Good god.
Earlier, I was hungry and really wanted something, probably a Vanilla Bean with kale, from Purée. It’s been a while since I indulged there so I went and got the VBwK. The juicer and I started talking kale, and he asked, “have you ever smelled plain, juiced kale? It’s pretty revolting.” I had not and next thing I knew, I was inhaling a kale shot. In fact, it is beyond revolting. Oh.my.god. Never smell a kale shot unless you have to.
What a nice and productive day it’s been so far. Jack and I went to his class open house this morning so that I could see lots of what he’s been working on. We played a math game, he showed me his journal and a report he’d done on Cousteau. It was darling and fun and then two of my dearest pals and I hung out in the parking lot for at least a half hour, freezing but in hysterics. Fun.
I headed home with a mission to bake, frost and freeze a Reine de Saba (Julia’s chocolate-almond cake) so that I could check that off my to-do list for the party we’re having for Mom and Dad next week to celebrate their 40th anniversary. In the meantime, I made a pot of pappa al pomodoro just because it sounded delicious. And it was!
Tags: pappa al pomodoro
Gawd, y’all, I spent most of the morning on the couch. Whatever crappy bug I have is the pits. Also the fact that it was in the 40s last night and will be again tonight. Really mid-May?
At noon, I picked Ol up and took him to his swimming lesson, which is outside in a heated pool and during which I wore a scarf. Again, really? Fun though, and afterwards, I managed to eat a small salad and get together a lovely dinner for my grands. Then I had my first real wind in days, got a lot done for my parents’ 40th anniversary party next week and made some homemade peanut sauce (like, starting with peanuts that I roasted), dinner AND that cocktail about which I dreamed last weekend. Y’all, the Lidocaine is good!
I steeped coconut milk with fresh ginger and habañero, a dash of cinnamon and two demerara sugar cubes. Then I strained and chilled that and ultimately shook it hard with vodka and ice, finished it with a splash of Cognac and a bit of orange zest. Voila!
And for our meal: seared tofu with the peanut sauce as well as a soba noodle salad with cucumbers, celery and, wait for it, the peanut sauce.
I don’t know what is up with my white balance! What did I do??
Bill Gates does some awesome shit with his mind, money and time.