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Seanan was meant to be coming for dinner, but logistics fell apart somewhere between parades and BART strikes, so shepherd's pie was cancelled for the occasion.

Instead, [ profile] lifeofglamour and [ profile] cathyn came down to play. There's a nice Japanese restaurant at the head of our street, and we allowed them to serve us lunch (mmm, sushi...); and then we abandoned poor Karen to her working-from-homeiness, and zoomed off to the Stanford Art Museum for some culture. This just in: Rodin's fallen caryatids? Not yet got up again.

And I still hadn't figured out what to do for dinner. But we stopped at Lucky's, so I bought a chicken and lamb cutlets and potatoes, for I knew I had a couple of little cauliflowers at home.

So the chicken was smoked on the barbecue, while the cutlets sat in olive oil and mint until a quick last-minute grilling; the cauliflowers were roasted whole with a little smoked paprika; and the potatoes were Moroccan.

This seems to have become a fallback in recent weeks: cut unpeeled potatoes into inchy chunks, and toss in a bowl with a couple of dollops of harissa until coated. Then a couple of glugs of olive oil, tossity toss; and a scatter of chunky salt, tossity. Spread 'em on a baking sheet and scatter liberally with sesame seeds. Roast in a hot oven for forty-five minutes, turning once.

But! The jar of harissa I had was perfect to the occasion, as it was strongly flavoured but not hot at all so I didn't need to angst about spiciness and other people's palates. That jar is now empty. I have made my own harissa in the past, but it tends towards the other end of the spectrum (willy-nilly! there is nothing I can do about this! etc). Whether I can find and visit a source for Shiloh sauces before the next time I want to Moroccanise potatoes - well. It doesn't seem likely.


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June 2017

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