Weird

It's weird that I haven't posted since July. I bet these words are just floating around without any readers.

Anyway, it's late for reading other people's lousy essays about genre, so I thought I'd update a little before bed. Sam and I have been thinking about the upcoming holidays, and people in my group therapy have been talking about their plans with families. I have to say, it gets me down. If it weren't for my alienation from my parents and Sam's fissure with his brother, if it weren't for the fact that we have no money to travel, if I had the time to take a break in my work, maybe we'd get some plans together that don't involve just the two of us having dinner at home. Who will eat the two pies I make each year? We have such great memories of recent Thanksgivings, and the true sharing among families and friends. Although last Thanksgiving could have gone a little more smoothly, I admit. Maybe the two of us, the turkey and a couple of pies will warm our home just fine.

Also, Sam got this kick-ass tattoo. Maybe he'll show it to you.

Also, I'm working on Chapter 2. Maybe I'll get this damn thing done after all.

Biting off more than I should; Or, Pie is wonderful

I've done (according to Sam's and my recollections) six of the ten turkey days we've had together, and I love doing the cooking and baking. This year we had a lovely Thanksgiving with Brian and Mary, Sam's mom and dad. 

This year my plan didn't quite work out. I won't publish the details, but in short, over several days, I accumulated a 5-hour-delay. We ate close to 9 pm on Thursday. I like the rush of moving fast to complete last minute tasks to ensure that everything is hot all at once. I do not like last-minute delegation and general triage. Nevertheless, the fundamentals worked out just fine. The pies were tasty, and best of all, the crucial element of the meal was great: the gravy. Even if the turkey is dry (it wasn't), the stuffing bland (nope), and the potatoes lumpy (not in my house), gravy covers it all up. 

So, this year, I'm thankful for Sam (!), for my family, and for not turning into a big sodden mess. 

**Addenda: Sam, you were a wonderful support at the most stressful points. Also, as a general note, I love my ricer. Everyone should have a ricer, even if it's only for potatoes. And I love my pastry blender. Everyone should have a pastry blender because pie is wonderful. 

Eats

Some of my favorite dishes and meals are simple: real ice cream, which can have as few as four ingredients; an arugula salad with lemon vinaigrette, baguette, and wine; scrambled eggs; goat cheese and figs; crab cakes with remoulade; anything pommes; mussels with mignonette; steamed shrimp coated in Old Bay; a good, crusty NY strip. (It's a much longer list, but this time I'll exercise some restraint.)

Simplicity requires great technique and a good palate, however, and I've lost my touch a little after having cooked so little over the past several years. I don't think most of our friends in Nash know this, but I used to cook a lot, experimenting with new ingredients and approaches. The cookbook collection I cultivated in Baltimore began its slow transformation into mere theory during my first year at VU. No more time to prepare meals with courses or to host cocktail parties with several hors d'oeuvres. (Sometimes in the winter I crave bagna càuda, but who has the time?) The Pines' kitchen has little counter or storage space, so my favorite small appliances are out of reach and it's hard to keep all of the parts of, say, the ricer or the mandolin in the same place. 

Nostalgia wields a strong hand in any good memory, I realize. But thinking about our personal food microculture in B'more makes me conscious of how lucky we were: gas stove, space for the cuisinart, a Whole Foods a few blocks down and next door to the wine store, a selection of small specialty stores, like the Italian bakery up the street. (There was a bit of a language barrier between me and the couple who ran the bakery—they were recent emigrants—but it was always worth going and they usually threw in a couple of buttery, delicate, small cookies.) I look forward to going to Baltimore in August, and I hope we can hit some of these places or at least one of the markets. 

The inspiration for this post, as rangy as it seems, is the simple, delicious meal that Sam prepared for me last night: grilled steaks and vegetable kebabs; a green salad with olive oil, white wine vinegar, and flakes of parmesan; and a great Côtes du Rhône. Prosecco before dinner and GM after. I loved every minute of it. 

Because a birthday can be a personal New Year's Day, I'm resolving to give a greater effort to cooking and enjoying it during our last years in Nashville. Let's see how that goes.