Going Bananas

There is one crop that thrives every year in my garden-- whether I have one plant or many, I always have lots of banana peppers. Heidi and Victor like them pickled, and every summer I oblige, but how many pickled banana peppers does anyone eat, really?

The answer is, less than we have, since we still have at least a pint or two, and so this week I've been looking for some other options for that huge bowl of peppers on the counter. After reading several recipes, I decided that I would do a riff on aji amarillo paste, a staple of Peruvian cuisine, but one that kept the traditional flavor profile of the banana pepper, specifically part of an Italian sub, or as we called them growing up in South Jersey, a hoagie.

With that in mind, I seeded my peppers, blanched them, and shocked them in some ice water. After a thorough draining, I combined them in the food processor with a hefty portion of fresh garlic, some oregano and basil, black pepper, really good olive oil, and a little red wine vinegar. The result?

Mwah!

Hoagie in a jar! (With a little sunshine thrown in!)

Punch in the Gut

Those dang infinity stones!

As I sat in the cool darkness of the theater this afternoon enjoying the light-hearted family fun of Ant Man and the Wasp, I had completely forgotten about the catastrophic ending to the latest Avengers movie... until the credit scene.

Tomatoes? What Tomatoes?

There's been a lot of rain here, and we're expecting more. Generally, I try to go with whatever weather there is, especially in summer, because whether the day is hot or rainy or both, it is still a day of vacation.

Even so, I have kept a sharp eye for standing water and the predicted flash floods, but I was a bit surprised, when they closed our pool yesterday due to "dangerous conditions." After that, perhaps I should have expected that when I arrived at the Wednesday afternoon farmers market today many of the usual vendors were simply not there.

Oh, I was disappointed in my quest for summer tomatoes, but I did spot a scooter just across the street, and after a quick 10 minute ride, all was forgiven.

Home Boy

Josh is taking a 2-day motorcycle safety course in an outer suburb, and so he asked if he could stay with us and borrow the jeep.

"You sure can!" I texted him back, and when we rolled in at 8 last night we found the boy lying on the couch, watching TV, and petting the cats. "Want to go out for ramen?" I asked, needlessly.

"How about ribs and potato salad for dinner tomorrow night?" Another needless question. "And some cream of broccoli soup to take home with you?"

"Yes, yes, and yes!" he answered. "Thank you!"

He has had to rise at 6:30 the last two days to make it to his 10 hour class, and so right now he's back on the couch snoozing way, as the ribs braise and the soup cools. It's good to have him home!

Scoot 4 Life

"Wow!" I said to Annabelle this morning at 8:45, "you're up early!"

"I want to go scooter before you leave," she told me and checked the app on her mom's phone. "There's one right down the street!"she reported.

"Let me finish packing the car," I said, and a few minutes later after closing the hatch on the Subaru, I crossed the street and looked around the corner. I could see the scooter half a block away, but to my dismay, I also saw a guy approaching it, phone in hand. I lurked hopelessly on the corner, but my heart sank when I heard the beep beep of the scooter unlocking. The guy straddled it, but then shook his head in either frustration or confusion. Miraculously, he stepped off, and walked away.

By this time, Annabelle had joined me on the corner. "I wonder if there's something wrong with it," I said pessimistically as we walked down the hill. But there wasn't. The scooter unlocked and I rode it back to the house so Annabelle could get her helmet.

"We don't have much time," I told her as we rolled up the hill in the golden morning light. A light breeze blew as we approached the park, and a few glorious minutes later we were scootering up and down the rolling pathways.

"You guys look awesome!" smiled one woman as we passed. "I wish I had a camera!"

Taking Flight

And on our last day in Atlanta...

There was scootering!

At noon, I checked the app and saw that there was an available scooter a few blocks away. "I'm going to get it!" I announced. "I might be back!" Then I paused, reconsidering my words. "Well, okay, I'll definitely be back, but I might have a scooter." And off I went.

The first scooter was nowhere to be found, and so I pressed on. As I neared the location of the next closest ride, I kid you not, a white BMW pulled up and a young woman hopped out, phone in hand. Her driver shrugged and smiled at me. Unfortunately for both of us, though, there was no scooter at that location. But there was an icon down the road and around the corner on the map, and so I power walked that way, making sure to enjoy the pleasant breeze and the lovely shaded southern sidewalks along the way.

Turning the final corner, I knew that today? Three's the charm. I stepped up to the scooter, and unlocked it with my phone, scanned my driver's license, and at last! I was off.

I scootered up the sidewalk and into the shady street. Zig-zagging here and there, and marveling that such a device might be so easy to ride and so fun. It was on the last three blocks, straight up hill, to my sister's house that I really appreciated my convenient little ride, and I rolled triumphantly up the driveway.

Not long after that, Courtney, Annabelle, Heidi, and I were all at the park with my trusty scooter, AKA, BY17. Everyone gave it a roll, but no one quite loved the ride as much as I did. That is until Annabelle and I bent the rules and rode double down the path. And that was how we spent the next hour-- sun on our shoulders, wind in our hair, nodding to the many, many other scooters, rolling through the park.

Props to Josh for being exactly right-- it was more fun than I thought it would be, and you all know how much fun I thought it would be!

I can't wait to ride again!

Strike Zone

We called this morning to reserve a lane at the local bowling alley. "Uh," said the attendant, "we don't do that on weekends, but at 1:30? I don't think you'll have any problem."

When we were younger, my dad used to take us bowling. It was a fun hour or so where we all could haplessly throw heavy balls at pins, he could drink a pitcher of beer, and we could enjoy a basket of popcorn and a soda. I can still picture my dad's right foot, clad in olive and burgundy rental shoe, gracefully kicking back and to the left as he spun his bowling ball right into the 1-3 pocket for a strike.

Later on in college I took bowling as one of my PE requirements, and I have to say that I spent many cold snowy upstate NY afternoons in the toasty little 8-lane bowling alley tucked away behind the field house on campus. Back then, I always chose a yellow eleven pound ball, I would rotate my wrist from 2 o'clock to 10 on the last of my three steps to the line, and my best score was a 230. So, a hot summer day in Atlanta seemed like a perfect opportunity to take Richard and Annabelle on what is practically a traditional recreational experience in our family.

"What's your bumper policy?" I asked the attendant as we traded one of our shoes for two of theirs.

"Really little kids, only," she told me, and off we went intrepidly to test our skill against Lane 28. The guy on the phone had been correct: it was not very crowded, and we had no trouble gathering a rainbow collection of balls ranging from 8 to 12 pounds.

"I'm glad I'm not first," Richard remarked when he looked at the video screen that would be our scribe and mentor for the next 90 minutes, but he needn't have worried. We all weathered the bumps and blemishes in our skills to bowl two complete games, as well as enjoy hot dogs, chicken tenders, fried green tomatoes, nachos, and a couple of blue raspberry icees. And in the end? It turned out pretty even, and although 230 was never within range, we had a pretty good time.