Stoled froots iz da sweeetestest.
Dec. 21st, 2008 12:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI was peeling a mango to my breakfast, and Mac was making a great deal of fuss about it. A very great deal of fuss.
I reminded him that he had made the same fuss yesterday, and I gave him a piece, and he wanted it not at all. But that was yesterday - apparently - and this was today, and want want want...
So I gave him a piece. Again. And he spurned it. Again.
So I felt quite confident in leaving the plate of peeled cubed mango on the coffee-table there while I went back into the kitchen for more coffee.
Are you thinking "Chaz, will you never learn?" And if not, why not?
Came back, to find him nom-nom-nomming on a chunk to which he had helped himself. Makes all the difference, apparently. And then I had to fight him off until the plate was empty, and he may very well still be licking off the glaze.
In other news: it's always hard to remember that I do not have to work, that the book is finished; it's generally harder to remember what else I do, those days I do not work. 'Specially when I've made myself a work-sized pot of coffee.
So I shall read through something I have to read, as preparation for a story; and then, because this is the season, actually I do know what I need to do instead of writing. I shall cook, and I shall clean.
It occurs to me that while I shall roast the capon on a bed of veggies this evening - what are these roasting-racks that people talk about? Veggies! Veggies are the only roasting-rack: they lift the meat above the fat, and absorb all those lovely flavours, and flavour the juices, and make soup after - and shall much enjoy gnawing on a freshly-roasted leg tonight, the real reason for the great bird is not, is never this first meal. I cook it for the leftovers: all those soups and sandwiches and curries. I might make a capon-and-ham pie, once I've cooked the ham. It's like that: I just love having quantities of cold flesh in the fridge.
Also, there are boys. They might figure, somewhere in this equation. We can haz capon? (Not if you steal my mango, young man...)
I reminded him that he had made the same fuss yesterday, and I gave him a piece, and he wanted it not at all. But that was yesterday - apparently - and this was today, and want want want...
So I gave him a piece. Again. And he spurned it. Again.
So I felt quite confident in leaving the plate of peeled cubed mango on the coffee-table there while I went back into the kitchen for more coffee.
Are you thinking "Chaz, will you never learn?" And if not, why not?
Came back, to find him nom-nom-nomming on a chunk to which he had helped himself. Makes all the difference, apparently. And then I had to fight him off until the plate was empty, and he may very well still be licking off the glaze.
In other news: it's always hard to remember that I do not have to work, that the book is finished; it's generally harder to remember what else I do, those days I do not work. 'Specially when I've made myself a work-sized pot of coffee.
So I shall read through something I have to read, as preparation for a story; and then, because this is the season, actually I do know what I need to do instead of writing. I shall cook, and I shall clean.
It occurs to me that while I shall roast the capon on a bed of veggies this evening - what are these roasting-racks that people talk about? Veggies! Veggies are the only roasting-rack: they lift the meat above the fat, and absorb all those lovely flavours, and flavour the juices, and make soup after - and shall much enjoy gnawing on a freshly-roasted leg tonight, the real reason for the great bird is not, is never this first meal. I cook it for the leftovers: all those soups and sandwiches and curries. I might make a capon-and-ham pie, once I've cooked the ham. It's like that: I just love having quantities of cold flesh in the fridge.
Also, there are boys. They might figure, somewhere in this equation. We can haz capon? (Not if you steal my mango, young man...)