Jamie and his guitar
The Burtons are home tonight,
and Jamie left for Frisco in mid-afternoon. While I am glad to have my “regular”
local family home, I was sorry to see Jamie go. Had a wonderful
almost-forty-eight hours with him. We had more deep discussions today, some
about marriage (his parents in particular) and the virtues/pitfalls of staying
together “for the children.” But the best part of the morning was when I
followed odds and ends on my computer and Jamie sat and softly played his
guitar. Even Sophie was mesmerized.
Jamie is what I would call a
spontaneous eater—doesn’t plan ahead, does what appeals to him at the moment.
So at first today he wanted to go to the Flying Fish for lunch, which I
suggested would be crowded. And truth be told, I didn’t want to dress and go
out. Finally he settled on Great Outdoors sandwiches and ordered them through
Door Dash, which he uses several times a week and I never use, wouldn’t know
how to go about it.
Jamie was even present in
spirit when I ate a splendid, solitary supper. Yesterday in addition to the
roast, he bought pinwheel steak—beef wrapped around spinach and feta, a
terrific combination of flavors. I said this morning I’d freeze it, and he
objected it would not taste as good. Besides, it wasn’t big enough for the four
of us. So tonight I pan fried it in butter and olive oil and fixed a green
salad with Parmesan and vinaigrette—I confess it was all so good, I made myself
small second helpings of both.
Burtons had a great trip to
Fayetteville which they report is a charming town with good restaurants.
Christian described the campus, pointed out some milestones in their history—lots
of governors went there, and the Clintons were on the faculty for a while. I
had just read that the school has been recognized as a research university,
which is a coup. So it was a successful trip but only the first of several.
Jacob apparently liked it a lot, but I suspect he will like almost every campus
he visits.
More of my trivia: I love
hearing new words, but today one popped up on my Facebook memories that I’d
forgotten about: embiggen. It was coined for a Simpsons episode but has now
been accepted into the language either by Oxford or Websters, I don’t remember
which. Frankly, I always though enlarge was a good enough word, but embiggen
has a charm of its own.
And I read a piece about the
origin of “posh”: in the glory days of the British Empire, many Brits went by
steamship from England to Egypt. Because of the position of the sun, the
elegant, spoiled ones requested a room on the port side on the voyage to Egypt
and one of the starboard for the return trip. Ticket agents called it Port out,
starboard home and soon shortened it to the acronym posh. I have no idea if
that’s authentic, but it’s a charming story.
Yesterday when Jamie and I
were in Central Market, we saw an island of mushrooms. They have a fascinating
display of various kinds, but what caught my eye was the morels for, gulp, $79/lb.
So I went looking at recipes to see how much you need: the most common way to
serve them is apparently fried, and you’ll need the full pound for a dinner for
two. Wow! That better be some special occasion! You can get away with anywhere
from an ounce to half a pound if you’re making a pasta sauce.
The other expensive fungus was
black trumpet mushrooms, also $79/lb. When I looked up recipes for those, I
found you can use 3 oz. in a cream cheese spread, 4 oz. in a pasta sauce, or 3
oz. in a souffle, all of which I think would mask the mushroom flavor. I may stick
with bella, but some of the others on display were clamshell, blue oyster, hen
of the woods (only $30/lb.), and chanterelle.
I’m thinking my approach to
mushrooms is pretty pedestrian. I sauté them in butter, maybe add a splash of
wine and a drop or two of Worcestershire and serve them on toast—Jordan and I
love it, but the boys won’t touch them. I see recipes for mushroom lasagna or
mushroom pot pie and drool, but I can’t do I here. Maybe I’ll try to enlarge my
repertoire.
Cold front coming: into the
thirties Thursday. I’m glad I stuck by the Farmer’s Almanac wisdom that
cites March 15 as the last date for a freeze. Thursday will be the sixteenth.
Waiting a bit to renew my herb garden.
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