Domesticity: the costly therapeusis
Aug. 7th, 2015 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceSo we had nine for dinner yesterday, which is pretty much average for a Thursday. And I got all stressy in my kitchen, ditto ditto; and the man'oushe need practice but that's okay, I'm happy to put the work in, and the baked kibbeh stuffed with househ was something of a triumph (and immediately dubbed "meatcake" on sight, which is a darn sight easier than "baked kibbeh stuffed with househ", so meatcake it shall be hereafter).
There was a chicken/potato/olive salad too, which could only have gone better if the bloody mini food processor had actually worked, in the matter of reducing a bunch of parsley to little green flecks. I coulda done it with a knife, natch, but I thought the machine would be quicker and I was under time-stress as well as everything-else-stress. Ha. The bloody mini food processor is now in the bin where it belongs. Chopping herbs seems like an absolute minimum, to be frank.
But today, today is all about cleaning and shopping, apparently. I have loaded, run and emptied the dishwasher twice and am working towards a third load (see above, under average Thursdays; nine people make for many dishes, in every sense); and I know we are supposed to deprecate the monopolistic practices of $BigRiverCo, but free same-day delivery is actually kinda awesome (is this just because Bay Area, or do they do this all over?), so a new more serious-minded mini food processor is on its way, because useful; and there's a new colander coming with, because it's a shame to travel alone. And my twelve-inch handy big not-quite-a-wok pan thing is losing its nonstickery at a rate of knots, so I've a new Analon not-quite-a-wok coming to replace it; and I may try packaging up the old one and sending it back to Calphalon, just to see if they're willing to honour their lifetime warranty or not. I suspect not, but it might be worth enquiring.
So yeah, the spending of moneys. If retail therapy makes me feel better, I must've been feeling pretty bad before. And I'm not sure when or whether cleaning became another kind of therapy, but I even found myself considering the kitchen floor this morning. Which I have already dealt with that twice this week, once for the appraiser on Monday and once for the shattered bottle of ginger ale on Wednesday, and a third time would be, well. Overkill, surely? But I might give it a sweep-over, that at least. After I've finished with the countertops and the cooker.
Tonight, as is traditional, is pizza night. Making the man'oushe last night was a reminder that really, I ought to be making my own pizze, if only for the fun of eccentric toppings; but half the point of pizza night is not actually the pizza, it's the not having to cook. After Thursdays, it's nice to have a day off.
Which reminds me, I need to make chicken stock today. I should go and do that now, indeed.
In tangentially related news, I found a dying dragonfly on the sidewalk this morning; and now I know what my current Mars story is actually about, apart from T E Lawrence and maps. Yay me? After 15K words, you'd kind of hope to have some grasp of theme, I think. Honestly, sometimes I look at what I'm doing and despair. Mostly, of course, I look at what I'm not doing and ditto ditto.
As witness, inspiration doesn't always lead to fresh endeavour. I was on my way to the library to write lots, only when I was nearly there I remembered that the lens had popped out of my reading glasses one more time; so I walked half home again to bother the local optician, who fixed it for me because he's a nice boy. So of course I felt obliged to browse his frames, and we had a lovely conversation about rimless specs, and he's bolder than our official glassesfolk and perfectly willing to take on my prescription, so. I coulda spent a lot more money yet. But I didn't. Again I say, yay me? Only then I only got as far as the coffeeshop and hardly wrote a thing, so I am not deserving of your yays. Cleaning and shopping, I told you. Enough to fill a day, if not make a day's actual work.
There was a chicken/potato/olive salad too, which could only have gone better if the bloody mini food processor had actually worked, in the matter of reducing a bunch of parsley to little green flecks. I coulda done it with a knife, natch, but I thought the machine would be quicker and I was under time-stress as well as everything-else-stress. Ha. The bloody mini food processor is now in the bin where it belongs. Chopping herbs seems like an absolute minimum, to be frank.
But today, today is all about cleaning and shopping, apparently. I have loaded, run and emptied the dishwasher twice and am working towards a third load (see above, under average Thursdays; nine people make for many dishes, in every sense); and I know we are supposed to deprecate the monopolistic practices of $BigRiverCo, but free same-day delivery is actually kinda awesome (is this just because Bay Area, or do they do this all over?), so a new more serious-minded mini food processor is on its way, because useful; and there's a new colander coming with, because it's a shame to travel alone. And my twelve-inch handy big not-quite-a-wok pan thing is losing its nonstickery at a rate of knots, so I've a new Analon not-quite-a-wok coming to replace it; and I may try packaging up the old one and sending it back to Calphalon, just to see if they're willing to honour their lifetime warranty or not. I suspect not, but it might be worth enquiring.
So yeah, the spending of moneys. If retail therapy makes me feel better, I must've been feeling pretty bad before. And I'm not sure when or whether cleaning became another kind of therapy, but I even found myself considering the kitchen floor this morning. Which I have already dealt with that twice this week, once for the appraiser on Monday and once for the shattered bottle of ginger ale on Wednesday, and a third time would be, well. Overkill, surely? But I might give it a sweep-over, that at least. After I've finished with the countertops and the cooker.
Tonight, as is traditional, is pizza night. Making the man'oushe last night was a reminder that really, I ought to be making my own pizze, if only for the fun of eccentric toppings; but half the point of pizza night is not actually the pizza, it's the not having to cook. After Thursdays, it's nice to have a day off.
Which reminds me, I need to make chicken stock today. I should go and do that now, indeed.
In tangentially related news, I found a dying dragonfly on the sidewalk this morning; and now I know what my current Mars story is actually about, apart from T E Lawrence and maps. Yay me? After 15K words, you'd kind of hope to have some grasp of theme, I think. Honestly, sometimes I look at what I'm doing and despair. Mostly, of course, I look at what I'm not doing and ditto ditto.
As witness, inspiration doesn't always lead to fresh endeavour. I was on my way to the library to write lots, only when I was nearly there I remembered that the lens had popped out of my reading glasses one more time; so I walked half home again to bother the local optician, who fixed it for me because he's a nice boy. So of course I felt obliged to browse his frames, and we had a lovely conversation about rimless specs, and he's bolder than our official glassesfolk and perfectly willing to take on my prescription, so. I coulda spent a lot more money yet. But I didn't. Again I say, yay me? Only then I only got as far as the coffeeshop and hardly wrote a thing, so I am not deserving of your yays. Cleaning and shopping, I told you. Enough to fill a day, if not make a day's actual work.