Spent the whole
morning in the kitchen today and couldn’t help reflecting on the days when I
casually cooked a meal for fifteen or twenty. Today it took all morning to fix
a dinner for one—and it isn’t cooked yet, just prepped. And I have to say it’s
not a complicated meal—lamb burgers with tzatziki sauce and some steamed
vegetables.
But I wasn’t
cooking the entire time. It took me a while to deal with the exploding ice
maker in my freezer door. As I fixed a glass of ice water for the bedside table
last night, it jammed so I just settled for less ice and more water and went on
to bed. But this morning I opened the door and ice exploded all over the
kitchen. And it was frozen into a solid lump in the chute that releases it. Every
time I tried to push on that lump, it activated the water spigot and water
poured out everywhere. On my lovely hardwood floor. I spent a lot of time
mopping, ran for a towel (as much as you can run in a Rollator), swept up ice
cubes, went back to mopping. Finally unstopped the icemaker, though I’m afraid
to try it again.
I’m slow in the
kitchen anyway. Not to whine, but it’s a whole different perspective to cook
from a Rollator. Granted sometimes I can stand to get that oomph I need—the right
angle on the lemon press or can opener for instance. But I’m not yet brave
enough (or balanced enough) to take those two steps from work surface to
cooking area or to sink. So chopping onion and parsley for the burgers,
defrosting bread (no microwave—I just wait for it to air defrost) for crumbs,
etc. took me a while. But I have four great burgers, will probably freeze
three. The tzatziki didn’t take as long, and it smells so good.
Last night I made
a tuna spread—possible happy hour guests today, though that didn’t work out. Anyway,
I’m not sure I’m happy with it. I omitted the black olives, because I don’t
like them, but that can’t be the problem. I may try more lemon and a little
salt, but not tonight. I’m saving my appetite for that dinner. If a recipe isn’t
quite right, it goes back in the folder for more experimentation or else is
discarded. I won’t put anything in my someday cookbook that hasn’t worked out
for me in the kitchen.
Got hooked on one
of those links from Facebook about Bonanza.
It purported to tell all the secrets Dan Blocker kept from the public. Of
course, it didn’t, but it was an endless if interesting series of facts about
the main actors and the show. I was hooked because a good family friend, now
long gone but once my oldest son’s godmother, was Dan Blocker’s theater coach
in college in Alpine, Texas. She was devastated when he died, and my then-husband
drove her to East Texas for the funeral. If I recall, it was private and
neither of them were admitted.
Another link to
the show. At a Western Writers convention in Carson City, NV we met David
Dortort, producer. He and my Jewish husband (that was their link) struck up a
friendship. One evening, David called from his room—a glass had broken in his
mouth (never did figure that one out), and his tongue was bleeding. Joel went
to the room while my brother, sister-in-law and I waited to hear what he’d do.
When he returned, he said, “I put toilet paper on it,” and my brother
commented, “So glad we sent him to medical school.” Dortort, who is probably
gone now, sent me a script to use as a model, and I submitted a script for Little House on the Prairie. His
rejection was kind and helpful—it dealt with extraneous characters and not the
focus family. Good learning experience.
Anyway, all that
probably explains why I spent a nostalgic chunk of the afternoon with Hoss and
Lorne Greene and Michael Landon and, yes, even renegade Pernell Roberts, whom
my kids once accused me of having a crush on—when he was in M*A*S*H or a
related show.
