And so, Christmas really begins….

 

Our bountiful table

Jordan and I hosted our regular neighborhood ladies’ get-together tonight, but with a difference: it was a holiday potluck, and oh my! we all went overboard. The bountiful table is pictured above. Pru brought tenderloin sandwiches and marinated mushrooms; Mary, poire rouge (a wine concoction that everyone raved about, except I stuck to chardonnay—better safe than sorry) and a wonderful citrus tart with chocolate ganache and real whipped cream; Jordan fixed a cheese and salami platter and our family favorite salmon spread, and I added pickled herring (Jordan and Pru didn’t touch it, but Mary and I love it), and a goat cheese log filled with pesto and rolled in toasted sesame seeds (usually I burn one batch and then do a second, but this time I watched and was successful on the first try). A wonderful and satisfying meal.

And we exchanged gifts. I have gotten one or two gifts and put them aside, so tonight we opened all. Some great and good surprises. Remember that song, “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas?” That’s how I feel tonight. My cottage is brightly lit, my tiny fake fireplace blazes away, the outdoor lights are bright and beautiful, Sophie is calm and sleeping (she did filch the top half of my tenderloin sandwich!), and all is well in the cottage.

After we cleaned up, Jordan and I had sort of a conference call with Megan, doing some menu planning for the big Alter get-together. There will be at least eighteen of us this year—a wonderful resumption of tradition after last year’s Covid isolation. Everyone is self-testing a day or two before we get together, and we are being extra cautious. But I am looking forward so much to having all my children and grandchildren together.

Christmas aside, I ran into some trivia today that I can’t resist sharing. Here’s a quote that I liked:

Books have a soul.... A book that sits on a shelf is nothing but a bundle of paper. Unless it is opened, a book possessing great power or an epic story is mere scraps of paper. But a book that has been cherished, and loved, filled with human thoughts, has been endowed with a soul.

From The Cat Who Saved Books by Sosuke Natsukawa

 

The reasons this struck me so particularly today is that on Bookbub I saw an advertisement for a $1.99 version of the Iliad on Kindle. Maybe it’s just me, but something struck me as so wrong about that. I admit I have not read the Iliad in its entirety—I have read portions, I have studied about it, but I’ve never read it (in contrast to Beowulf which I actually had to read and memorize in graduate school—I think it’s a rite of passage). But to have that mammoth and classic work available in electronic form for pennies just seemed wrong to me. I guess I think it should be carved on rare tablets of stone. And no, it wasn’t abridged! Reminds me of the summer my oldest child swore to read Moby Dick. I don’t think he ever made it all the way through.

And then there are matters culinary: for your enjoyment, I suggest the newest wine on the market: Oreo. Seriously. It’s a cookie-flavored red wine from the Barefoot Wine people. They claim it has “flavors of chocolate and cookies and creme along with notes of oak," and "has aromas of chocolate, with natural flavors of blackberry and dark cherries for a smooth and lingering finish." I think I’ll pass.

No Oreo wine for you? You can try pastrami tacos. In Los Angeles, there’s a young couple who are mixing Jewish cuisine (hers) with Mexican from Guadalajara (his). Think matzoh ball soup meets caldo de pollo or chicken liver tostadas. When they met, he was a sous chef, she the lead line cook at a prestigious restaurant. During quarantine, they began to combine their cuisines, and apparently, they are the hit of those who know in LA. So far, they offer their menu three nights a week at Malli, a pop-up in a wine bar, but look for them to expand.

The wonderful world of food never ceases to amaze me, from a sumptuous Christmas potluck to a pastrami taco. And a little picked herring and live paté along the way.

Penny wise and pound foolish

I had dinner with a good friend tonight who wishes to remain anonymous—you’ll see why in a minute. Whereas I’ll order a chardonnay label that I like, she will often choose whatever is on the happy hour menu—often not a chardonnay. Tonight she asked the wait person what the house wine was and ordered that. Thinking I wouldn’t be a complete pain about it I agreed. She took one sip, looked at me, and said, “This isn’t very good chardonnay.” I told her I was never trusting her about the house wine again. When the bill came, we found out why it was the house choice: $3.75 a glass.

Reminded me of another friend who travels frequently and extensively, domestically and abroad. When we met for dinner recently, she insisted we had to go early enough for happy hour prices. And when we asked where everyone had parked, she revealed that she had refused a place almost in front of the restaurant because you had to pay there—so she walked a couple of blocks.

Excuse me, folks. I’m not rich, but I am old enough that I want a good glass of chardonnay and a convenient parking place. Call me extravagant if you want.

This has been a quiet week. Last week was full of social occasions—dinners out, guests at the cottage. This week, I have been home for four days, and for three of them Jordan’s sporadic appearances provided my only adult company. It’s okay because I have worked—my neighborhood newsletter took a lot of time!—and read and kept up with the unbelievable politics of our country. Enough to keep anyone occupied, but I was glad to go to supper tonight with someone whose company I really enjoy (bad wine or not).

Speaking of restaurants, my food-loving friends in Fort Worth will be sad to know that Terra on Crockett closed, a longtime Mediterranean restaurant. The couple of times I had dinner there were okay but not great, but at lunch they had an outstanding Mediterranean buffet—pricey, but really good. The turnover of restaurants on Crockett is amazing—and includes Patrizio’s which I still mourn though it’s been gone a while.

On the home front, Sophie had a spa day today. Bless WhiskerWashers who bring their portable salon to the house. Sophie’s special groomer is a man I know as Bobo. When I once told him we had to be careful because she’ll run given the chance, he—a large man and not young—said, “Then we’ll have to be really careful, because I can’t chase her.” Sophie is always excited to see him, and I have to say his kind manner brightens my day. As for Sophie running, yeah, she’d take a clear chance if she got it, but she’s less interested and less devious these days. Maybe as she ages, she realizes she has a darn good deal here. Tonight, her coat is soft, and she smells clean and wonderful. Won’t last, but it’s nice now.

I am having a great time on the NYTimes Cooking Community Facebook page—recipes, queries, comments, even such odd questions as “What’s your guilty pleasure in food?” See my Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog tomorrow for my answer to that. But I am delighted that I feel comfortable enough on the Facebook page to contribute—like the woman who asked what she could do with several tins of anchovies. My answer: make spaghetti sauce, make Caesar salad, put them in everything you can think of—they add an earthy flavor, and no one says, “Yuck! They’re anchovies in this.” They can’t tell.

My takeaway line from that page today: Bay leaves are the dryer sheets of the kitchen. Seriously, have you ever left them out of a stew? And did you notice a difference? I doubt it. I think they’re often so stale they do little for flavor. My anonymous dinner companion tonight pointed out that they do keep bugs out of your flour if you tape them inside the container.

Rain tomorrow. What joy! I hope it really happens.

Water, Water Everywhere…or not

A quick lesson in how we take for granted the modern conveniences of life: I used the bathroom a few minutes ago and went to wash my hands at the sink. Nothing. No water. Tried the kitchen. No water. Called the neighbors, who answered with, “Is your water off?” They heard it will be five of six hours—something to do with work at the school across the street. So there I was feeling like Lady MacBeth—desperate to wash my hands. I put a quick post on Facebook saying I had no water and guessed I’d have to drink wine. Jordan lost no time in calling to say she wished she was here to drink wine with me. Big help! She did suggest I fill a glass with ice and let it melt. Done!

I had spotted a jug of water way back in the shelves over the dryer, but I was afraid it was so out of date it wouldn’t be potable. Still, I could wash with it. Moved everything around, got to the jug…and it was empty.

Next step—five small individual bottles of water that someone, not me, had left in the fridge. I did everything but plunge a knife directly into the bottle—could not figure out how to open it. My magic gadget that opens everything didn’t work; running a knife blade around the seal didn’t work. The thing had a clear plastic cap on it—so you could drink and re-seal I guess, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. Finally, with a knife blade, I popped it off…and wasted precious water. But I washed my hands. Mission accomplished. Surely when you set off on a picnic you’re not supposed to take a knife blade for prying off the top of the water bottle! Bottled water, especially a jug, just went on my grocery list.

Discovered I can do all my nightly “toilette” ritual without water except brushing my teeth—will use just a bit of that precious bottled water for that. When they tell me five hours, I don’t quite trust them.

Meantime, I now deserve that glass of wine.

On a serious note, we read directions, instructions for emergency preparedness kits everywhere, from magazines to the Internet. I don’t know about you, but I usually shrug it off thinking, “I’ve got all those things.” Now I know better. Going over a checklist and checking it twice.

Strangely out of sorts

Whine, whine, wine. I've had a wonderful weekend with my family--lots of laughter, silliness, loudness, and a few deep discussions--mostly about how to rearrange my house. The kids ran and played and ate and complained, and it was like any family get-together. The first group left about nine, and the others in a flurry about noon. I fixed brunch, we sat and talked some more, and then they were gone, leaving behind what looked like a messy kitchen but actually took about fifteen minutes to clean and straighten. I caught up on my computer, read the paper, read my book, and napped. Dinner was leftover chicken-fried steak, not as good as last night but still good, and two small slices of roast cabbage. All good.
But now, a long evening stretches before me, and I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to work, but the book I'd been so anxious to get back to in quiet moments isn't quite doing it. Big project for the week is organizing my 2014 tax information but who wants to do that on a Sunday night? (I may sort the stack of papers as a start). No, I'm not a football fan and am not turning on the SuperBowl. Will just be glad when it's over, though I do love this year's Budweiser ad.
Inside and outside, the world seems darker and chillier to me, and my old house seems to creak more. Sophie, who is my barometer, was completely content to sleep in the office all afternoon, so I guess the creaks and cold are my imagination.
Wonder why this mood has come upon me--no doubt, you've had it too. I guess I got wrapped up last week in preparing for the weekend and then all weekend I was either busy or snatching a moment of quiet. And now that I have all the quiet and more, I feel let down.
What's your solution to a mild case of the blues? Guess I'll have a glass of wine and try the book again. Tomorrow, back to business.

Making cozy even cozier

Ever since Jordan was a teen-ager, she loved to rearrange furniture. She'd move beds, dressers, everything in her room by herself. Today she delivered an ottoman I'd bought at a garage sale and just kind of set it in the living room. I wasn't sure where to put it, but I said we would need to rearrange. She clapped her hands, said "Where's the wine," and began moving furniture.
The ottoman that started all this now sits in a corner and has a permanent occupant--my stuffed cheetah named Clifford. (Of course there was the time I dreamt Clifford was walking around the house--Jordan said, "Shhh. Don't tell anyone that!" and then she told everyone she saw.)
Jacob got involved in the first step--sweeping behind the pieces she moved. Then he took one side of each chair and helped position it. Decided he loved the new look, but we weren't so sure. We sat, looked, rearranged. Finally we settled on an arrangement we like well enough or me to live with it for a few days and see how it wears.
One thing I really like is that we created a cozy conversation area in one corner. Of course now one chair partially blocks a doorway, but we'll just have to watch where we're going. Jacob delighted in demonstrating how someone could fall over it. Note the three items on the table--Jordan's version of feng shui. There should be wine glasses--hmmm, wonder where they went.