Sunday, August 7, 2016

Good Reading

Farmer's Market and I sat with Ronny for a few minutes, while he sold his tomatoes, bread and jams. Bought tomatoes for the next round of BLT's. It was fun, watching people at market. Ronnie knows everyone. People stop and talk. A nice day for reading matter, a New Yorker, Jude sent me a book I've very much needed on coopering, two library books, and a brief stop at the Goodwill Bookstore gained me a nice history of the saints. Picked up eggs at the Farmer's market too. I'll probably live for a month on BLT's and various egg meals because I'll have a lot of bacon fat. Also wilted greens (with the fat) and johnny cake that I make on the grill. I found a piece of stainless steel pipe in a dumpster and I've fashioned a mold for my polenta. I've always used the large frozen orange juice containers, and they work fine; I keep some of them, new and full of concentrate, frozen because they're lighter if I'm walking in mid-winter, than carrying a half-gallon of juice. I drink a lot of juice. The piece of pipe is just about perfect, two inch diameter, about four inches long, so I spend a day peening the cut ends, then filing, then sanding with emery-paper, until they are as smooth as a baby's butt. Easy to clean, easy to lubricate, I think it's the best thing ever; also, it's heavier, it has a certain gravity that cardboard can never achieve. It's beautiful, I can't believe I made it. I'd cooked a Mini-Crock-pot batch of grits, in anticipation, and had a fine plate of cheese grits (an Irish Cheddar) with a perfect runny egg, then packed the new mold full and put it in the fridge. Tomorrow, I'm thinking, pounded pork tenderloin medallions, polenta rounds, and red wine pan-gravy. I discovered a great way to caramelize zucchini slices. It takes forever and isn't worth the bother, normally, but I like doing it. It's a good dish. I use a ten inch cast iron skillet for this, so that things aren't crowded, slice a couple of tender young squash, put them in a cold skillet with a walnut of butter. I move over to the island, read a Thomas Perry novel while I move the pieces around so they don't stick, and listen to John Lee Hooker, who wins my vote for the greatest voice ever. Bonnie Raitt holds her own. When I flip the slices the starches are browning at the edges. Then I put on a lid, and steam them for a while, which probably isn't necessary, then add a bit more butter and brown them. These are as good as fried okra, better than anything you've ever eaten. I had eggplant once, prepared this way, and grown men were weeping. They pretended to just be smarting from the smoke, but we knew they were suffering from guilt.

All of the birds are silent
but the summer bugs sing
and the gentle waves lap

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