Whit's Blog / 1000 Recordings

I am a changeling adult

I made soup. I sauteed leeks in butter, then fried balls of risotto mixed with fresh bread crumbs, parmesan cheese and egg in the same pan. Then I ladled in strong broth, let it heat through (checked the temperature of the rice balls with an instant-read thermometer, as I fear salmonella irrationally), and put it in front of Joe.

He said it was not appealing. The rice, he said, was "too greasy." And later, my mother said it didn't sound like something she would eat, either.

I ate his bowl, my bowl and an extra bowl. Wonder why I've put on weight?

White Box With White String

• Cupcake battle
  In Richmond, it was all about Sally Belle. I always went for the caramel one in the box first. WOW that was good. And the chocolate one, and the vanilla ones, and somebody had to eat the strawberry one.
  (tags: cupcake cupcakes nutrition)

On Site

Where we have been eating meals.

Near where we eat. (Not sure if it will be used as cooking area.)

Pictureque but decrepit, like so many of us.

Can I get a witness for cross ventilation?

The chef.

Vive!

I landed late -- about 90 minutes late -- after inexplicable problems delayed the flight out of Logan. Speaking flawless French to the taxi driver (he only glanced at me quizzically 73 times) I advised him of my need to to tailor a hippo stinkily. He suggested that perhaps I meant something different, such as the fact that I might wish to go to a local train station! Yes! I said, that's what I want! Here! Take some Play Money! I gave him the large denominations and suggested he keep what he needed. We drove away!

After the afterburners on his taxi cooled, we stopped at a local train station (in above photo, espresso not pictured). After I returned my face to its normal, unaccelerated shape (see also: Odyssey, Space, 2001, A), I emerged from the vehicle and paid the driver extra, informing him never to bother my family again. ("Pas de change," for which the direct translation from French is, "Look, here, under my uvula! My kidney!")

I got on the train, where the highest price ticket had earned me the right to sit far, far, far in the back, facing the wrong way, with air conditioning. The French countryside, which is honestly fabulously beautiful (and which gives you a chance to use all those dormant vocabulary words such as "Le Wild Boar Rhunning Achross The Field" and "The Bhig Field of Sunflowairs") sped by at roughly eight million miles per hour, minus the curvature of the earth, which is represented in this equation by "Steve." I sat across from a woman who is involved in the Arts, and we shared many an interesting story about choreographers, except for the good parts (which are not represented in any equation as "Steve").

On arrival in Lyons I was promptly greeted (let the whuffie smile) and we rocketed to the cooking school, which is like my parents house in Key West, with raisins. Also, barking frogs (I am told) and the occasional luncheon, which was an impossibly snacky cold tomato soup (shopping list: chinoise) with tomato bits, dashes of woostersheer sauce and basic cuttupinshreds basil. With the luncheon came spiffy local effervescent white wine (don't even MENTION champagne, Mister Please Put the Lawsuit Down Over There) and some also white wine and also some wine red blaaargh. And a great deal of interesting conversation, from inside bull on the restaurant biz (see that? whimsy!) to fish resiliency and lettuce selection.

I am very, very grateful for this opportunity to sit and talk with an extraordinary chef communicator. Thanks to each of you. (Also, you readers.)

Gotta scrape off the mold

This is the ham. The half a ham. This is the ham that my father sent.

Alcohol content

Been saving a little bit of really good mulling spice since we lived near the river in Omaha, so that's quite a while. Had a half-bottle of Chianti left over in the basement fridge. Let it just warm up in a steel saucepan over really low heat for about 90 minutes; started while Joe was watching his video and poured a mug when he was good and asleep. House smelled great.

You know what? Mulled wine is good. Mulled red wine vinegar? Not so festive.