Grilled cheese + tomato soup = always a winner

After snarfing breakfast (fried egg on toast) so as to get J to Tae Kwon Do on time and then snarfing lunch (avocado, peppery olive oil and chevre on olive bread) so as to get to the gym on time, I patently refused to do anything but enjoy dinner. For the boys I made grilled salmon, pasta aglio olio, broccoli and oranges, and later for us, tomato and white bean soup with olive croutons and two cheese-grilled cheeses with Iberico ham. You simply cannot go wrong with any of these items. Plus, in making the soup, I christened my new pumpkin cocotte. I am smitten with it. Completely so. And no, skeptical husbands out there, it is not difficult to clean.

The soup included a whole bunch of basil and a pinch of saffron, a fair amount of garlic and a Parmesan rind. Tomatoes, white beans, olive oil and some peperoncino rounded things out, and the garlicky olive bread croutons were a delightful topper.

Meanwhile, a grilled cheese sandwich is always made better by being served alongside a bowl of steaming tomato soup. This duo can be as basic as a white bread-American cheese griller with a cup of Campbell's or as fancy as a multi-cheeser on artisan bread dunked in a vessel of just-crafted tomato bisque. Tonight I slicked slices of seed-heavy harvest bread with good butter before sandwiching them around shavings of both extra sharp white cheddar and black pepper-Parmesan as well as a paper-thin slice of Iberico ham from the farmers market. These were off the hook.

And dessert was The Knick, one of the best episodes yet. If y'all are not watching this excellent, engrossing show, you must. I wait for it with baited breath-anticipation every week. Clive Owen is too hot to be real. Mon dieu. Meow!

Speaking of meow, look at my doll-baby laundry cat. Look at the rear paws- could you die?!

Spectacular Saturday

When the children are away, the parents will play (and laze)

People, it is absolutely remarkable how zen my home feels when the children are happily elsewhere. Since they are with my parents who take them swimming as much as they want AND feign interest in Pokémon AND take them for sno-cones and donuts, I know that the children, who are elsewhere, are most definitely happy. Since that's the case, we are rolling in lazy zentasticness over here. Swear to g, y'all I neither changed out of PJs or brushed my teeth until 1:30 this afternoon. Why bother with either when A) it's raining and B) you have nowhere to be and so C) you can clean Oliver's, aka Tiny Hoarder, room? I cannot even tell you how much stuff I purged from that "treasure chest." You heard it here first if he ends up starring in a hoarder reality show some day. Some of the "treasures" with which I dispensed:

• a paper lunch bag FULL of pine needles, chipped bark and a faux gem
• a secret stash of assorted gum and candy wrappers
• a giant petrified raisin
• various paper crowns, tee-pees and feather-bedecked hats(?)
• multiple drawings of pokeballs and butts

I felt wildly productive and free.

As I stood up, my calves seemed locked into some sort of bad position that can only derive from lack of use. It therefore seemed appropriate (necessary) to visit a long-lost haunt known as the gym. I stretched, did some cardio, saw some friends and finally returned to my car at which point I realized, upon seeing a sort of diagonal angle of myself in the car window, that my bosom looked extremely unbalanced. Long story short, only one of the boob pads in my sports top was in. I give up on boob pads because A) they're annoying to remove for the laundry and then put back in because (and perhaps this is my failure) they always end up with an odd crease that seems to show through and alert everyone to the fact that I have boob pads in; B) they remind me of people who put other folks' pictures on dating sites: you are definitely going to be found out, person, and you will then look like a total tool.

Once in the car, I ripped out the remaining pad and threw it into my console. It occurred to me that if someone looked in my car, it'd be really weird to see a beige, oblong foam pad in there so I hid it with my grocery list.

When I arrived at the grocery, I hid the damn pad again because obviously I needed my list. The market was so busy I started to wonder if I'd missed news of Armageddon happening tonight, but I channeled my zen and let everyone have the right of way. Where did I have to be? Nowhere. Karma people, karma.

Back in the car, I threw the boob pad in my purse where it remains (note to self: remove it because discovery by anyone else will be embarrassing) and headed home in a jolly mood. Intending to make granola and ricotta, I instead had to haul immediate ass upstairs because Tom decided to relacquer our table and I am certain I lost an enormous number of brain cells in the short time it took me to throw everything into our fridge. It seems we will be going out to eat tonight. And you know what? We can.

This staycation is SUCH a gift. Thank you, Mom and Dad!

Last night's dinner

Yesterday, I was overcome with such a serious yen for short ribs that it felt like a schizo imperative. We ate well last night, in part because of this moment of craze. Braised short ribs atop hominy stew (thank you, Hugh Acheson), watermelon-feta salad (I know, serious obsession) and my crispy Brussels sprouts with lemon, capers and Pecorino. Outstanding. Then we played Monopoly, and I got creamed. Then we watched The Knick which is beyond fabulous and totally redeemed my glum over having been stripped of Boardwalk. If y'all are not watching Clive Owen and this fab new show, you need to start doing so!