After going to
church on my computer, I got busy and did my most hated chore: boning a
chicken. This one was pre-cooked which makes it easier, sort of, but as much of
a blessing as those rotisserie chickens are, they are greasy and hard to deal
with. Often, I can find a rotisserie chicken breast, which is easier to work
with and provides more meat—much plumper breasts—than a whole chicken. But we
went to the wrong store this week, and no such luck.
Tomorrow I’ll make
chicken pot pie for my chef friend, Heather. We intend to bake it in puff
pastry shells and thereby disprove the label on the puff pastry box that says
not to use a toaster oven. But today I stole some chicken and made chicken
salad for my lunch: whirred the chicken in the food processor, added salt and
pepper, a diced scallion, juice of half a lemon, and just enough mayo to bind.
It was so good I ate more than I should have.
Then, made ambitious
by having gotten the chicken behind me, I washed lettuce and checked to be sure
I had enough for a salad for lunch tomorrow.
Tonight, I’m
making a radish/cucumber/feta/herb salad for Christian, who loves radishes. Not
sure how he’ll feel about the herbs, but they’re mostly cilantro, with a bit of
chives, parsley, and mint. He’s grilling trout, a fish he’s never had before. I
think trout is such a delicate fish that all it needs is salt, pepper, and
lemon (I don’t even need those traditional almonds), but Christian, a little
unsure about fish perhaps, likes marinades, so I found one that calls for
sherry and soy. Should be a good dinner. Might have to grill a hot dog for
Jacob.
I’ve spent some of
the day reading about the Gilded Age. They weren’t very attractive people,
those idle rich like the Astors and the Vanderbilts. All for the trappings of
wealth, but not much character beneath it. And the descendants of those who
fought for our freedom began, after the Civil War, and even earlier, to turn
toward Europe as the model of culture. Every socially ambitious woman wanted to
marry her daughter off to a European or English noble, and castles of all sorts
and varieties began to appear in this country. One who intrigues me is Lady
Randolph Churchill, born Jennie Jerome in Brooklyn. Even if I don’t like most
of the people, it’s interesting reading, and I’m learning and enjoying.
Didn’t realize
dinner was in the cottage tonight but suddenly there came a parade of three—Jordan,
Christian, and Jacob, each carrying a dish. Jordan bustled about, got out
plates and flatware, and served the plates. After we were all seated around the
coffee table, I asked where the asparagus was. Oops. She popped up and served
it—nice thin, tender young stalks. Whole dinner was delicious. The trout still
delicate and lightly enough cooked, the asparagus tender. Another time I’d make
the salad of cucumber, radish, nuts and feta and forget the herbs, except maybe
chopped chives. The cilantro and others were just hard to eat, and the vegetables,
in a light olive oil/lemon dressing, were delicious.
A busy week looms,
and I’m glad of that. Hope yours is as busy as you want it to be, and happier
than you thought it could be.
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