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desperancePeople, I speak to you now from my Thursday happy place. This may not last; I am tolerably sure to enter my Thursday stressy place sometime in the next hour or so, and after that things can go downhill very rapidly - but right now life is good.
Thing about Thursdays is, it's the day that people come to dinner. This has been a moveable feast, happening variously on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays hitherto; but it seems to have settled on Thursday as its chosen place to be. And it's no longer attached to yoga, with its concommitant will-they-won't-they; now it's just dinner. People come, they eat, they drink, they talk. (Oh boy, do they talk. I don't know how they do that. Me, I focus on the drinking more.) I cook.
I don't usually know before the day begins, what I'll be cooking. It comes down to what's in the market, what I've seen that's new by way of recipes (that I can find again), what Karen and I have been eating in the week, how long it's been since I last made curries: that sort of thing.
So I tend to mull that over in the morning, while I do my regular work stuffs [which at the moment my regular work stuffs are proofreading a new edition of Vonda N McIntyre's Dreamsnake for Jo Fletcher Books - how can this book not be in print already and forever? I keep having to remind myself it first came out nearly forty years ago, it seems so au fait and a propos - and of course playing with the whole Crater School thing. That sculpture I posted yesterday on Facebook? Totally Stealing That); shop in the early afternoon; and then cook and work and clean in proportion and as necessary and where there is time to do that. And I often hit this happy place about now, where the big foods are doing their thing (there is a Hunk o' Pork in the slow cooker, gently disintegrating in a Chazian/Chinese fashion with soys and vinegar and rock sugar and I-didn't-have-any-rice-wine and star anise and chillies and why-didn't-I-put-any-garlic-in-there?; and the rice is cooked and cooled and dried; and the chicken is leftover and ready to be perpetrated with leeks'n'such; and the rest is vegetables, and can wait) and I can pour the first beer of the night (thanks, Greg!) and maybe do an hour's work before people come. Or maybe just noodle on the internet, because hullo. It's Thursday! Thursday is like the New Testament, none of the old rules count any more...
Thing about Thursdays is, it's the day that people come to dinner. This has been a moveable feast, happening variously on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays hitherto; but it seems to have settled on Thursday as its chosen place to be. And it's no longer attached to yoga, with its concommitant will-they-won't-they; now it's just dinner. People come, they eat, they drink, they talk. (Oh boy, do they talk. I don't know how they do that. Me, I focus on the drinking more.) I cook.
I don't usually know before the day begins, what I'll be cooking. It comes down to what's in the market, what I've seen that's new by way of recipes (that I can find again), what Karen and I have been eating in the week, how long it's been since I last made curries: that sort of thing.
So I tend to mull that over in the morning, while I do my regular work stuffs [which at the moment my regular work stuffs are proofreading a new edition of Vonda N McIntyre's Dreamsnake for Jo Fletcher Books - how can this book not be in print already and forever? I keep having to remind myself it first came out nearly forty years ago, it seems so au fait and a propos - and of course playing with the whole Crater School thing. That sculpture I posted yesterday on Facebook? Totally Stealing That); shop in the early afternoon; and then cook and work and clean in proportion and as necessary and where there is time to do that. And I often hit this happy place about now, where the big foods are doing their thing (there is a Hunk o' Pork in the slow cooker, gently disintegrating in a Chazian/Chinese fashion with soys and vinegar and rock sugar and I-didn't-have-any-rice-wine and star anise and chillies and why-didn't-I-put-any-garlic-in-there?; and the rice is cooked and cooled and dried; and the chicken is leftover and ready to be perpetrated with leeks'n'such; and the rest is vegetables, and can wait) and I can pour the first beer of the night (thanks, Greg!) and maybe do an hour's work before people come. Or maybe just noodle on the internet, because hullo. It's Thursday! Thursday is like the New Testament, none of the old rules count any more...