Fine Dining

We were sitting down to a delicious dinner of Arctic Char, tabouleh, and roasted rainbow carrots that my brother had prepared when Heidi's phone dinged. A friend had foraged an enormous puffball mushroom near her cabin in W.V. and wondered if we wanted to try it. 

Feeling fortunate to have not only one but two offers of a meal in one evening, Heidi thanked her and explained where we were. "No problem," she answered. "This thing is HUGE! I'll bring you some in the morning." 

True to her word, our friend delivered a grocery with a bowling ball-sized piece of the mushroom and a fried cutlet from the night before. I had watched a video she'd posted of her preparing the dish when we got home from dinner, and I was eager to try the steak-sized slabs of mushroom. They were delicious: mild and tender, like a soft version of white button mushrooms, and I could think of so many ways to serve them.

This afternoon, it was my turn. After a bit of research, I peeled my portion, sliced it, and used a rolling pin to compress the marshmallowy texture. Then, I roasted the sheets in the oven with a little olive oil and seasoning. Next, I layered them in lasagna with a marinara sauce, ricotta, basil, and fresh mozzarella. 

The results were delicious: earthy and tangy and light, and Heidi told her friend that we'd be happy to take some puffball anytime she has extra!

Shoulder Season

I walked through the farmers market in the rain this morning. Despite the inclement weather, I was by no means the only shopper, although I did make quick work of the excursion. It was a bittersweet shopping trip: I bought a half dozen of the last peaches of the season, and it was clear that the corn and tomatoes will be gone soon, too. The greens and apples are plentiful, though, as are the staples of the market, like eggs and meat. Winter squash and sweet potatoes were sporadic, but soon, they will take the place of their summer brethren, right on schedule for October.

Just How I Imagined Retirement

The piney tang of rosemary scented the heavy, humid air in the garden yesterday afternoon and reminded me of a dish from my first cooking job way back in 1985: store-made angel hair pasta with fresh tomato sauce. The sauce was simply crushed tomatoes, garlic, and rosemary, simmered briefly and finished with butter. I had a half dozen imperfect late-season tomatoes in my basket, and the rosemary was plentiful, so all I needed was the pasta. 

Once I got home, I pulled out my ancient hand-cranked pasta machine, threw a couple of eggs in some semolina flour, kneaded the dough briefly, rolled it out, and cut it into angel hair. Then, I skinned and seeded the tomatoes, ground them coarsely, and made the sauce with my rosemary and garlic.

It was sublime.

YOL9

"Why does Milo have to scratch me when he sits with me?" Heidi demanded for the hundredth time.

I shrugged sympathetically.

"Why does Milo love that box so much?" Heidi wondered. "It's too small for him!"

I nodded sympathetically.

"Why does Milo hate it so much when I kiss Lucy?" Heidi mused. "He doesn't even like it when I kiss him, but he looks so grumpy when I kiss her."

I raised my eyebrows sympathetically. 

"I think we've established over the last seven years that he's just an oddball," I answered, thinking of some of his other quirks, such as eating super slowly, or crying at the door whenever Heidi leaves for a moment before dinner, or flipping out whenever Tibby smells like the vet, or running to find me the minute he hears my meditation.

"Let's roll with it," I suggested.

Soggy

Today's dewpoint was 71 degrees, which equated to about 95 percent humidity. You know it's muggy when the cardboard boxes in your UPS delivery are damp, even though it's not raining. "This must be what living in a rainforest is like!" I told Heidi. "I'm still waiting for that crisp fall weather!"

Another One Bites the Dust

For the second day in a row, I witnessed one of my fellow pedestrians take a tumble. 

Lucy and I were in the same area but in a slightly different location when we approached a tall man and an adorable toddler playing. The little boy, unsteady on his feet, as toddlers are, turned to run away from his dad and went down. 

He lay sprawled silently on the sidewalk, stunned for a moment, until the man scooped him up. Then he started crying, but his father gave him a little hug, checked for damages, brushed him off, and set him on his feet. 

By the time the boy drew his next breath, indignantly prepared to keep on crying, Lucy and I were there. Seeing the dog, his face instantly changed from stormy to sunshine, and he reached for her. 

Like yesterday, I made her sit. "I saw you fall down," I told him. "But you got right back up! What a tough guy you are!" 

He lurched forward. 

"Do you want to pet my dog?" I asked. Lucy sat as still as the canine good citizen she can be, and he tentatively touched her back. "You are very brave!" I said, and he ran back to his dad. 

"Thank you," the man said.

"You're welcome," I answered, thinking how better that went than yesterday.

The Bystander

As always, when Lucy and I were on our midday walk through Shirlington, I scanned the sidewalk ahead of us to see who we might meet. My eyes landed on a woman perhaps a few years older than I and then flicked to see who was behind her. At that moment, she disappeared from my peripheral vision, and I looked down to find her sprawled on the uneven bricks ahead, her phone, keys, and purse strewn around her. 

"Oh no," I said as we approached, "are you okay?"

She waved me off, and I made Lucy sit. We stood a couple yards away, and she got to her knees and then stood. I was unsure of what to do; it seemed clear that she did not want me to touch her or her stuff, but there was no one else near us. "How can I help?" I asked.

She slowly gathered her belongings and then limped forward. "I'll be okay," she grimaced. 

I was relieved to see that her phone screen was intact. As she passed me, she paused to look at it, and I crossed my fingers that she would call someone.

"I hope your day improves," I offered as I continued on my way. 

It was the best I could do.