Moisture

Many folks dream of retiring to a tropical island, but not me.

Even as I get older, I am still predisposed to cooler weather. And although the heat doesn't bother me? The proverb holds true: after 10 straight days of gray skies and rain, a little monsoon season of our own, with warped boards, perma-slick pavement, giant mud puddles, flooded yards, and air that hits you like a warm wash rag every time you step out the door,

I can definitely confirm that, yes, it is the humidity.

The Gift of Necessity

Years ago I worked in the flight kitchen for United Airline. The main job of our brigade of cooks and chefs was to prepare the meals for first class, business, and transatlantic coach, but as in any food service place, someone had to cook for the staff. In restaurants they often call it family meal, but we just called it lunch, no matter what shift you were on.

It was a privilege to have lunch on your job list-- everyone else was cooking prescribed recipes for thousands of anonymous travelers, but those 2 cooks had the freedom to put their own stamp on food that their friends and colleagues would be eating. Because of my seniority, I did not get to cook lunch very often, but when I did I like to think I stepped up.

I remember one day when the chef told us they had over-ordered frozen beans. "Make them for lunch," he told our lead, Jimmy, as I listened.

"I know just what to do," I said, and a few pounds of bacon, onions, garlic, and tomatoes later, we had a steam kettle full of southern-style green beans.

That day at lunch, I basked in the compliments of my co-workers. "Those beans!" one ramp guy told me. "Mm Mm! Salty, smoky, tomatoey? You really put the flavor to it!" That was one of the best compliments I ever received as a professional cook.

I thought of that guy today when Heidi said, "Tracey?" as she was unpacking her lunch bag. "I only want to eat frittata for lunch from now on."

"Oh you liked that, did you?" I laughed.

The frittata was really only the result of too many eggs. I love the farm fresh eggs we can get in our CSA-- I honestly believe I can taste the difference-- but a dozen a week can be too many for a couple of middle-aged ladies. Fortunately they are very fresh and the keep exceptionally well, but over the weekend I decided to make a mushroom and spinach frittata that we could warm up for breakfast or lunch.

And that's what my wife was raving about. With no leftovers from last night's dinner, she had frittata for lunch.

"It was mushroomy, vegetably, salty, and proteiny, right?" I boasted. "I guess I really put the flavor to it!"

Cativersary

The kittens that we adopted one year ago today have grown into cats, but they are no less cute and loveable, which, considering that they are gangly young adults, is rather a compliment!

Peter Piper, Inc

"Wow! You're kitchen is a lot bigger than you'd think" one of our neighbors said yesterday at the open house. She looked around. "And really full of produce."

She was right. There was a half bushel of tomatoes, 3 eggplant, and a big container of banana peppers that I had picked to rescue from the rain, along with the usual onions, garlic, potatoes, avocados, lemons, and limes. "I know!" I agreed, "but I have plans for all of it."

Part one of my plan was having my banana pepper pesto on the table, and the offer of as many peppers as our guests would like to take home with them as parting gifts.

"You gotta try the pesto," I told everyone. "It tastes like a hoagie!"

"What's gahogi?" someone asked in confusion.

I laughed. "I said like. a, hoa. gie," I repeated slowly. "Y'know what they call subs in Philly?"

"Oooooh," she laughed, too. "I thought it was like the sixth taste-- the one after Umami."

"It should be!" I answered. "How many peppers would you like?"

Many Happy Hour Returns

On a whim, we invited several neighbors over for a Friday happy hour today. It was a little stressful wrapping up as many loose ends as I could at school before dashing off to the store to buy some fun adult beverages and ice, and then rushing home to pick up, vacuum, and put some hors-d'oeuvres on the table. And did I mention that most people were bringing their dogs?

But it was genuinely all good. Everyone brought something for the beverage cooler and the table; the dogs had a wonderful time, and so did we. At 9:15, when the last guest walked home, there were still a lot of cans and bottles in the melting ice, but that just means we'll have to have another get-together soon.

That Sinking Feeling

The message was as astonishing as it was unexpected: our street was closed because of a sinkhole. Soon someone sent a picture of a gaping hole in the asphalt. we were on the way home from school when we received the news. "Siri! What causes a sinkhole??" Heidi asked, and read the internet article out loud as we drove.

As soon as we got home, we leashed up the dog and walked down to take a look. On the way, we were joined by a dozen neighbors, and we could see several more down by the yellow caution tape. "It's the biggest tourist attraction in the neighborhood!" I said.

And to be honest? It was pretty amazing. 4 feet in diameter and probably at least ten feet deep, it widened out, cave-like from the opening. The cause was impossible to determine by looking at it-- there were no water main breaks or fallen trees. Inside, the soil was perfectly dry, as if this little grotto had been hidden there for years, just below the surface of the street.

And maybe it had.

Second Week Slump

The first week of school is exciting and novel-- everything is new, and the possibilities seem unlimited.

Reality casts a bit of a shadow over the second week of school; things get real pretty quickly, and there are standardized tests, homework, and less forgiveness for failure to follow the procedures and rules. And just as we are testing the students, some of them are testing us, because we still don't know each other.

It helps to remember that most people who give you a hard time are probably having a hard time themselves.