Salmon niçoise with chunky potatoes
With a
forecast high of near 80 and lots of sunshine, today started out to be lovely.
For me, it didn’t start out that lovely. I had an early (for me) appointment
for blood work. Now, having blood drawn doesn’t bother me at all, and I have good
veins and what’s one little prick? Although I will say this tech left a huge
black-and-blue thing on my arm that I usually don’t get. But I dread these
appointments because I have to give a urine sample, and I simply can’t pee on
demand, can’t seem to time it right. Nevertheless, it was behind me, and by ten
o’clock I was home, eating leftover potato casserole for breakfast, and
catching up on the day’s email. I spent much of the morning fixing parts of the
supper I planned for a guest.
Of
course, I had to have my nap, and I was sound asleep when I thought the pitter
patter of little feet awakened me. Yep, Sophie, and in an instant, I figured
out why she was by my bed: there were two or three quick but loud claps of
thunder. And after that a fairly gentle rain.
My
guest tonight was Amy Culbertson, former food editor for the Fort Worth
Star-Telegram. Oh, how I wish they had a food editor and a books editor
these days—the decline of American journalism, but that’s another subject. Amy’s
retired now and lives in Austin but was in town for a memorial service and to
visit friends, etc. When she was at the newspaper, we knew each other vaguely, each
knew the other’s name but not the person. I remember pitching a couple of ideas
to her, but I don’t think either one took. She doesn’t remember that.
But
the thing that tickles me about my friendship with Amy is that she is basically
a Facebook friend. We didn’t really get to know each other until we became
Facebook friends. We have two big things in common: an interest in food and
cooking, and left-leaning politics. This particularly delights me because so
many of my friends scorn Facebook and even my involvement in it, whereas one of
my defenses is that I have made good friends on Facebook. Amy is great proof of
that.
It is,
however, a bit intimidating to invite a food editor for supper, and I pondered
long about the menu, finally settling on my new bread-dipping spices with olive
oil and baguette slices for an appetizer and a salmon niçoise salad for supper.
Being as compulsive as I always am, I made a new batch of dipping spices, and
this afternoon, when I got up from my nap, I put together two individual salades
niçoise, covered them with Press ‘n Seal, and had them ready to go in the fridge.
I dithered about the fact that I used my good canned salmon rather than fresh,
and the potatoes I ordered turned out to be four times bigger than I wanted so
that I had to chunk them. It all turned out all right—Amy seemed to love her
salad, asked for ordering information for the salmon and the canned tuna I
order from a fishing vessel, and ate with gusto. I had eaten too many baguette
slices and couldn’t finish my salad. For dessert: mini ice cream cones—chocolate
covered with chocolate chip ice cream—from Trader Joe’s.
Amy
and I had lots to talk about even beyond food and politics, though that took up
a large part of the evening. But there were myriad friends and acquaintances in
common and even some shared geography—I went to two years of college in Mount
Vernon, Iowa, and she was in nearby Iowa City, albeit about ten years later. I’m
sure there’s lots more we didn’t cover, and she has promised to come back. Next
on the menu: calves’ liver. I can cook it so it is so good, but I can’t find anyone
to eat it with me, and she is enthusiastic about the idea.
A thoroughly
pleasant evening, but tomorrow I really must get back to Irene. I have left
her, Henny, and the whole crowd sitting in an upscale restaurant in Fort Worth
that serves Saltillo style food. I have in my head where the action is going
(okay I even have some on paper) and Irene is itching for me to get after it.
So am I.
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