Memories of Kansas

I completed the first assignment for the Food Writing class at Brown, writing about my Kansas grandparents chicken yard, garden and kitchen. It's a memoir piece, and I have to tell you I shed a few tears writing it, and now, of course, the rationalist, the cynic, wonders if it's too sentimental. Only the ending is sentimental, which I try to tie back to the beginning. It's hard to write heartfelt without getting soppy. It is for me. But I think it will be O.K. At least from my other writing, I've learned to appeal to the senses, which food writing should absolutely do, and to create some drama and have a beginning, middle and end.

I wrote another chapter of In Flight, and adding that to my five pages of short story for the Guppy Anthology, this has been a productive week. And in the garden, too, as we brought everything into the house but the geraniums. Winter is a comen in.

We went for a walk today and discovered a path to the swimming pool that we didn't know about. Good walk through the woods. Glorious maples. You just can't beat fall in New England.

And now the Red Sox (sob) are trailing eight-zip, and will have to get their act and their pitching together. I do still miss Manny, and wish Big Pappi would slam a few out of the park. Ah, it's a frustrating sport.

I actually survived not going to Bouchercon. Everyone has posted photos and it looked like loads of fun, but gosh I'm glad I kept that thousand dollar bill in the bank. Everyone around here is having garage sales to raise a bit of cash.

We really did eat beans tonight, navy bean soup and it was so tasty! The recipe called for fresh thyme and rosemary, and the usual bean soup fixins. The bacon was fried, drained and sprinkled on the finished soup. Yum! I halved the recipe which was for twelve, but we won't get three meals out of it, oh my no!

You have yourself a very fine Sunday evening!

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Al Forno

Yesterday was our wedding anniversary, and we splurged for a late dinner at Al Forno in Providence. We've been eating at Al Forno since it was a tiny nondescript place with a sister restaurant called Lucky's. They moved to Main Street and Lucky's was enfolded into Al Forno, the place became famous, produced two cookbooks and there is frequently a wait for a table.

Al Forno makes the world's best pizza. I always have this hideous existential dilemma about whether to order the pizza or the Clams Al Forno, and usually the pizza wins out. It's grilled, of course, with spare toppings and thin, thin, thin. The taste is incredible. We brought a bit home for lunch, and I see a fight ensuing.

I had squab, which one never sees, and S.O. had a big pork chop. Smashed potatoes and grilled broccoli filled out the plate. For dessert, we shared the (oink) chocolate bread pudding. This was first rate food and the wine was also excellent. Of course the price tag is not for the faint-hearted. I slept until 9:00 this morning, drugged by so much fantastic grub.

With Brown and RISD down the street, the clientele is also interesting.

Tonight we have beaucoup leftovers from Monday's dinner: chicken Marbella, stuffed baked apples, risotto with fines herbes and green beans with walnuts and garlic. I'll be thinking about it all day. Yummy! Sometimes stuff in the fridge starts calling your name, never a good thing.

Like Al Forno's Pizza Margherita.

A little vignette about Lucky's. Years ago, when we visited my in-laws in Germany, we took along some excellent steaks, and for the dinner I made Lucky's potatoes, which involved a sh__load of garlic, oil and butter. The steaks were received politely, but it was the potatoes that were the biggest hit. I had to make them again. I promise I'll dig up the recipe.

You're in for a treat. Of course, you'll have to prepare them, no big deal, actually.

Grapeshot, in food mode today.

Barbie Doll

So, Caribou Barbie didn't flub anything big last night, spouting the party line and sounding, yanno, like a "real" person, using the vernacular to the max and smiling all the while like a Stepford wife. No, that's Mrs. McCain. Got to keep the roles, straight, ladies.

When she didn't have an answer or want to answer, she talked about something else, usually the Democrats raising taxes. Hammering it home. Hammering it home.

Yada. Yada. Well, that's what a Barbie doll does, is repeat things, right? Remember when Barbie said, "math is hard," and there was a big flap?

Of course the greedy bad men on Wall Street are all Republicans, so I don't know how that goes over. Maybe it plays in Peoria. Granted the financial crisis is hard to understand, but the New York Times had a good understandable article on it this morning. Too bad Mrs. Palin doesn't read newspapers.

I guess she just sits around and waits for someone to tell her what's happening. What it the "someone" lied? Jeez, this is kind of scary.

I'm having my writing group for dinner Monday. This is the menu. Someone is bringing an appetizer, but I don't know what.

Chicken Marbella
Green Beans with Walnuts
Rice

Joan’s Salad

Stuffed Baked Apples
Joan’s Cookies

Come on over if it sounds good. I cut most of the bad fats so nobody will freak out.

Tonight we're having tuna and noodles. I don't use cream of mushroom soup but make a white sauce from scratch and season with onion, green and red peppers and hot pepper flakes. Seasoning is all. We put crushed potato chips on top and bake for a spell. Sounds like a down home recipe hockey moms would go for. I was a hockey mom once, but we didn't call them that, just a mom. We raised kids and didn't "parent." Different world.

Tuesday, I begin a class on Food Writing at Brown University in Providence. And so it goes.

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