What’s cookin’, good lookin’?
Does it count as insomnia when you wake up at 3:30 a.m. because of hunger? I didn’t have any dinner last night. I’d gotten a breakfast burrito at Rancheritos across the street from the DI store here in Provo and gnawed at it all morning and into the afternoon yesterday until about 3 -- they really stuff ‘em with potatoes, eggs, cheese, and bacon -- and so had no appetite for dinner. Now my stomach is growling, demanding the sacrifice of a toasted bagel with cream cheese or perhaps a steaming bowl of ramen noodles with 2 soft boiled eggs floating in it. But before I can have anything, there are several pills I have to take on an empty stomach, and then wait an hour before eating anything. I just took the dratted pills, so to wile away the time until I can stuff my face I can either go back to bed or write to you. Lucky you . . . I’ve decided to go back to bed -- no, wait! I mean I’ve decided to write to you . . .
I have lots of fascinating facts and figures about my declining health to share -- but strangely enough I find that people don’t hang on my every word when I describe in great detail my hemorrhoids anymore -- so I will skip the medical bulletin once again. Although I have several unique conditions that continue to baffle medical science -- they are probably going to name a bacillus after me.
Sarah and the kids are coming over for lunch today. Last week she was telling me how much she loves green beans and just doesn’t get enough of them. So I decided to create a green bean casserole for my slow cooker and have her over. It’s a simple recipe: a pound of fresh green beans, a link of sliced kielbasa smoked sausage, diced mushrooms, sliced carrots, a cup of cooking wine, and a can of diced tomatoes. They go in the slow cooker for 4 hours on high, and voila! You have a mess of soggy green beans and sausage to serve over egg noodles. What makes this upcoming meal so interesting is that Sarah’s in-laws are visiting for the Holiday, and she said she may bring her mom and dad in-laws along for lunch, too. Fine by me -- the more the merrier, says I. But since they’re Italian they may actually expect a decent meal, so I’m going to go over to Fresh Market this morning to get some artisan bread and fancy-schmancy goat cheese so they have something elegant to nibble on in case the green bean casserole goes south. Better get a bottle of those outrageously priced Kalamata black olives, too.
Sarah’s green bean casserole is the last meal for guests I’m making for a while. The obsession to cook for others has left me as suddenly as it came. I’ll let the slow cooker and the stock pot gather dust while I pursue my new obsession -- ordering a different meal every morning at Rancheritos. It is possible to eat 28 different combo platters there, all under ten dollars and including refried beans and Spanish rice, with lots of shredded lettuce. And they have a nice little sides buffet where I can get all the cilantro, diced onion, pickled carrots with jalapeno peppers, limes, sliced radishes, pickled prickly pear cactus, pico de gallo, and red & green sauces that I want. In other words, for Christmas this year I’m gifting myself with Mexican heartburn.
Since I’m rambling on about my absurd obsessions, I might as well describe the other one that captured my fancy yesterday.
As I was swimming at the Provo Rec Center it entered my head that I should send a batch of Christmas cards this year to the newspaper reporters who have consistently championed my light verse by sending me encouraging and complimentary emails. By the time I was soaking in the hot tub with a bevy of sagging blondes after our aquatic aerobics class, I knew I had to act on that impulse immediately, or die in the attempt.
So I took the #850 bus down to the Big Lots store for a five-dollar carton of 18 Christmas cards (as well as a small jar of capers that was on sale for $1.50.) I stopped at Macey's for a book of stamps (and to put some money on my Rider’s Pass for the bus -- I’m still paying $2.50 per ride because I can’t get the Senior discount until I turn 65 next September.) Then I stopped at the Dollar Tree for some Tea Tree Foot Cream (they were all sold out) and a wad of oversize play money. Then I went to Rancheritos and ate a third of my burrito there, wrapping the rest up in a plastic bag to bring back home. Then went to DI to buy a book (and also a cute little man doll for 75 cents that says things like “Honey, let me do the dishes tonight” and “Sweetheart, can’t your parents stay another week?” I’m going to give it to Sarah.
Here is the list of reporters I sent the cards to -- each card included some play money, and I wrote in each card “Hope you enjoy the Hush money.”
- Matthew Goldstein. NYTimes
- Michael Wilson. NYTimes
- Maura Judkis. Washington Post
- Corey Kilgannon. NYTimes
- Tom Meersman. Mpls Star Tribune
- Liam Stack. NYTimes
- Ruth Eglash. Washington Post
- Peter Baker. NYTimes
- Janet Moore. Star Tribune
- Jo Craven McGinty. Wall Street Journal
- Amy Argetsinger. Washington Post
- Penelope Green. NYTimes
- Saabira Chaudhuri. Wall Street Journal
- Joseph Palazzolo. Wall Street Journal
- Donald McNeil. NYTimes
- Patrick Coolican. Star Tribune
- Andrew Ackerman. Wall Street Journal
- Kathleen Pender. San Francisco Chronicle
It took me all afternoon to get the cards addressed, signed, and stamped, and by the end of it I keenly regretted giving in to my obsession. The arthritis in my fingers was killing me. I could barely turn the pages of the book I’m currently reading, Annals of the Former World, by John McPhee.
Oh well, it’s over and done with now. And I have no obsessions bedeviling me this morning -- except, of course, what to feed the High Priest Group Leadership this evening when we meet at my place for our weekly confab. I’m the secretary for them. And the host. And I’m obsessed with serving them something that they will eat up and then lick their fingers in appreciation. So far the most successful hors d'oeuvres I’ve served have been Cheetos and donuts. But such a plebian offering hardly satisfies my desire for elegance and a distinctive dining experience. I’m thinking about offering a variety platter of crackers with various toppings -- such as braunschweiger with sweet pickle chips; cream cheese with capers; Velveeta with pickled jalapenos . . .
Ah, the hour is nearly up -- now I can eat my breakfast! I’m beginning to lean towards a cheese omelette with a toasted bagel. I bought several bagels on Monday, having one for b’fast and saving one for my lunch and one more for my lunch guest Phil Hinckley. But he brought over a loaf of cornbread and wanted to eat that with his lunch, not the bagel I had gotten him. Yesterday I had the Rancheritos burrito so I didn’t have room for the bagel. And now it sits in the kitchen, growing staler and dryer by the minute. But it should still be okay if I toast and butter it.
Here’s hoping you avoid any Seasonal Affective Disorder. I feel a touch of it myself these days -- so I’m pricing light boxes with Storis. The Mayo Clinic website says they really help if you use them first thing in the morning.
May all your days be filled with emoticons, my little hellebore.
Amantis patris tui.
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