Sunday, February 15, 2009

the morning after

Yesterday is a blur. I remember waking up to a light cover of snow outside. Good. We need a clean layer.

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The old stuff reminded me of how snow is pretty and soil is pretty, but put them together and you have something significantly unattractive.

Then the cooking began. Ed disappeared, claiming that his cats needed him. I forgave him. Every day is Valentine’s Day.

This was supper for my old neighborhood friends. In my last year of suburb life, I’d cook pots of soup and we’d take our huge mugs straight to the TV, where we would eat, drink and listen to the political debates leading to the elections. Now, in my condo, I decided to cook soup again. Roasted tomato, onion, crimini mushrooms and corn. And garlic. In large amounts.

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For the plate accompanying the soup, I made baked polenta with mushrooms and gruyere…

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crostini with fresh mozzarella and grilled veggies…

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White bean and garlic spread on bread…

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Buckwheat crepes with smoked salmon…

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…and pear and roquefort strudel.

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Oh, and some dessert stuff that escaped without a photo.

The funnest dish was also the simplest: toasted coconut slivers with salt.

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That was the eating part. More important was talking. Usually over each other and with gusto. (We have never been known for being quiet.) So that even Ed, whom you would not call a party animal, stayed up for most of the evening.

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Oh, but wait: the post title is “the morning after.” All I can say is that even slow sipping of wine over a six-plus hour period is going to result in a lot of sipped wine. Either that, or I’m rapidly losing my hard Polish head. Or something. Sunday, therefore, was a slow day. My most significant activity? I went out to study possum tracks in the fresh snow around my writer’s shed.

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