A fantasy dinner

We must celebrate the Fourth, our Independence Day,
so that our children and grands may grow up free in a democracy
in control of their bodies, their votes, their natural resources.
God love them all.

For some time now I’ve moved this recipe to the front of my “try this week” selections—and then moved it back again. It just didn’t see like the right time, or it sounded like too many strong flavors for my mood, or maybe I was just lazy. But tonight good friends came for happy hour. The original plan was that I would go to supper with them, but I wasn’t sure how reliable my stomach was, and I forgot to ask Christian to clear the driveway, so there were two cars, impassable on my walker, between me and an outing. It was all for the best, and I was okay with it. But I had no dinner plans.

I saw them all off to a restaurant that makes extraordinary fried chicken and asked that they bring me back two pieces, which they did—they will be tomorrow night’s dinner, with potato salad, for Jean and me. But what to eat tonight? I had a sudden idea—that sardine recipe I’d been moving about. Of course, when I wanted it, I couldn’t find it and had to print another copy out.

It may have sounded good to me because my long-ago husband used to make a sardine spread I really liked. He claimed it was an old Jewish recipe, and maybe it was—or not. I’ll never know. But he mashed sardines with lemon, onion, salt and pepper and spread the mix on rye toast. It was really good.

But the recipe I found tonight was for toasts—you toast artisan bread (I used five baguette slices) and the minute it’s hot from the oven, spread the bread with a cut garlic clove and then a thin layer of butter. Follow that with thinly sliced tomato, lightly salted, and then sardines (mine came out of the can in bits and pieces but that was because I had trouble opening the can—I cannot do those ring lids! Not enough strength in my hands). Then thin slices of onion—I used the sweet onions I’m so enamored of this season. Salt and pepper it all again, sprinkle with lemon juice and drizzle with olive oil. Who needs basil on top of all those strong flavors—I ignored that part?

First of all, it was hard to eat—drippy. Second, that garlic was really really strong. Omigoodness, I’m still reeling. And when Carol came to bring me the chicken, I warned her to keep her distance. In this day when we’re all so fearful of Covid, she stepped instinctively back, as though she thought in the hour and a half since I’d last seen her, I’d developed Covid. I said instead that I’d eaten a lot of garlic, and she said “Yes, I smell it.”

I’m not sure it’s a dinner I’d repeat often, but it was really good. Another time I’d go lighter on the garlic. And the sardines in the fridge? Maybe I’ll make Joel’s spread out of them and raise a toast to his memory.

Meantime, tonight, fireworks are bursting all around us. I think it’s too early to be those from the concerts in the garden, so I gather individuals are gaily breaking the law. Sophie is not at all bothered—though thunder bothers her a great deal. Interesting to me that she can distinguish between the two. I don’t remember her ever being nervous on the Fourth but there’s been so much publicity about taking care of our animals, I thought I should watch carefully.

Over my long life I have been to more different fireworks celebrations than I can even remember beginning with my teen years when church friends and I went to Soldiers’ Field in Chicago for stock car races and the fireworks. Can you believe me folks let me do that? These days I never again want to go, never want to hear them bursting right over me—it makes me feel like my heart is stopping. But for some odd reason I find a certain satisfaction in sitting in my cottage and hearing them—even though I know many are illegal. Hope not many people lose eyes, fingers, noses, etc. tonight.

It's a funny year to celebrate Independence Day. There’s a wide belief abroad that we have no independence—mostly due to recent decisions from the rogue Supreme Court—and that we have nothing to celebrate. I believe we have to celebrate the country we were meant to be, that country idealized in our constitution, the land where each voice matters. Granted today, that seems a futile dream, but I am optimistic. We can’t turn tail and run. We have to stay here, celebrate democracy and fight for it. Okay, I’ll get political: Vote Blue! It’s the way to defeat those we would tear down our democracy.