There were four of us for supper tonight, and I warned my neighbors it would not be a sumptuous supper—but maybe it turned out that way. For an appetizer, I split two figs per person, topped with a piece of almost cooked bacon and crumbled goat cheese, and broiled. Forgot the step where you were supposed to drizzle with balsamic, but they were rich and good nonetheless. I got the idea from an online occasional newsletter called Hi-Made Foods. I can’t recommend it enough. They have a restaurant in the Hill Country, though I’m not sure where. But if I’m ever headed that way I’m going to look it up and be sure to eat there. Once again, I forgot to take pictures, and the figs made a lovely platter.
For supper, we had a recipe I’ve been wanting to try—mushroom stroganoff. I got it from the September 2015 issue of Southern Living. All the ingredients of stroganoff but no meat, just lots of mushrooms. Since I’m a great do-it-ahead cook I made the sauce—up to the point of adding sour cream—about five. Then when I reheated it, I thought it too thick, so I added about a half a cup of white wine, heated that, and then added sour cream. Where it called for parsley garnish, I used chives from my herb pots. Delicious, if rich.
So it was a simple meal—appetizer, main dish, salad—but perhaps as Jay said a sumptuous one. I’d fix it all again.
Today is my oldest daughter’s birthday—I won’t embarrass her by saying which one, but I will tell the story that she’s heard too often: she’s the only one of my babies that I know exactly where I was and what I was doing when she was born. I was sitting in the Atlanta airport, waiting to fly to North Carolina to stay at my parents’ house. Megan was a fussy, sickly baby—she certainly taught me what colic is—so they kept her until she was eighteen days old, plenty of time for us to be back home and get that phone call from the Edna Gladney Home. I hate to think if we’d been still in NC when they called. She is one of the treasures of my life.
Other than that, a down day. My hip and my back hurt, and I’m depressed about it, but have to get over whining and wondering if what I really need is counseling. Grateful for Subie who helped fix the appetizers, made the salad, and did most of the dish cleanup. I comfort myself that this too shall pass—I will not live the rest of my life either hurting or being afraid I’m going to hurt any minute.
On that down note, tomorrow will be a better day. God bless, everyone.