My Moon, My Man
I had a really lovely weekend, an honeymoon kind of weekend despite the fact that I crashed so hard Friday after a crazy work week the minutiae of which are too soul-crushingly boring to detail here.
Saturday morning we woke up to our cat on the bed chirruping. What distinguishes this scenario from perhaps at least half of all the other cat-occupied household in the universe is that our cats were feral four years ago when Trey rescued them from the snowy backyard, where they hid under the sofa 23.5/7, the .5 the rushing out and scarfing down of their food. So now that Twiggy hops up on the bed to chirrup and flop her butt in my face to cuddle, it's like Helen Keller tracing W-A-T-E-R under the pump for the very first time.
We proceed to go about our old-person Saturday routine: Dog run visit? (Bernese Mountain Dog today! YAYYYYYYY) Check. Farmer's market? Check. Go to Sunac for stuff like vital wheat gluten and oatmeal and peanut butter? Check. Napoli bakery? Not today. Oh shit, I forgot garlic! Rosemary Farm on Graham. Check! And into the apartment, into our little world and the very warm bed.
This is what I made: Celeriac soup with potatoes, sweet onion, chickpeas, collard greens and parsely. Roasted turnip fries coated with a pepper/cumin/mole powder/thyme mixture. And turned all the limp vegetables into homemade broth. We joked about it: Did you ever think we'd be making vegetable broth from scratch and drinking mint tea and watching animal shows in the cold? I love you. I love you. When the broth had cooled and was strained (had to use cut-in-half T-shirt from My Finance Company Employer in lieu of cheesecloth) I put it in an enormous Mason jar and covered the top with foil. A dirty, dirty hippie is what I have become! Later on: stir fried buckwheat soba with garlic, ginger, carrot, red cabbage, tossed with toasted cashews and sesame seeds. Nothing is more fun that not having to leave the house -- knowing that you can come up with something amazing, with what is right there in front of you, inside you, holding your hand, over and over again.
Saturday morning we woke up to our cat on the bed chirruping. What distinguishes this scenario from perhaps at least half of all the other cat-occupied household in the universe is that our cats were feral four years ago when Trey rescued them from the snowy backyard, where they hid under the sofa 23.5/7, the .5 the rushing out and scarfing down of their food. So now that Twiggy hops up on the bed to chirrup and flop her butt in my face to cuddle, it's like Helen Keller tracing W-A-T-E-R under the pump for the very first time.
We proceed to go about our old-person Saturday routine: Dog run visit? (Bernese Mountain Dog today! YAYYYYYYY) Check. Farmer's market? Check. Go to Sunac for stuff like vital wheat gluten and oatmeal and peanut butter? Check. Napoli bakery? Not today. Oh shit, I forgot garlic! Rosemary Farm on Graham. Check! And into the apartment, into our little world and the very warm bed.
This is what I made: Celeriac soup with potatoes, sweet onion, chickpeas, collard greens and parsely. Roasted turnip fries coated with a pepper/cumin/mole powder/thyme mixture. And turned all the limp vegetables into homemade broth. We joked about it: Did you ever think we'd be making vegetable broth from scratch and drinking mint tea and watching animal shows in the cold? I love you. I love you. When the broth had cooled and was strained (had to use cut-in-half T-shirt from My Finance Company Employer in lieu of cheesecloth) I put it in an enormous Mason jar and covered the top with foil. A dirty, dirty hippie is what I have become! Later on: stir fried buckwheat soba with garlic, ginger, carrot, red cabbage, tossed with toasted cashews and sesame seeds. Nothing is more fun that not having to leave the house -- knowing that you can come up with something amazing, with what is right there in front of you, inside you, holding your hand, over and over again.
posted by Lillet Langtry at 9:29 AM
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