First Tomatoes and Insalata Caprese

In our own little garden plot, planted and maintained by us, we had two tomatoes ripen this week, medium size, not cherry. The basil is also coming into its own. Time for Insalta Caprese.

Insalata Caprses is one of the most delicious and simplist things you can make. Hey, even a kid can do this. Recipe:

Pick however many tomatoes you need, from one to four. Pick some fresh basil. Carry your produce into the house.

Here you will need a cutting board and a platter. Get out the EVOO, salt and pepper grinder. From the fridge, get out a nice ball of fresh mozzarella. Slice the tomatoes thinly and put on a platter. For each tomato slice, cut an equally thin slice of mozzarella. Cheese goes on tomatoes. Chop up the basil and sprinkle on the cheese/tomato slices. Salt (judiciously) and pepper, a few grinds. Drizzle the platter with EVOO.

Carry this into the dining room and use nice utensils and put out some decent bread. Sop up the tomato and EVOO juices with the bread. A glass of crisp white wine will make the experience even better.

This is so simple that you need to use the best tomatoes, basil, cheese, EVOO and the pepper has to be freshly ground.

It's a fantastic summer luncheon.

Grapeshot

Dumbassification

New word for me today: dumbassification. If you don't know what this means, then you are a) reading too many supermarket tabloids, and b) watching too much TV.

This word came to mind when I was cruising the chat group that Amazon formed for the novel contest. Someone wrote to ask if a "rough draft" was O.K.? In a novel contest? That is a decidedly dumbass question. The wags who answered said, "sure, go ahead, submit a rough draft," obviously thinking a dumbass entry that will be disqualified helps their own chances. Well, sure.

Writers do like to bitch and moan. One can immediately see that some of the novelists have never submitted before, and of course, Amazon has 9 single spaced pages of rules, along with some additional ones on the web. But the $25,000 advance from Penguin is sooooo tempting and even thrilling, and also the fact that a real person will read your book if you get into the top 1000 out of 5000 which almost (I better prepare to eat crow) seems like a slam dunk, with memoir, children's books, first drafts and godknowswhat being submitted. Well, bad writing, as well. Making the cut should not be that hard if one isn't tripped up by some little rule, like not having your name on the manuscript. Eeeek! Mine was on the header, and also the title page. Whoops! And of course any book with a word count greater than 175,000 is disqualified. I know of people who have written more words.

My own humble entry, World of Mirrors, was pared down from 116,000 to 97,000 words with lots of hard work and getting rid of a back story, changing the main characters in fact. You are God when you write. You do what you will.

I sent out a bunch of queries and am waiting for an answer from a publisher, but since I have been flogging this book for hmmmm, how many years, now, it seemed a little optimistic to think that any of these feelers would actually evolve into a sale. Started the book in 1996 or a little earlier. How long ago is that? Over ten years. Blood, sweat and tears. (Submissions began the summer of 2004. More than 3 years ago. Why does it seem like longer?)

We're having an anniversary feast at Fava in Needham, which should be ultra-delicous. I don't want to try the T or a long walk in the city for a while with my bum ankle. Insalata Caprese on the deck with the leaves in the slough turning red and woodpeckers and chicadees attacking the suet and goldfinches on the thistle seed. A glass of white wine to wash things down. A leisurely lunch on the deck always means life is good. Dumbass, maybe, but good.

Grapeshot

Mrs. Astor

Back in the day, when one actually dressed nicely for air travel, I arrived in at the Denver airport for a Christmas visit in a black wool coat newly purchased on Fifth Avenue in New York. I wore long black gloves, black heels, sported a black handbag, and a red (I think) hat. I was a new bride of a few months and my mother, seeing me, exclaimed, "You look just like Mrs. Astor!" It was my mother's high compliment regarding dress. For years whenever I would dress up (and back then dressing up was done a lot more than nowadays), Significant Other would remark, "You look just like Mrs. Astor."

She was buried yesterday, wearing we don't know what, but I'm sure it was elegant. Elegant funeral. Elegant lady, a class act. The telling detail about the affair, which the New York Times did not fail to report, was that although the church was open to the public, it was only half full, the reason being that New York society is no longer made up of people who would sacrifice a Friday afternoon in August to pay their respects or to quote the Times, "Asking people to spend a late summer Friday afternoon in town would be demanding a true quality-of-life sacrifice--or at least some heavy rescheduling. . . " Goes on to say Mrs. Astor was the kind of woman who sacrificed time and money readily. We won't see her like again.

I wondered idly, while I was ironing, if anyone from the antique boat cruise had interrupted the cruise for the funeral. Couldn't decide. Swells sailing through swells. Were you astounded to read that I was ironing? Lots of people (all women of course) say, "I don't iron." Does that mean that a) they're comfortable with wrinkles, or b) they have a polyester wardrobe or c) everything goes to the cleaners? Dunno.

Women, again, also announce, "I don't cook." Well, duh, you eat don't you? Have you noticed men never make themselves look like idiots by making I-dont-iron-I-dont-cook remarks. I never know what "I don't cook" means. Does it mean only instant oatmeal and mashed potatoes, or does it mean fast food and takeout and the salad bar at the supermarket? Does it mean not from scratch? Inquiring minds want to know. "I don't cook." What b.s.

Grapeshot, on the other hand, worries about dying before she can try all the outstanding recipes she has filed away. Today we are doing something new from the Times this week, an eggplant salad. Sounded so yummy, with grilled chicken breasts. The rest of the breasts will go into an Mexican (Yucatan) soup of orzo, chicken broth, jalapenos and lime juice. The problem with recipes is that there are old favorites, new favorites and the yet-to-be-tried. I cook.

Last night I didn't cook, actually. We had insalata Caprese, salami, rye bread, cheddar cheese, olives, pickles and potato chips. So filling we saved the dessert for tonight.

Insalata Caprese: Only make this when high qualitiy tomatoes are available. Slice a tomato or two thin and cut slices in half. Slice fresh (the balls that come in water) mozzarella thinly and put on top of the tomato slices. Hie yourself to the garden and pick some fresh basil. Chop up the basil leaves and sprinkle on the tomato-mozzarella mixture. Drizzle EVOO over the top. Season with salt and pepper. Notice no cooking was involved. Slicing and chopping and drizzling require minimal skills.

So good, esp. with the tomato from the garden not an hour before eating, and likewise the basil. We have regular and lemon basil this year. The old-favorite chicken pesto will be showing up on the table some night.

I cook. I even make my own garam marsala for Pete's sake.

Off to the kitchen,

Grapeshot

Cat BLog Day

Running errands in Wellesley today. At Roche Bros. supermarket, I was behind a woman who spent $495.00 on groceries. She mentioned having company and grandkids. Gosh, I hope they eat all those red peppers she bought. That's even more than we spent at Raley's Supermarket in Reno before a trip to Burning Man. This week, all the movers and shakers are at the gun show in Reno. Stuff happens in the damnest places. www.burningman.com

I know one retired dot.com millioniare who travels across the country in a motor home with 4 cats. The mind boggles. I would be so paranoid that the cats would escape (freedom now!) that--well, I don't know what. The mind just boggles. Thisbe heard the dog next door bark on the deck and retreated inside. I'm not sure she knows what a dog is. Annie has been under the weather and hurled on the coffee table. A bulemic cat is a troublesome cat, but we love her. Life without cats is lonely.

The beautiful skinny woman was at Roche Bros again today. Must have traded her Mercedes in for an SUV. Of course, it might have been a Mercedes SUV or a Cadillic or whatever. I noticed the umpteen plastic bags (bad!) going into the trunk. Today she wore a long-sleeved shirt and slacks which made the stringiness less noticeable. Why isn't she on the Cape or the Islands? Inquiring mind want to know.

Significant Other remarked that the Wellesley store has a "better class of women" than some of the far flung less upscale suburbs. Of course he was speaking strictly of their physical appearance, not their kindliness or characters.

I posted a book review on Amazon of the latest Furst novel, The Foreign Correspondent. Yesterday I found a review of The Shadow Warriors which was pretty bad, but the reviewer sounded like she was having a bad time. Talk about generalities. She said good stuff too, but although I wrote the book, I still had no idea what she was talking about. Not a clue. So the criticism was not helpful.

Another rejection today for World of Mirrors. Since this was a non-MWA approved publisher, I didn't cry any rivers. We went for a long walk and I puttered around in the garden. We get a nice big tomato every day, and what could be better than that?

Insalata Capreses again tonight. The basil is stupendous.

Onward,

Grapeshot