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.


001 copy


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.


004 copy


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


013 copy


crostini with fresh mozzarella and grilled veggies…


014 copy


White bean and garlic spread on bread…


015 copy


Buckwheat crepes with smoked salmon…


006 copy


…and pear and roquefort strudel.


008 copy


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

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


010 copy


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.


019 copy


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.


032 copy