Reading habits

I've beenr reading The Art of Eating In by Cathy Erway. When I first picked it up, I thought to my dismay that it was going to be one of those "Look at me, how clever I am to have given up restaurant eating for two years" things. Sort of in the vein of Julia and Julie.  I was dismayed, especially because I'd given it as a gift to Elizabeth, but she reported she loved it. So after I finished Steig Larsson (wow, did I have a funny dream last night, Larsson inspired, I'm sure), I picked it up again. In for a surprise. I found myself reading with great interest about her evening trip with freegans to dumpster dive--they don't so much dive as they sort through black plastic bags of trash. Bakeries especially throw out day-old food, but some people found other treasures--cold cuts, vegetables, etc. I don't think I could ever do that (besides not wanting to be out at night like that) because I'd worry about contamination. And it seems to me we should have a more efficient way of recycling that food to the homeless and needy.
Of more interest to me was a trip she took with a group led by a naturalist through a NYC park, in which he pointed out edible greens--Cathy picked wild onions and garlic, dandelion greens, and other goodies, while the naturalist clearly warned them about poisonous plants. She figured she could make a summer's worth of salads on what she could forage and never buy garlic again. I could so much more see doing that. The next chapter was on waste--and she had amazing statistics on how much waste we all create by eating out and ordering in. But the book is heavy going, and I decided I needed fiction.
I turned to Pat Controy's South of Broad. I've loved reading Conroy before and in reading this prologue I reveled in the beauty of his prose. But I was ready for escapism, not beautiful prose. I turned on my Kindle and began a sample of a mystery that I'd ordered--never heard of the author or title, but I'll probably order it. I'll get back to The Art of Eating In and South of Broad, just not today.
A book I reviewed lately that fascinated me, all 152 small pages of it. It's Bothered by My Green Conscience, by Canadian artist Franke James. James opens with four questions: 1) Do you feel guilty if you throw paper in the trash, instead of recycling it? 2) Do you turn off lights to save energy? 3) Do you apologize for driving a gas guzzler? 4) Do you worry about climate change? If you answer yes to two or more, you have a green conscience; I answered yes to all but the third, because I drive a VW bug. Written in her own hand and whimsically illustrated by her,  James' book chronicles her experience with going green, including a decision to get rid of her SUV and turn her driveway into a garden. The borough of North York (in Toronto) had objections: driveways must be asphalt, concrete or interlock and you can only grow one tree. What? When we all know the more trees, the more pure the air? Eventually she got her garden driveway.
Something you should know: the book was printed on chlorine free paper made with 100% post-consumer waste, which saved 32 fully grown tress, 11,787 gallons of water, 23 million BTUs, 1,514 pounds of solid waste, and 2,840 pounds of greenhouse gases. Pretty impressive, isn’t it? Shows what we can do. I recommend you read this book--and then go back to it when your green conscience needs a jog.
Aside from reading and the nearly 900 words I wrote today, I had dinner with Betty at Lamberts--I had quail, and she had wild boar ribs, which I intended to order  until the waitress said they were spicy. I ate a bit of one, and it was good--but the spiciness of four or five would have been too much. My quail was delicious, though I wished for another one, and we split a side of green chili grits--a huge side. We each brought some home. Nice day, but hotter than  you know what outside. Is this our repeat of the summer of 1980?

Weather, books, memoirs and food--and poison

When I set out for errands this morning, it was cloudy but fairly warm, delightful top-down day. So, I kept putting the top up and down--I don't leave it down for fear someone will steal my handicap tag, my booster seat, or my pretty felt flower. But it's so easy to put the top down and up, now that it's finally repaired, that I don't mind. But once I was safely home, about noon, the sky grew ominously dark and the wind picked up at a great rate. Greg was in the driveway, and I asked if we could switch places, since I wanted to get my car in the garage if it hailed. We did but then he went back to trimming bushes--I was terrified he would be electrocuted and relieved when he called it a day. It rained hard for a  long time, but then we had a sunny respite--the porch was too wet to sit on and the weather too cool. More rain about midnight and all weekend. There goes lunch on the patio at Joe T.'s, and Jordan's barbecue Sunday night is going to be indoors and crowded. But we'll manage.
One of my errands was to Barnes & Noble. I had a gift card with about $20 left on it, and I decided I would buy one signifcant book, not my usual mystery, that I wanted to read. I spent something like $43 and bought Pat Conroy's South of Broad (I've always enjoyed his books), It Is Well with My Soul: The Extraordinary Life of a 106-Year-Od Woman by Ella Mae Cheeks Johnson with Patricial Mulcahy--Johnson is the oldest living black graduate of Case Western Reserve University; I thought it appropriate because I'm teaching that class on memoir. The third book I bought, on impulse, was I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti. Okay, that's a case where the title got me, and I may yet regret buying another "young chick" memoir of loves and cooking, but I'll try it. I'm increasingly interested in memoir. I'm currently rereading a manuscript I acquired for the press some time ago--The Legacy of the Sacred Harp--a memoir through which Sacred Harp or shape-note singing forms the unifying thread. Fascinating. So I look forward to reading these three books, though first I must finish the mystery I'm in the mdst of. Despite my determination to write successful mysteries and the lessons I've earned from reading others, I do feel the need to read more broadly.
Tonight Elizabeth came for happy hour, so we could plan the next class meeting,which is this coming Thursday. It was my turn to make snacks, so I used those six big mushrooms I'd bought for Jordan that she never came to eat. Stuffed them with my mom's concoction--grated cheese, dry mustard, Worcestershire, and mayonnaise to bind. Because I'd made good pimiento cheese lately, I added a sprinkle of cayenne. It occurred to me this mixture (which Jordan loves) is a lot like pimiento cheese without the pimientos (which Jordan hates). You have to bake the mushrooms slowly; otherwise the cheese melts while the mushrooms are still raw.
We planned the class easily, since it's mostly class participation, but then we sat and visited and realized how much more we told each other, compared to what we wrote down. Idea for an exercise for a future class.
After Elizabeth left, I scrambled myself two eggs--I haven't done this in a long time--but I added chopped tomato, diced scallions, and cut up smoked salmon. So good. Now I'm wondering if I could put smoked salmon on my morning cottage cheese in the morning!
I talked to a friend the other night about cottage cheese. His baby is just beginning to eat table food, and I suggested cottage cheese; he and his wife both made horrible faces,but I said I had raised all my babies on it. Then I suggested scrambling eggs with cottage cheese instead of milk, and he, a gourmet cook, was interested. I don't know if he'll try it or not.
Meantime, I'm investigating ways to poison people. I called my brother last night to talk about digitalis and strychnine, until he finally said, "I don't know, Judith. I never poisoned anyone." Well, I need to find a way for a fictional character to die suddenly, no symptoms, from tasting food. I've been all over the internet, still working on it.