… for the life of me I can never remember that second part… “A place for everything and… what?”
Ah well. My problem isn’t that I don’t have a place for everything. It’s that I have a place, but then I take it out of the place, and then I put something else in that place, and then I can’t remember if the place is for the first thing or the second thing. This goes on in my pantry a lot with the rice cooker and the crock pot.
I need some sort of order to work in, so when my work room got cluttered, I decided to move downstairs for a while… now the downstairs is cluttered.
I did a lot of contemplating cleaning today. If only contemplating were dusting, my house would always be spotless.
And, just because I know you all are dying to know what I had for dinner after last night’s semi-sophisticated entry and all my facebook going on about the duck that I marinated in Cabernet Sauvignon for Christmas dinner, I thought I’d share this pic of tonight’s feast. Yes, that’s store bought bread and cheap american cheese. It melts good and tastes yummy. But the beer is homebrew, part of a sampler some really good friends of ours brought for Christmas. It has coffee in it. Yummy! The sandwich didn’t taste as out of focus as the picture looks. It actually tasted quite in focus. And I paired it with a Claussen dill spear. (Note the beer is in focus, for all you photog’s out there, I was shooting with a 1.8 lens, hence the extremely shallow depth of field. I would have fixed it, but I’d already eaten the sandwich 😀 )
Jody had frozen burritos. Well, he did microwave them first.
I bought a bag of Yukon Gold’s at the grocery store the other day fully intending to create the classic french potato dish known as “pommes anna” or “Anna Potatoes.” The attraction, I believe is obvious. And, naturally, my kitchen idol Alice Waters has instructions on page 103 of the softcover Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook, and thus I was going to launch into the brave new world of foods named for me (nope, not a narcissist, why do you ask?).
But bowing under the heavy weight of many pictures to edit and CD’s to burn, I decided that I’d cut the potatoes into pieces and roast them in the oven drizzled in olive oil, with salt and freshly ground black pepper and rosemary needles sprinkled liberally over the top. The rosemary is from my very own bush, which, after sort of languishing all summer apparently decided that it likes it colder. Who knew?
I’m still calling them potatoes Anna though. My rationale? I’m Anna, and I made a potato dish, so potatoes Anna is whatever the h-e-double toothpicks I decide it is. (not actual swearing by the way unless you spell it out in your head and then say what you spelled… I was just talking about toothpicks, whatever you see is your problem).
I’m serving them with wild caught salmon, courtesy of Whole Foods.
Jody’s pairing the potatoes with a New York Strip Steak that he grilled in our Le Cruset Grill pan.
and we added a salad of mixed greens with a Roquefort Vinaigrette (only I subbed blue cheese) and plated it looks like this:
And I accompanied all of it with a lovely Yellow Tail Reisling.
So did you hear I started a new blog today? Random, right?
I had a three shoot day which always makes me tired and sort of hyper-observant at the same time.
Playing outside with my dogs despite the 22 degree weather.
Seeing Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road” on the “books for cooks” shelf at Target (my apologies to all of you who have seen the movie or read the book).
Reading Ben Witherington’s excellent take on Downey’s Sherlock Holmes, which I recommend despite the fact that he called Doyle’s lady foil “Irena” Adler instead of “Irene.” Ben, Ben, what am I going to do with you?
Passing a fairly demure older gal as I was coming out of Target and hearing an award winning burp from the same vicinity (I won’t say it was her, but it sure wasn’t me!).
Having the guy at Starbucks ask me where I was from because I replied “no worries” when he apologized for the wait.
Breaking the “rules” of photography and taking pictures into the sun.
Reveling in the lens flare.
Enjoying the quiet of woods asleep for the winter, bathed in a winter afternoon sunset.