Feeling domestic

 

Our trout dinner.

I had all sorts of grand plans for the day—investigate the bookshelves that are always hidden by the couch, now that the couch has gone out to be cleaned. First time in seven years I can even see those shelves, and I have no idea what all those papers are. And I was going to make notes on a new idea I’ve had--I know, I’m always having new ideas lately and rarely following through. But I have good intentions.

All that went out the window. I slept late and was slow to get going when I did get up. Poor Sophie was most patient waiting for her second breakfast. When I got to my desk, I found I had an extraordinary amount of email for a Saturday, including articles that I wanted to read slowly and absorb—one about Kamala Harris, another about E. Jean Carroll, something about launching a new scene in a novel.

But lingering in my mind was the notion that I had promised to make a corn salad for supper. Christian and I make a great team—tonight he grilled ruby red trout (after first being alarmed at the color) and green beans. I made the corn salad and a peach galette for dessert. But that menu—and the idea that we were having a special dinner—led me down the recipe path.

I figured Christian would decide how he wanted to do the trout, but I had promised to look up directions for grilling green beans in a basket. And then I realized I had to do something with those two gorgeous peaches—once rock-hard, they were now getting too close to soft. So that meant looking up recipes for peach cobbler and peach galette. (More about that on Thursday’s Gourmet on a Hot Plate Column, but I will say the galette was delicious). Of all things I didn’t need in my recipe prowling, I came across a recipe for a taco casserole—it will be great in the dark of winter but sounds way too heavy on an 108 day. That’s the trouble—I always get side-tracked by recipes I don’t need. My “never tried” file bulges, but show me an article that say, “Our thirty most  popular recipes,” or “Our fifteen most loved salad lunches” and I’m hooked.

Then of course I had to make the corn salad—I find that almost any recipe takes me an hour from start to clean-up. Perhaps it’s because I cook from my seated walker, which I also blame for the many spots on my pants. When you stand, things that drip and drop don’t get on your pants, but it’s a totally different story when you’re seated. I gathered things for the galette because I was a little uncertain about that but, after an afternoon nap, putting it together went well. Galettes are not necessarily meant to be pretty and mine wasn’t, but it tasted good. And somewhere along the way I washed fresh green beans and snapped the ends. When Christian was ready to grill them in his new round grill basket, I seasoned them with olive oil, salt and pepper and a bit of garlic powder. He added lemon before he grilled them—that boy just can’t help improving on a recipe—and we dusted them with pecorino before serving. Christian announced it was his new favorite way to eat green beans.

So that was an elegant Saturday supper—grilled trout, grilled green beans, corn salad, and a peach galette. And none of us felt too full after dinner. I call that a success.

My lopsided galette
made with puff pastry.

In other bits of domesticity, I hung up the clothes that had accumulated on the chair in my bedroom—don’t judge! It’s one of the perks of living alone. And I sorted through a basket of things Jacob had brought me from in the house, mostly packages that arrived from Amazon. A couple of books I looked forward to—one on recipes of the Fifties (look out, family, we’re about to have pineapple upside down cake—I wonder if Christian’s mom ever made that) and the other a memoir by Abigail Thomas titled Still Life at Eighty. Isn’t that a great title? You can take it any of several ways. Since I’m eighty, plus some, I’m eager to read what she has to say.

But the thing that excited me about that basket was that it included two things I had ordered for Christmas gifts. It’s August, and I’ve already got two people on my list taken care of. Do you realize how exciting that is? I saw something the other day about how far away Christmas is—not as far as you’d think. Whatever I saw was meant to encourage us that this hot weather too shall pass. And the Farmer’s Almanac says we’re due a hard winter. No, thanks. We’ve had a hard summer, and we don’t need a hard winter.

Know what? My day of domesticity wore me out. I think I’ll go back to writing. It’s easier.