Kitchen diary: the lunch of champions

M'wife and her mother have gone off to Hobee's for lunch, while I dash about doing the thousand-and-one things I have to do before I head off to Launch Pad at oh-god-awful in the morning. My lunch is happening on the hoof and on the fly.

Do you hear me repining?

You do not.

My lunch today is thick slices of last night's slow-smoked pork shoulder, in a couple of the sesame-seed buns I baked to go with the barbecue, with a few lettuce leaves from the farmers' market and mustard ditto ditto, and a couple of tomatoes picked fresh from my garden. So fresh they are still warm all the way through, I am just sayin'. (These are the black ones, which we have figured out: when they have gone from green to black, they are not ready. When they start going from black to red, they are. These are as it were semi-flushed pink, and utterly delicious.)

Liveblogging Launch Pad

Tomorrow is a momentous day. It’ll be the first time since we married (and tomorrow, let me tell you, is our fifteen-month anniversary) that m’wife and I have been parted for any significant length of time; and it will also mark my slightly belated participation in that great American custom, being sent away to summer camp.

Specifically, I’m off to Launch Pad, a week-long astronomy workshop for science fiction writers, where we get to play with telescopes and everything. We’ll live in a dorm like days of yore; we’ll be late for lectures and send each other texts beneath the desks; we’ll cure our hangovers by tramping the hills of Laramie, Wyoming, then start the next one brewing; we’ll stay up too late and put the world to rights and argue about philosophy and shoes and such. And writing, and stars. I expect to talk a lot about writing. And stars.

Also, we’ll be talking about it here. Brenda Clough of that parish is also attending, and we’re planning to hotbunk a liveblog, so keep an eye on the BVC blog for daily reports. If we don’t get too distracted, too lost in the wonder of it all…