Seasonel and Cassoulet Adjacent

Craving protein and an empty freezer, I concocted a summer cassoulet for supper. White beans, one pork chop, a couple of chicken thighs, some authentic Buffalo white hots (white hot dogs, not spicy at all but a little like the bratwurst from the Zurich train station), and an assortment of summer veggies all came together for a light but hearty stew. Served with some toasted homemade sourdough and a tossed salad, it was actually a perfect summer meal.

And that Mustache

"I don't think I would have recognized him!" my 89-year-old aunt said today as I showed her my nephew's wedding pictures. She paused and examined the picture more carefully. "He does look like Bill, though, especially in the mouth."

"That is Bill!" I laughed.

"Oh my gosh," she laughed, too. "But look at his hair! No gray! And that mustache! He looks great!"

"I'll tell him you said so," I replied.

Did you hear that, Bill?

Well Prompted

I let the algorithm choose my workout music this afternoon, and for the most part, the so-called "personalized set of upbeat music" was pretty good. I did have to skip a few clunkers early on, but soon I was moving to some nice pop tracks from the 70s and 80s, a few that I love but haven't listened to in a while. And I laughed out loud when, as I was doing a cooldown on the rowing machine, Neil Diamond serenaded me with his lesser-known song, "The Boat that I Row." Who says AI doesn't have a sense of humor?

So Long, Mr. French

It's rarely good news when the phone rings unexpectedly right at 8 AM on a Sunday morning, and today was no different. "It's French," I said to a half-asleep Heidi when her screen lit up and the Looney Toons ringtone blared out.

But it wasn't French, Heidi's friend and mentor of over 30 years. It was his wife, calling ot say that there had been an accident and he had died on Friday. He'd been trimming trees from the balcony of his home and had somehow tumbled over the railing, causing severe spinal injury. He was the only one at home, and when the neighbors found him some time later and called 911, they could not stabilize him, and he died. He was just a couple of weeks short of his 73rd birthday, which seems too young to us now.

"Oh my God," was all Heidi said for most of the call, and then, "I'm so sorry." 

Later, I felt sure I knew the exact moment when he died. I came home Friday afternoon and heard the Avett Brothers' No Hard Feelings playing upstairs. Heidi rarely listens to the song, but that day, she played it twice. I came in toward the end of the second time, and when I heard the words When my body won't hold me anymore, and it finally lets me free, where will I go? I got a chill.

The next lyrics have always comforted me, though. 

Will the trade winds take me south through Georgia grain?
Or tropical rain? Or snow from the heavens?
Will I join with the ocean blue?
Or run into a savior true? And shake hands laughing,
And walk through the night, straight to the light,
Holding the love I've known in my life,
And no hard feelings.

Safe travels, French. 

Epic Epic

We saw The Odyssey this morning. It was a lot. A lot of noise, fighting, monsters and remonstrating, storms, beards, killing, and more. But my recent preoccupation with geography and history, a la travle.earth and other online games kept me wondering distractedly, Where in the world is Odysseus? 

The Sum of its Parts

My friend Ruth, who has a summer place in Maine, introduced me to one of her family's favorite summer desserts, gingerbread with wild blueberries. It's a surprisingly tasty combination, but the sharp warmth of the ginger complements the tart sweetness of the berries, and she usually bakes it right after we've been berry picking, which is very satisfying. 

A few weeks ago, my friend Brandon showed me the cookie cookbook he and his son Charlie have been exploring all summer. Some of the techniques were intriguing, especially the use of brown butter, and I snapped a few pics of recipes to try, most notably brown sugar cookies and classic chewy oatmeal.

And then, I had all those blueberries! I froze a bunch and made a blueberry spoonbread that my brother had served and was delicious as well as coincidentally gluten-free, made with almond flour and cornmeal whose dense richness was a perfect venue for the jammy Jersey berries. But with plenty of berries still left, I decided to pull out my dehydrator and see what I got.

The outcome was sort of raisiny, definitely not as cloying as the sweetened product you will get should you buy dried blueberries at the grocery. I stored them in a Mason jar on my counter and spent the next few days pondering how best to use them. What I came up with was a mash-up of the gingerbread and oatmeal cookies. I swapped the cinnamon in the cookies for a combo of dried and fresh ginger, kept the brown butter and dark brown sugar, and used my dried blueberries in place of the raisins. 

I ended up with a really good cookie, and a reminder of fun times spent with some really good friends, too.

Sucker

"I hate the county fair!" I said to Heidi the other day. She nodded, because we have this conversation every summer.

I was responding to the cumulative inconvenience of the gym and rec center being closed for 2 weeks and the mess that's usually left at the fairgrounds, which are our former school. The smell of garbage, divots and truck tracks on the playing fields, and cooking oil stains on the sidewalks greeted teachers when we returned at the end of August and lasted for weeks after the fair closed.

Plus? It's so inconvenient to get there! I feel irrationally resentful of having to take a shuttle bus to the place I spent most of my time for the better part of 31 years.

So I was surprised by the inadvertent thrill I got today on my way to the gym when I saw the first of the brightly colored rides and concessions lined up for unloading in the parking lot. I pictured the midway at night with its thousands of lights, the screams from the rides, the laughter from the games, and all the people strolling excitedly through the grounds. I thought of the bands that would play, the local agriculture exhibits and competitions, and the beer garden. It actually seemed like it might be a fun time.

"Oh my gosh!" I thought. "I don't hate the fair!"