Put two chicken thighs and a breast to simmer with aromatic vegetables. Was hoping the stock would be stupendous with lots of fresh herbs, a shallot, etc. Came downstairs to fiddle with my book. S.O. upstairs in front of the telly.
Two hours later, I smelled a hideous burnt odor as I came up the stairs. S.O. sacked out in a chair. The soup had boiled dry and charred the bottom of my red Le Creuset Dutch oven. I salvaged part of the meat and that was all. The damnable smoke alarm, which shrieks every time one sautees an onion kept its counsel, perhaps not wanting to disturb the jet-lagged slumbers of Significant Other.
Damnation. I made the soup today with the non-charred scraps of chicken. The Dutch oven is sitting slathered in a paste of water and baking soda. Sigh.
I'm trying to read through the first 165 pages of my novel and to determine how it reads. Of course I found tons of stuff to change and correct. On the whole, however, not too bad. The beginning, of all things, is good. I usually suck at writing beginnings.
Time for a walk, since exercise will undoubtedly play its part in the required weight loss. No more running through airports.
I've been researching the cumbia, the national dance of Colombia. Working on a new scene with my drug lord. I have learned so much writing this novel and also my fish short story. The fish was a wonderful character.
We discovered a new Brothers Grimm story in former East Germany. I will post the link when I find it in English. It's wonderful. The discoveries one makes as a traveller are never the expected ones. Serendipity rules.
Ye gods, the link was hard to find. This is from a book of fairy tales, but you can read the story in all it's bizzare unlikelihood.
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