A bit of gazpacho for breakfast

 

Obviously, it was a cooking weekend for me. Gazpacho was on the menu. Megan called from Austin and asked if I put bread crumbs in my gazpacho, and when I said yes she said she did too, but she’d never heard of that until recently. I hadn’t either, so this was a first for me. The gazpacho was probably my biggest success of the weekend.

I also made broiled wedge salads—I have not been a fan of charring everything, even romaine for Caesar salad. And don’t talk to me about burnt ends. But this sounded good, the slight brown on the leaves giving it a different taste and texture. Contrary to what I thought at first you don’t broil the whole salad—coat the wedge(s) with dressing and top with Parmesan. Broil that. Then add all the things you put on a wedge, along with more dressing. It was good.

Chickenburgers turned out nicely but proved hard to eat—buns, tomatoes, lettuce, all fell apart as you tried to eat. Part of the problem, I think, is that I cut the sandwich in half—unequally. And got a lot of meat in one half, not so much in the other.

The final item on my agenda was tzatziki potato salad. It was okay, but I have had potato salads I like better, such as daughter-in-law Lisa’s with lots of dill pickle or the lemon version I make with new potatoes. I am enjoying an online daily email from “Kitchn,” and yesterday it had a big headline about the one trick you need to know about potato salad: dress the potatoes while they are still hot. Credited to Bobby Flay. Well, good for Bobby but my mom learned that trick back in the fifties from the Italian cook who ruled the kitchen at my dad’s hospital. Trouble for me is that potatoes cooled in the fridge peel so much more easily. Anyway, don’t look for more tzatziki salad from me.

This morning the workermans (a granddaughter’s term) next door started hammering at seven o’clock, so I got up much earlier than I intended. And there was that leftover gazpacho and a half an avocado calling my name. Made a great breakfast.

Last night I had delightful company for dinner—a minister from our church and her mother. We talked about everything, from my books to her sermons and lots of talk about cooking and food. Sophie was on center stage and knew she had an audience—she played it to the hilt, with cute demands for more food and more attention.

Sophie is at the center of one big thing in my not-so-big life lately. She had her annual checkup. Despite my dire predictions, she is maybe just a little bit overweight. I kept accusing Jordan of overfeeding by indulging those demands for seconds. It’s a relief for me to get that vet visit over, though I really like our vet. And it’s nice to know that my nine-year-old dog/companion is healthy, from heart to teeth.

Yesterday was also a milestone in the Burton family: Jacob’s fifteenth birthday. Hard to believe. He had a rough year—spending his freshman high school year at a computer in his bedroom instead of in class with his buddies. After spring break, he got to go to classes three days a week, but it wasn’t the same. He handled it with grace and good humor. I enjoyed his company at dinner more nights than not—he was an interested participant in discussions of everything, especially politics, and I caught him trying to modify my tunnel vision on the subject. His Uncle Colin just cautioned me against becoming an angry old woman because I am so passionate about what’s wrong with Republicans—but everything I said he agreed with. Anyway, I’m proud of Jacob, his basic good nature, and his developing skill at golf.

Dinner tonight with Phil and Subie Green at The Rim. We went for the fried chicken—at least I did, because it’s the best I have ever had. A distinction I didn’t realize most people don’t know—chicken-friend chicken is boneless, skinless chicken, usually a breast, heavily battered and fried. It’s a whole different taste than fried chicken, which is bone-in, skin-on, and lightly battered. I don’t like chicken-fried chicken, but I love good fried chicken. Tonight, I asked for dark meat and got three thighs—a feast with leftovers. Accompanied by good, mashed potatoes and mushy green beans. If you’re gonna’ eat green beans with chicken, they should be mushy—none of this crisp vegetable stuff. But that’s only with fried chicken.

I am going to sleep a happy camper tonight. Hope you are too.