It's the little things
Jan. 6th, 2013 12:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceLast night I roasted a chicken, and made possibly the best gravy of my life. (We had ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
frumpo for the evening; he is the living embodiment of the incidence of geographical coincidence, and the fact that his work brings him from Tyneside to Sunnyvale every now and then is but the latest instance of this effect.)
This morning I made buttermilk biscuits, by request. Karen approved, and they are now added to the repertoire. It's handy, having another quick bread-substitute; but honestly I think I'd rather have toast. Biscuits are apparently light and fluffy and - well, just not very exciting, really. Maybe you need to be born to them.
Risotto tonight, maybe a pie tomorrow; this is the other reward of roasting a chicken, that it tends to lay down a couple of future meals without my needing to think about it much. Which is convenient, as at the moment I am almost entirely thinking about Kipling on Mars. (Of course Kipling would have gone to Mars, if it were a province of the British Empire! And of course some Edward Malone*-substitute cub reporter would have been told off to write up the great man's tour for his paper! And of course he would have called in at a Masonic Lodge! I just need to find a reason for him to snub the provincial Grand Lodge in favour of something rather odder and more controversial...)
*If you want to write about Kipling, of course you do it as a Conan Doyle pastiche!
frumpo for the evening; he is the living embodiment of the incidence of geographical coincidence, and the fact that his work brings him from Tyneside to Sunnyvale every now and then is but the latest instance of this effect.) This morning I made buttermilk biscuits, by request. Karen approved, and they are now added to the repertoire. It's handy, having another quick bread-substitute; but honestly I think I'd rather have toast. Biscuits are apparently light and fluffy and - well, just not very exciting, really. Maybe you need to be born to them.
Risotto tonight, maybe a pie tomorrow; this is the other reward of roasting a chicken, that it tends to lay down a couple of future meals without my needing to think about it much. Which is convenient, as at the moment I am almost entirely thinking about Kipling on Mars. (Of course Kipling would have gone to Mars, if it were a province of the British Empire! And of course some Edward Malone*-substitute cub reporter would have been told off to write up the great man's tour for his paper! And of course he would have called in at a Masonic Lodge! I just need to find a reason for him to snub the provincial Grand Lodge in favour of something rather odder and more controversial...)
*If you want to write about Kipling, of course you do it as a Conan Doyle pastiche!