Monday fun—sort of

 

         

What I loved about this Monday—a cozy nap in my bed, with warm flannel pants. But wait! Life is about more than napping. I also had a good laugh about the rumors that the flying objects being shot down right and left are extraterrestrial in origin. One poster online said he was going to be so tickled if that proved true, and even my Jordan said, “I’ve aways wanted to see an alien,” though I don’t think we can yet expect them to come tumbling out of spaceships. The general in charge of the security for US and Canadian air space has officially said the reason we’re hearing about so many more is that the Chinese balloon sparked changes in the way our country monitors air space. So probably these smaller objects have been there for a long while, and we’re only now spotting them. Apparently, military pilots have reported sightings for some time, but no one paid attention. I am waiting, however, for this to become a big political issue. Good ole Mitch McConnell has already started it by accusing President Biden of not being transparent about the matter. Republicans are so eager for an issue to jump on.

And the Super Bowl aftertaste lingers, which Rhianna not getting a lot of approval, beyond Henry Winkler and a few others. Most seem to think the show was dismal, the padded white suits—whatever they were supposed to be—ungainly. I did hear one person praise the choreography. And several praised Rhianna for her control of the situation—and her bump reveal. Although one woman said she was surprised the entertainer would risk the life of her unborn child on the unstable platform. Can’t please all the people all the time. But I wonder—did anyone watch the game or was it all about the halftime show? Maybe next year we could just cancel the game and have the show? And boo to Lauren Boebbert and MTG for dumping on the “alternate anthem” and the “wokeness” of the show.

I am really worn out with all the fuss about wokeness which people can’t define anymore than they can that big bugaboo word, socialism. Wokeness, FYI, comes from an African American term and means generally aware of the social world around us, with its distinctions and prejudices and lack of equality. You think that will hurt tender little children? IF so, you need to get a life. Our children will be just fine if you stop hovering over them—and that includes banning books that introduce them to the wider world of reality.

Oops. I got on my soapbox and got carried away from my topic which is/was Monday. I started the day in the dermatologist’s office with a full body check for suspicious moles and the like. I am one of those people—blond, blue-eyed, and fair—who grow senile keratoses at a rapid rate. They’re ugly but harmless. The doctor said people like me should warn their children, and then looked at Jordan and said, “This is your daughter?” Jordan was quick with, “Yes, but I’m adopted.” Nonetheless, she has now scheduled herself a full body check, and I think it’s something everyone should do. I will do it annually because I have had three skin cancers.

The nice part of the day came with happy hour. My guest was James Lehr, marketing manager of TCU Press. We chatted about the press, books, and a whole lot of unrelated things, with a lot of focus on food and restaurants. A most pleasant way to spend a couple of hours. James brought the makings of margueritas, and I felt a bit guilty to tell him I don’t drink anything but chardonnay. I did fix a basket of mini spanakopita—we ate several, but when James was leaving and I saw him to the door, Sophie got the basket and ate all the rest. I know better than to turn my back on food on the coffee table—it doesn’t take her a minute. She seems to have no ill effects.

The family had leftover ragu for supper. One of those recipes that keeps growing—there’s still enough for two servings in the fridge. Tomorrow will be a cooking day, as we are slated to take dinner to Subie and Phil. She had knee surgery a week ago, and her sister/caretakers have both left now.

See anything about writing the great American novel here? No, I don’t either. Not even anything about promoting the one that is about to be published. I need to update my web page and write a newsletter—in between cooking and entertaining. Maybe my priorities are off?

Ho, hum. Another Super Bowl.

 

Pasta with anchovies, garlic, panko and pecorinoi

What do you do when it’s Super Bowl Sunday night and you’re home alone? Why you fix yourself anchovy/garlic pasta with a Caesar salad. At least that’s what I did. I’ve been curious about what I call offbeat pasta sauces—with sardines or anchovies as the focal flavor. This was good—a bit of parsley, plenty of olive oil, a bit of garlic, grated Pecorino cheese all softened the anchovy taste so that it was what it can be at its best—earthy and flavorful but not so salty or fishy that you wonder why you’re eating it. The best thing about the dish, though was the panko that I sauteed in a bit of olive oil—stirred in, it added a wonderful crunch to each bite of pasta. So glad I tried this. The recipe was for six, which meant I had to pare it down for one, so I obviously may have made a wrong quantity judgment somewhere along the way. I paired my pasta with a butter lettuce salad (no, I didn’t deliberately splurge—it was all Central Market had when I ordered) dressed with Paul Newman’s Caesar which I have recently decided is as good as the classic oil and vinegar. And I put lots of pecorino on the salad too.

Christian came in a few minutes ago to give Sophie her shot, and when I commented that Facebook posts generally indicate that the halftime show was awful, he said that people say that every year. But then he allowed he didn’t much like this one, which was mild compared to some online comments. I turned it on briefly, just in time for halftime, but what I saw was a bunch of men (I guess there could have been women) dressed in what looked like hazmat suits parading around the field in a gait that looked like imitation Neanderthal. I quickly turned it off.

I did another good thing tonight: I made from scratch chocolate chip cookie dough. Haven’t baked cookies, but when we (note the collective pronoun) do bake them we will sprinkle sea salt on the top. I have recently discovered the wonder of sea salt on sweets. That’s because when Megan was here, she bought salted caramels from Central Market—so good. They have become my new obsession. I figure we should have the cookies as an alternative to my expensive salted caramels. Jordan went to Albertson’s for groceries today, and I am still in shock over the tab.

My work-related accomplishment for the day is that I reviewed my web page and realized it hasn’t been updated since June—way too long. So I made notes for my web guru on updating and that’s my next email for the evening. But then I’ll settle down with a new book: probably Deborah Crombie’s new Scotland Yard mystery, A Killing of Innocents. It’s a busy week ahead. Hope for each of you, the week holds good promise.

Taking time off

 

Haven't read the Irene books yet?
Here's the first in the series.

My great good news is that my longtime mentor wrote me today that the forthcoming Irene in Chicago Culinary Adventure is, in his opinion, the best of the Irene series. I laughed a bit—he seemed to think my writing is maturing. If so, it’s about time. But I am pleased, so watch for Irene Deep in Texas Trouble this spring. Take a diva faux French chef and set her down in the midst of Cowtown—what could possibly go wrong? A wedding supper interrupted by murder, kidnapping, a runaway couple—and Irene is in the middle of all of it, the prime suspect in the murder. Once again, Henny and Patrick must save Irene.

Having sent that manuscript off, I’m taking a break and have been social—until today when I reverted to recluse status. Wednesday, in all that rain and fog we had in North Texas, friend Carol and I drove to Dallas for lunch with Fran Vick, our longtime good pal on the Texas publishing scene. It was a great reunion—Fran was one of the world’s good people, and I am happy now to be able to envision her in her new setting, a retirement community in Dallas. We had lunch, met one of her friends, and gabbed about good times and old days. Fran can always make me laugh, and she is as full of good spirits as ever, in spite of hard times. I will admit being on the freeway in the rain made me a bit nervous, but Carol is a cautious and careful driver who goes to Dallas at least once a week and knows the city. Where I would have been hopelessly lost, she delivered us on time to the front door of Fran’s building. Fran was waiting with a transport chair for me—only trouble was it had no footrest, so while Carol pushed, I had to hold my legs straight out in front of me. Fran said she hoped my legs were a lot stronger than hers. But it really worked out okay.

Lesson learned: I have truly become addicted to my routine. The trip to Dallas didn’t disturb it all that much—I did a little work before we left, got my nap when we came home, but the truth is I did not do much else the entire day, unless fixing dinner for the family counts.

Thursday I broke my routine again but for another delightful social hour: my friend Subie had knee surgery, and her sister Diana came to help for a few days. Thursday morning Diana walked over to my house for tea, and we talked and laughed and had a good time. Subie and I have been close friends for years (like forty?) but I never knew Diana well. Just before our awful ice storm—was it ’20 or ’21? —Diana was here for a visit, and she and Subie took me to Arlington where I gave a talk to a women’s group. That somehow sparked a friendship, so now when she visits, I find we have lots in common. She and her husband live in a cottage (converted garage) on the property of one of their children, just as I do. So we have on-site grandparenting and tiny houses and all kinds of things to talk about. Such fun. Again, my routine went out the window, but both days it was well worth it. I probably should do that more often.

Today I was back in my routine but taking it slow and easy, with no deadline pressure. I lingered over the online news of the day, cobbled together lunch and dinner from whatever was on hand. We are overdue on groceries—I thought I placed a Central Market order yesterday, but when Jacob went to pick it up, they didn’t have it. It was still sitting in my computer. I have an explanation, but I’m sure my children will whisper about the onset of senility. Tonight, I pretty much confronted an empty refrigerator, but scrambled eggs are always good. Somehow, with the current panic about eggs, I have two dozen in my fridge. Egg salad, anyone? Tonight, I will read a bit.  

How will you spend Super Bowl Sunday? I plan to look for the Puppy Bowl in the early afternoon and in the evening, I’ll channel surf looking for a Souper Bowl. Was it PBS that used to have those programs opposite the football thing? I read tonight that Chef Gordon Ramsey will have a new competition show with amateur chefs immediately following the game, but I’m thinking that may be a little late to watch a cooking show. At any rate, I am not one to watch the whole game, which interests me not at all, just to see the commercials, though I always love the Clydesdales. I remember some fairly raucous Super Bowl parties way back when and look back in wonder—was I really part of that? These days I’m so glad to be home with my books and maybe my TV.

Super What?

I have no idea how this image fits the Super Bowl except maybe Linus got knocked out by a football, and Lucy is consoling him--or apologizing. But the picture struck my fancy more than a lot of footballs sailing through the air. Guess that tells you my attitude before I even begin.

Yes, tonight is that game. I considered inviting a couple of friends for a Souper Bowl party, but Jordan and Christian beat me to it. They know how to mark the occasion. They invited a few close friends, including some young people for Jacob, and Christian slaved all day over a huge pot of white chili. Someone brought a couple of dips, and someone else, a bowl of fresh fruits. We had a traditional feast.

The guests were all people I’m fond of, and I was glad to see them. But I really don’t have much interest in football. Christian said he’d be more excited if it was a team he likes—but I don’t particularly care for any team, so that cancelled out my interest. I had already seen a couple of the best ads—Budweiser, Jeep—and I’m not sure how interested I will be in the halftime entertainment.

So I visited, ate my chili, drank some wine, and came home to eat some chocolate. Turned on the TV just in time to see a super ad that had people passing a gold football at a banquet, crashing into tables, etc. Missed enough that I don’t know what was being advertised, but I admired the talent and skill of the acrobatic actors and the concept dreamed up by whatever PR firm.

Now the halftime show is on. I have no idea who the guy leading the entertainment is except that I’m quite sure it’s not John Mayer. My daughters will be so proud of me! Whoever he is, he just took off his jacket, revealing solid tattoos from wrist to shoulder on both arms. Do these people think what that will look like as they age and their skin begins to sag—and keeps on sagging? I hate to sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but I guess I am. This entertainment does not restore my faith in mankind, but I am grateful that other things do.

Super Bowl of course makes us think of food. Have you noticed how advertising really pushes the seasonal foods of the moment? We’re about to go from dips and nachos and the like, for football watching, to chocolate for Valentine’s Day. I never object to chocolate—in fact I crave it. But somewhere the other day I saw mention that made me question my devotion. Chocolate hummus? I can’t quite imagine it. Not sure I want to.

This has been a weekend of recalling old times. Yesterday I had lunch with an old friend, and today my friend Linda went to a birthday party for another old friend, a woman my age who was once the nurse assistant to my ex-. We have not seen this friend for over fifteen years—she’s been going through a rough patch. But Linda brought back a good report on her and her family, who we knew well once upon a time when we were all young and optimistic. Fun to hear about people I’ve lost touch with, even if some of the stories are sad. It makes me realize, as my friend said yesterday, how very fortunate I am.