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desperanceSo our green-card interview was first thing this morning; it was literally get showered, get dressed, get on the road to be sure we were on time. Karen had taken the day off, to be sure to be around to take care of things whatever happened. I suspect this included the chance of my going totally to pieces, but hey.
In the event of a successful outcome - or indeed its opposite - we had of course spoken about opening a bottle of champagne. It was ready in the fridge, keeping cool. It still is. Perhaps we'll crack it later; I dunno. Perhaps I ought to be more whoop-de-doo? But I'm not. The "congratulations, you have been granted residence" box remains resolutely unticked; I may feel more like celebrating when I have the actual green card in my actual hand. In the meantime, I am rendering beef suet and tidying up after yesterday's all-day partying. Which was mostly seriously fun, thanks, despite bad newses coming through about a couple of people we're very close to; lobscouse and spotted dog both came out quite yummy. Also, here is a lesson reinforced: if you mention a need in these circles, not only will wise people on the internet guide you towards a solution; kind people in the flesh will very likely bring one. Or two. Or three. I ended yesterday with beef suet in three different forms: rendered, trimmed, and untrimmed. So I have trimmed and chopped, and am rendering. I do love handling food on this intimate, engaged level, turning an unpromising slab into pure loveliness. Karen meanwhile is napping on the sofa, which is probably the best use she can make just now of a day off. We've both been stressed and anxious, and while all-day partying was undoubtedly the best way to stop me snapping entirely in two under the pre-interview pressures, that in itself is exhausting. So, yeah: we are relaxing, in our various ways. Soon I may move out into the garden, and express myself forcefully to those wayward tomatoes.
Dinner tonight may be a little ... haphazard. Leftoverly, though in fact there is no leftover lobscouse and the remaining spotted dog would need cooking, it's just a dough at the moment, so I don't think that counts as leftovers at all. I might make soup. Soups. We have smoked ham bones, and split peas; also we have all those tomatoes, and corned beef cooking-water. Pork and peas, beef and tomato. Soups. Maybe. [In a side note: this was the first time, and already I love American corned beef. In the UK, it's a joke: it comes in tins, and is not quite as funny as spam. The notion of buying corned brisket and actually cooking it - and actually producing something that's tasty and pleasantly textured - is entirely alien to the British consciousness. Though now of course I want to corn my own brisket, thank you very much.]
In the event of a successful outcome - or indeed its opposite - we had of course spoken about opening a bottle of champagne. It was ready in the fridge, keeping cool. It still is. Perhaps we'll crack it later; I dunno. Perhaps I ought to be more whoop-de-doo? But I'm not. The "congratulations, you have been granted residence" box remains resolutely unticked; I may feel more like celebrating when I have the actual green card in my actual hand. In the meantime, I am rendering beef suet and tidying up after yesterday's all-day partying. Which was mostly seriously fun, thanks, despite bad newses coming through about a couple of people we're very close to; lobscouse and spotted dog both came out quite yummy. Also, here is a lesson reinforced: if you mention a need in these circles, not only will wise people on the internet guide you towards a solution; kind people in the flesh will very likely bring one. Or two. Or three. I ended yesterday with beef suet in three different forms: rendered, trimmed, and untrimmed. So I have trimmed and chopped, and am rendering. I do love handling food on this intimate, engaged level, turning an unpromising slab into pure loveliness. Karen meanwhile is napping on the sofa, which is probably the best use she can make just now of a day off. We've both been stressed and anxious, and while all-day partying was undoubtedly the best way to stop me snapping entirely in two under the pre-interview pressures, that in itself is exhausting. So, yeah: we are relaxing, in our various ways. Soon I may move out into the garden, and express myself forcefully to those wayward tomatoes.
Dinner tonight may be a little ... haphazard. Leftoverly, though in fact there is no leftover lobscouse and the remaining spotted dog would need cooking, it's just a dough at the moment, so I don't think that counts as leftovers at all. I might make soup. Soups. We have smoked ham bones, and split peas; also we have all those tomatoes, and corned beef cooking-water. Pork and peas, beef and tomato. Soups. Maybe. [In a side note: this was the first time, and already I love American corned beef. In the UK, it's a joke: it comes in tins, and is not quite as funny as spam. The notion of buying corned brisket and actually cooking it - and actually producing something that's tasty and pleasantly textured - is entirely alien to the British consciousness. Though now of course I want to corn my own brisket, thank you very much.]