Winter Wheat

What opened up the plains was tractors and combines. And white bread spread throughout the land. I make a whole wheat bread I proof overnight. I'd rather eat simple country corn-bread, hot from the oven, with butter; or tortillas fried in lard. But a good solid loaf makes a great eatable plate. Soaks up all those juices. Always turn the pasta back into the sauce, look both ways before you cross the street, even if it's one-way, always wear a hard hat, and never, ever, forget, they are going to mess with your head. Got up in the middle of the night and wrote for several hours, then slept late again. Low overcast, tree rain, then a cloud (not fog) settles on the ridge. Had to put off cooking the roast because I didn't have any onions. I'll cook it tonight. I always braise a pot roast on a bed of onions with chicken stock and wine. I cut up one small potato, to disintegrate into the liquid and thicken the gravy. The rest of the vegetables I'll add tomorrow. Lunch with TR, then I stopped at Kroger and got a bag of Spanish onions, stopped at the in-house liquor store and got a backup bottle of whiskey. I have backup coffee and backup juice, and a bag of tobacco in the freezer. I'll be able to split wood, under the overhang of the woodshed tomorrow, even if it rains. I needed to go to the library, but when I stopped at the bottom of the hill, to get the mail, there were three books; one on American cheeses, one on the calamitous 14th century, and a collection of Emily's poems and letters. Plenty of reading matter, what with magazines and book reviews. Go right to the parking lot, outside the back door of the pub, roll a smoke, and peruse the new books. TR is a bit harried, applying to grad school. My focus is cooking a near-perfect pot roast. Splitting a couple of ricks to bring into the house. Keep it simple.