one of those weeks
I’ve stared at this screen for a while. and truth be told, I’m sort of at a loss for words (shock, Dad, I know). Nothing, but nothing, I’ve made this week turned out right. No swooning into my soup bowl, no salad dressing dripping down my chin, no dipping my fork back into the pan until nothing remains. Apparently, my kitchen has waged a war against me and refuses to produce anything worthy of repeat. The flapjacks burned and congealed, though the salvageable crumbs had a nice toasty, buttery heft. Kale chips were earthy and peppery, but I can think of about twenty more enticing uses for my favorite of winter greens. The mac & cheese bake-off, so full of promise and cheesy goodness, rendered me uninspired, flabby, and breaking out in a fevered sweat from a surplus of dairy. The improvised farro salad, while chewy and hearty, suffered from soggy potatoes and a meek, wallflower cheese. Additionally, my schoolwork has buried me and, my dog destroyed both a pillow and a quilt and left us with a sea of discarded fluff.
Do any of you suffer from such an affliction? When things just don’t seem to meld and mix like they normally do? What does one do when this happens?!? I feel listless, unproductive, and worse yet, just plain unsatisfied.
I don’t mean to complain. There WERE some high points to the week, as follows:
Taco Tuesday at Bread Soda, surprisingly delightful. Crisp, fresh tacos stuffed with spicy, puckery black beans and hunks of avocado. And ping pong! I am gloriously inept at the game, but the diving and shuffling, the pleasing hollow rap of the ball on the table….it all made for a fantastic, unexpected Tuesday.
Friday dinner at 2Amys. Ember roasted eggplant with smoked ricotta, fava bean puree smeared delightfully thickly on crostini, bright and vegetal, Spring on a plate. Fizzy Gragnano washed it all down, with bite and flourish.
Saturday morning dawned chilly but warmed and mellowed. The dog park bustled. Cold, questing noses. Romping. Walking past a neighbor’s house and stopped in my tracks by their lawn. Blanketed in lavender crocuses, bees swarming and swooping happily, gorging themselves on fresh new pollen.
I daringly ventured forth to the salon, and friends, I cut bangs. I now have a forehead shag my mother would be proud to rumple and pronounce just perfect.
Two words: HOMEMADE RAVIOLI, plumped near to bursting with herbed ricotta. I took a cooking class on Sunday, where we proceeded to whisk and knead and coax tender lumps of dough into three types of fresh pasta. As soon as Kitchenaid pasta attachments are in my possession and I’ve tweaked things a bit, we’ll gather ’round the table and talk.
These guys. I listened to their latest album no less than twenty times, and I am smitten.
I would love to hear about your kitchen successes this week. May your tables be laden with whatever makes you happiest!