yes, i’m sick. if there is anything crueler than being sick and drippy when it’s warm and beautiful outside, i’ve yet to discovered it. it’s particularly painful on this pre-holiday weekend because i had grand, grand plans.
firstly, i was going to plunge in, headfirst, to a series of photography projects i’ve been slowly plotting and strategizing about over the past several weeks. i spent a very pleasant couple of hours last night in front of the computer, preparing a set of large-format negatives for alternative contact printing.
secondly, it is cruel because my illness has dulled my appetite to the point where cold, flavorless leftover chinese food is about all i can stomach, and i can barely even taste it. you’ll be weeping with me when i tell you my weekend menu, i promise.
picture me on friday night. my favorite night. the menu is planned: wild mushroom soup with garlic scapes. catalan meatballs with rice. basque cherry tart (all from the new spanish table). i imagine myself lighting my shabbos candles and starting by making the pie dough. probably in the food processor, because that is beyond easy. while the pie dough chills, i start the soup, on low, a back burner, and i start mixing the spices for the meatballs. meanwhile, the rice cooker bubbles happily in the background while i mix the tart filling--pastry cream with facuhon cherry preserves. i can picture myself sitting at my table like a civilized person, maybe watching a movie, perhaps continuing my re-read of harry potter and the order of the phoenix. i am happy. i am proud of myself. i survived the week.
but no. not tart for me. no fresh soup with CSA garlic scapes. no meatballs dripping with saucy goodness over a pile of white rice.
no. if i am lucky, it will be fresh macaroni and cheese. or maybe some polenta and an egg. if i am unlucky, it will be the closest bowl of cereal i can make myself grab.
it gets worse. tomorrow’s menu: fried haloumi cheese with pears and dates. smothered broiled skirt steak with tomatoes and cumin. honey-saffron panna cotta with chocolate spice cookies. (from spice, a delightful tome by the woman who runs oleana in boston)
sunday--i almost can’t even bring myself to write it--roasted chicken. new garlic. pea pilaf. rhubarb and sour cherry pie.
i bring myself this pain only because i feel like the excitement i had over my weekend menu, the plethora of choices, the unlimited potential for joy and disaster, must somehow be recorded for posterity.
feel sorry for me.