No use crying over spilt—water!

 

My thrown-together dinner

A picture I’m glad no one saw. About one o’clock in the morning last night, I crawled into bed, flung the covers over me rather over-dramatically—and heard a great crash. I had just knocked my water tumbler off the nightstand with the comforter. And it was full because I always refresh the ice and add new water on my way to bed. So there I was, using my kiddie broom—it works well from my walker—to sweep up an army of ice cubes and then rushing for towels to soak up the water. Meantime, my feet were wet and cold, and Sophie was looking at me as if to ask, “What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?”

I got it all cleaned up, turned around to look, and saw more ice cubes, so a second sweeping was in order. When I finally got back in bed, I was wide awake and afraid I would be that way all night but sleep and pleasant dreams came. And when I next got out of bed, the floor was dry. Sophie slept in a corner of the bedroom—I think she thought that I was so accident prone, she’d best keep an eye on me.

Fortunately, that did not set the tone for today. I wrote over a thousand words, though I am trying to write not by words but by story told. I may be backing myself into a corner though—I’ve constructed a plot that has to take place in seven days, but I’m already at day five and only have a word count of half a novel. I may be writing a novella. Still, I felt good about the part of the story I got down today.

And I was ambitious in the kitchen, making myself egg salad for lunch. I’ve always made egg salad the way I do chicken, tuna, ham, whatever—mayo, mustard, chopped green onion, a bit of salt and pepper. Sometimes I get it too runny, too much mayo. But I’ve found a recipe that helps me measure precise amounts—for three eggs, two Tbsp mayo and a half tsp. Dijon mustard. No onions but a Tbsp. dill pickle relish. Forgive the pun, but I am relishing that salad.

Tonight the neighbors—Mary and Prudence—came for happy hour, so we heard about Mary’s trip to Hawaii. It was not a happy occasion—the death of her older brother—but she still loved being in Hawaii, where she says the air is so sweet. And from the pictures she posted, she had some good food. And Prudence had stories of shopping for a first communion dress for her second-oldest daughter. Fun to catch up with them.

No dinner plan tonight, so I made myself what one Scottish acquaintance calls a thrown-together supper. I opened one of the last cans of my good salmon from Oregon, sautéed a green onion in olive oil, added the salmon, some capers, some halved cherry tomatoes, salt, pepper, and oregano; removed it from the heat and stirred in some sour cream and lemon juice. Meanwhile I cooked some fettucine, drained it, spooned the salmon mixture over it, topped with generous Parmesan—and there was my thrown-together dinner. You can do almost whatever you want with this, depending on your taste and what’s in your fridge and pantry. Like black olives? Throw some in. Love the heat of peppers? By all means, add them. Let your imagination go wild. I think the key is, though, to start with really good salmon as a base—and no, I don’t think tuna will do the same.

I’m a fairly devoted reader of The New York Times cooking column (and also a follower of the Facebook page they have detached from that is now called Not The New York Times Cooking Community). But sometimes cooking editor Sam Sifton gets a bit too far out for me, especially with Middle Eastern and African recipes—sorry, I know I should have more of an international palate, but the truth is I’m a big advocate of American cooking. So here’s what I found the other day that I am NOT going to cook: cauliflower ceviche with avocado, seaweed, and soy. There are several elements wrong there—just don’t ask me.

Happy dreams, everyone. Dream of loving your neighbor.