He's walking Spanish down the hall
Apr. 5th, 2015 11:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceSo as I may have mentioned, the oven died last night. Kiboshes were put on many a plan. Friends did a mercy dash with me and my pan of risen hot cross bun dough, whisking us across town to a functioning oven; things didn't come out quite as intended, but I do have a tear-apart slab of seasonal spiced bread. (I neglected to put the crosses on 'em, okay? And they spread sideways more than rose, so they didn't exactly bun.)
And I have traded half of that for a bag of kumquats, with a notion of marmalade tomorrow; and I have broken out Karen's old tiny slow-cooker to make confit of gizzards, because they were already in the salt last night when I found that the oven was dead; and now I have maybe figured out how to cater a dinner-party without an oven. Everything is still subject to revision, but right now I think we're going Spanish: not quite tapas-like, but patatas bravas and cabbage-with-chestnuts and a risotto of paella rice with spring veggies and a pot-roast hunk of pork. All of that can happen on top of the stove.
And every time a wave of stress or frustration or anxiety washes over me (how much is a new stove, anyway? This is the third time in three years we will've paid out for repairs on this one, grr), I remind myself that I get to run away next week to Seattle and points wetter, so I don't need to think about repair people for a while yet; and I saw two hummingbirds sharing the same feeder yesterday, and when I got too close they flew off together. Dare we anticipate the flutter of tiny wings...?
And I have traded half of that for a bag of kumquats, with a notion of marmalade tomorrow; and I have broken out Karen's old tiny slow-cooker to make confit of gizzards, because they were already in the salt last night when I found that the oven was dead; and now I have maybe figured out how to cater a dinner-party without an oven. Everything is still subject to revision, but right now I think we're going Spanish: not quite tapas-like, but patatas bravas and cabbage-with-chestnuts and a risotto of paella rice with spring veggies and a pot-roast hunk of pork. All of that can happen on top of the stove.
And every time a wave of stress or frustration or anxiety washes over me (how much is a new stove, anyway? This is the third time in three years we will've paid out for repairs on this one, grr), I remind myself that I get to run away next week to Seattle and points wetter, so I don't need to think about repair people for a while yet; and I saw two hummingbirds sharing the same feeder yesterday, and when I got too close they flew off together. Dare we anticipate the flutter of tiny wings...?