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Let’s wrap up this vacation before I leave on my next trip, shall we?

Thursday was Ben’s Birthday!! And it was a big one, though he’s not happy about that. Happy birthday, honey–I love you times 30. (Not that Ben reads this blog. I can write anything I want about him and he’ll never know. His coworkers might, though.)

Our friend Kiki and her kids (they have a house one lake over) joined us for dinner. We grilled sausages and I made sauteed peppers and onions, greek pasta salad, braised baby fennel (…meh) and Ben’s favorite lemon-chocolate tart.

Pasta salad ingredients:

(we were blessed with a decent grocery store a few minutes away–next time we needn’t bring NEARLY as much stuff with us!)

(No finished shot, oops!)

Gorgeous spring onions from the farm:

Colorful:

Fennel–I was improvising and I didn’t get it quite right. Cut up the the bulbs:

Browned them in the pan I’d cooked the peppers/onions in, with a bit of broth to deglaze:

Then roasted in the oven (covered, mostly) for a while. I dunno, they were boring and not quite right. Not like the time I did the ones from the Molly Stevens Braising book.

I spent a while Thursday morning hiding in the kitchen and secretly making Ben’s favorite dessert, the Lemon Chocolate Tart from Sunday Suppers at Lucques. He asks for it all the time, so I thought it would be a good birthday surprise (and I’m really sick of making it now, so that’s it for a while!). It turned out to be the best one yet–I was using a thinner pan than normal to make the curd, which cooked faster than I’m used to, but I think I’d been undercooking it a little because the flavor and texture were better this time.

I got fancy birthday candles before we left, but when it came time to put them into the tart I ran into trouble: They were so tall and the tart is so shallow that while Greta and I (laughing hysterically) got them to stand up while we lit them, the minute I started to move the thing they all started tipping over and dripping wax on my hands, etc.

We blew them out in a hurry and I fished out the little old-school candle holders I’d bought at the grocery store that day. Those were able to stick through into the crust and stayed up a bit better. And the burn on my hand is all healed now.

The next day was MY birthday (and no, I was not turning a special age). Greta made Sausage Balls for breakfast. MMMmmm:

I had awkwardly insisted on cooking dinner that night, because I was holding a secret: Our friends Ann and Chris (the ones we and Chris/Greta went to the lake with last Memorial Day) were going to drive over from Ann’s parents’ place on Friday afternoon to join us for the day. We’d been planning it for ages, and I wanted it to be a surprise for everybody. And despite being tempted to admit the plan, I kept the secret and Chris and Ann wandered down the path from the house while we were all out in the lake after a slow start to the day. It was a wonderful moment, and everyone was so happy. Yay!

They stayed for dinner and I made what I SHOULD have made for Ben’s birthday dinner–the famous Triple Pork burgers, also from Sunday Suppers. Another thing he asks for all the time and that I don’t make often!

But that’s boring, since I’ve shown photos of making them several times already. Here are Ann, Jack and Greta, chilling out:

And the boys, acting ridiculous (yes, they tipped over within a minute of this photo being taken):

Oh, food? Well, it’s certainly easier making the pork burgers with fresh mexican chorizo (as the recipe calls for) instead of the hard spanish stuff I’d had to use previously.

Greta and I had a fairly hilarious time making fresh mayo (eventually aioli to spread on the burger rolls). She’d only made larger quantities, in a cuisinart, and I’d never made it. We did eventually figure it out, though it was tricky with the equipment on hand. Worth it, though, and I’ll be trying again soon.

Poor Ben had some struggles cooking the burgers over a charcoal fire, since he’s used to propane, but once we peeled off the scorched bit (they had the cheese on too early, per the directions, so he couldn’t flip them to keep the cooking even) they were extremely tasty:

We also had another take on the german potato salad I served with the tuna the week before (I added sugar to the dressing this time for some reason: not necessary) and local corn on the cob:

And then after dinner greta slipped away and when she came back it was with freshly baked cornmeal shortcakes covered in strawberries and whipped cream (blended with leftover lemon curd from the tart–SO good)! I was delighted:

And that was that. We packed up and left the next morning–another lake trip over. I can’t wait for next year.

I can’t be too sad, though: In a stroke of Best Husband Ever, Ben got me a ticket to go visit Bridget in London as my birthday gift. And I leave THURSDAY NIGHT!!!! OMG.

This is the googlemaps itinerary for the Acting Company / Guthrie tour. Maybe a better version of this with notes on what theatres we will be playing will come along, but until then, this is the googlemap of our tour. Because it’s got so many destinations, I had to split it up into two maps. For various reasons, I split the two maps at the point when we play in Santa Fe.

View Larger MapSanta Fe!

View Larger Map

Pretty exciting!

Ok, vacation. Greta and I spent some time before the trip working on a google doc (brilliant) spreadsheet to plan the meals we’d each cook and what groceries we were each bringing. I hadn’t thought of using google docs and it was perfect–I highly recommend them if you’re working on anything like an address list or planning document that a couple people might edit.

Anyway.

We each had a few dinners to plan, plus lunches. For breakfasts we all just had english muffins or cereal, though Greta made her famous sausage balls on my birthday!

Happy times, the lake…

Night one: Kate
I brought vegetables from the CSA–small cavolo nero leaves I had blanched ahead of time, as well as a couple summer squash. I also brought cheese, etc. Greta brought dough, since she makes pizza every friday night. The dough rested at her feet during the 9 hour (lots of stops!) trip up to the lake (Ben and I were glad to have traded the 6 hour drive from NY for the 2 hour drive from Boston), and it was a little odd to work with but tasted fine.

(This one also has basil from my happy plant on the porch!)

We had a big salad, as well.

Night two: Greta
Greta made sirloin tips (marinated in Soy Joy), cous cous and roasted asparagus. I was in charge of getting the charcoal grill going–Dad would be proud of my chimney-use skills, though we never quite mastered cooking on charcoal instead of gas!

It’s important to keep your strength up at the lake, since the days are packed with strenuous activity:

Best Lunch Ever

Ok, fine, we didn’t have the baby for lunch, but doesn’t he look edible with his cabbage leaf hat? That day we actually had grilled hotdogs and cabbage slaw, and it was awesome. (The first full day we were all swimming when we got hungry, and Chris had brought beers down to the lake so we maybe had a beer or two before lunch (yikes) (it was late!) and I tipsily made sandwiches, then put them in a ziplock bag and paddled them out to everyone, floating in floaty-chairs and the canoe out on the lake! Whee!)

Dinner three: Greta

Pork tenderloin in a dried cranberry/red wine reduction, with roasted potatoes.
Delicious. Tender and tangy and luscious. She’s something, that Greta.

Wait, maybe THIS was the Best Lunch Ever

The next day we had a whole extra tenderloin all cooked, and Greta had the brilliant idea to make BBQ pork sandwiches. We got onion rolls and barbecue sauce and OMG SO GOOD.

The boys had gone out sailing and ran into some problems, so we ate around 1:30 and they ate around…4:30? At which point I had another little snack, too.

Night four: Joint effort

We were supposed to eat halibut and other lovely things for dinner, but shockingly no one was really in the mood after the heavy, late lunches. Greta (a veritable font of brilliance) suggested breakfast for dinner, and broke out one of the FOUR 1-pound packages of bacon she’d brought. Ben made blueberry pancakes. I made mimosas. We ate around the coffee table around 9:30.

Um, the four of us ate the entire pound of bacon.

Wednesday we rented an old-school pontoon boat for the day, and rolled like old people in total floating living room comfort. The guys really enjoyed being outside:

Jack was impressed when we went back to the house for panini and salad dockside at lunchtime:

And we all swam a lot:

We ate dinner that night early, at a restaurant in town. Everyone was tired, but Jack and Greta were able to play cards for a while:

While Chris kicked back:

To be continued, with back-to-back birthday dinners…

Some nights I really don’t feel like cooking but I crave a real dinner. Before we left for vacation I was also overrun with cucumbers from the farm share, and while I was talking to my mom one evening she suggested using them in a sort of salsa to put with fish. I am nothing if not obedient (HA), so I put a package of frozen tuna (Trader Joe’s) in the fridge to thaw overnight, and the next night I made just what my mom told me to make.

The salad for the fish used up a couple cucumbers as well as a spring onion from the farm box. I supplemented it with a local hothouse tomato and some feta cheese.

I cut the onion into very fine pieces–spring onions are sweet and mild but I still don’t like a big crunchy chunk of raw onion!

I mixed the vegetables with a bit of oil and salt (I can’t remember now, but I think I also added a splash of cider vinegar) and let them sit while I prepped the rest of dinner.

I made a cheater’s knockoff of german potato salad as another side: Boiled red potatoes in salted until they were tender, and while the boiled I added in a couple peeled cloves of garlic. When the potatoes were done I drained them and returned them to the pot, covered, to “pull themselves together,” as my mom says. I mashed up the garlic cloves and mixed them with oil and cider vinegar and salt and pepper to make a tangy dressing. (Mom says 1 to 1; I’m not sure quite what this was because I didn’t make enough, so I kept adding splashes of one or the other as I added the potatoes). Instead of being organized and cutting up the potatoes, then pouring over the dressing, I cut up one smoking hot potato at a time and added it into the bowl with the dressing, trying to get some dressing on each piece. My fingers were unamused. Like I said, I also kept having to add more oil and vinegar towards the end because I’d made too little dressing. It looked like a total mess at the end but it was delicious.

Meanwhile the vegetables had gotten nice and juicy (I cut feta into tiny pieces and added it in before serving):

When Ben got home he grilled the fish according to the instructions on the package, and we were ready to eat 10 minutes later:

This was seriously tasty. And actually, the leftovers were so good that I did an embarrassing happy dance in my seat in the work cafe the next day and everyone looked at me like I had three heads. Whatever, they were just jealous.

today it felt like fall. summer in the morning, and then a storm blew through to clear out the heat and the humidity, so when i hopped on the bike at the end of the day it was nearly crisp. i biked up from soho on the path by the west side highway, past all the fools trying to get in the holland tunnel for their weekends outtatown. that path is a little aggro for me, with all the cars nearby and all the people getting their outtadoors on, walking all up in the bike lane and wandering about with their boyfriends, but it's a pure new york experience. i like remembering that i live on an island, actually smelling it, looking over to jersey, watching the helicopters land, seeing picnickers on the grass next to homeless people. i biked up into riverside park and over into central park, around and around to meet my brother at the met. the museum was more peaceful than usual, i guess the message hadn't caught on that they were open till nine. so we went through and talked and saw all the museum guards gearing up to get off their shifts. it was nice and chill, with the evening light starting to show through the curtained skylights. it's been long enough for me that they've rehung the modern section and different pieces abut one another than i'm used to. this is my idea of a good museum, that you get one sense and then you reevaluate it. museums as big as the met have more than half their collection in storage at any given time. they put some pieces away and pull others out, they move shit around. it's one thing to see a painting in isolation and another to see it with neighbors, then with different neighbors. i like it, and i like feeling at home with it. in a totally cheesy sense the met belongs to everyone, it's one of the privileges we pay for as part of our absurd cost of living in nyc. it's one of the reasons i live here. before i lived here the met was where i would go to kill time if i had to when i was in town. now that i live here it is in a pain in the ass part of town that i avoid whenever possible, but all of a sudden with the bike, it's a reward at the end of a pleasant trip. one of the most peaceful places in nyc is the temple of dendur with its moat and its skylights. watch the dusk fall there and in the turrell room at ps1 and you've had the best peacefulness new york has to offer.
i'm smoking again, i don't fully know why but it's part of this sensual impulse that i'm embracing rather than fighting, but i'm not writing this from the roof, there's something too primeval about the cold breeze up there that makes me catch up my belongings and hurry back into shelter. we saw a rainbow and a spectacular cloud display last sunday and now soon it will be chilly again and i'll be longing to be back up in the hudson valley.

i’’ve been craving sensory input like a madwoman lately. ice cream at work, meals of melted cheese and mustard, and now cigarettes again lest i become a giant lardball. thank goodness for the roof, where i’’m sitting in the dark with a beer letting the creamy breeze blow over me. the cycling is addictive; since i had it tweaked back into shape by the surly eastern european guy at the bike shop i feel more in control, pushing harder, slaloming around the manhole covers, taking the turn at the bottom of the bridge sharper than before. i love the bridge. i love bridges. i love being in transit.
on saturday kurt and i went to coney island. we meant to wait for good nick to do the fun stuff, but when we felt the first drops we decided to ride the cyclone before it was too late as someday soon it may be permanently too late. when the skies opened up they didn’’t shut down, just loaded us into the tiny wet seats and turned on the carnie lights. the ride pulled out as the thunder started. i looked down on a mile of deserted beach and kurt saw a lightning bolt touch the open water, then we roared down into the storm.
the comics i’ve been reading lately are fables and powers. after a long probation period in which i thought powers way maybe too over the top, too sexy too violent too cynical, i’ve swung firmly into liking it very much. the last issue had all these monologues delivered by characters who looked like real people and had no connection to the story talking about fakeness and the lies we live that overtake our lives, which chimes in with my second favorite vonnegut quote that we are who we pretend to be, so we should be careful about who we pretend to be. my favorite vonnegut quote is incidentally the best lie ever, the epitaph “everything was good and nothing hurt.” if i had internet access right now i’’d check that to make sure it was correct, but perhaps it’’s better this way to put it down just the way i remember it, without the benefit of fact-checking.

No Week 5 CSA box–since I was going to Oregon I had a friend from work pick it up.

Before vacation I picked up two half shares (which is not equal to a whole share, since there are different veggies for each), because we were about to head off to the lake for the week and I wanted to prep as much as possible to take with us.

The goods (Double quantities):
-2 bunches spring onions
-2 bunches chard
-3 eggplants (two long purple; one white–these died a tragic lakeside fridge death, ie. they got abandoned all week in the back of the overstuffed fridge. Eek!)
-4 baby fennel bulbs
-1 pound string beans
-800 more cucumbers (1.5 pounds? 2 pounds?)

When I saw cavolo nero tucked in with the regular stuff in the Chard box I grabbed it immediately, remembering a variety of delicious things made with the stuff when I was last in Italy with my family. Sure enough, I got home and went to the journal entry for a big dinner we had at Le Lance, a restaurant in Fiezole outside of Florence, and found that Ben’s primi course was a “Risotto allo spazzacamino” with cavolo nero, gorgonzola and cannellini beans.

Some google work turned up a variety of cavolo nero/cannellini combos in Tuscan cooking, and I decided to take advantage of the oddly cool weather to reproduce the risotto in question.

It turns out “spazzacamino” means chimney sweep–I seem to remember Ben’s risotto at the restaurant being colored dark green/black by the chard, though that didn’t happen in mine, and I wonder if that is where the name comes from? (On a side note, there is a gelato flavor called Spazzacamino, which contains finely ground espresso beans and scotch. Wow.) Many of the recipes I found with that in the name contain truffles, though I did find a risotto with the cavolo nero and black beans (no mention of gorgonzola).

ANYWAY, I went with what I’d written down. I cleaned the chard and found that the first bunch was still all attached to the stems:

Which meant there was a variety of leaf sizes–I was, of course, charmed by the tiny ones:

I set aside all the smallish ones to blanch for pizza at the lake, and chopped up the rest of that bunch for the risotto. I also rinsed the beans and, um, opened a container of crumbled gorgonzola from Whole Foods. Sigh. I was at the small one! Options were limited! I still have a lot of this left, even after pizza-making too.

I cooked the risotto about halfway before adding in the cavolo nero. Next time I will put it in right at the beginning, as soon as I’ve put in the first round of broth. I think in the one Ben had the chard had dissolved into it more, blackening the rice. I added the beans almost at the very end, so they just heated up, and stirred in gorgonzola once it was finished. I sprinkled a little on top, too, but next time I’ll leave that off.

Verdict: Tasty but needs tweaking. Chard first, next time!

As a special bonus, when I was flipping through the trip notes I found one of my food sketches, detailing the filling in a series of ridiculously good sandwiches at a foccaceria where we ate lunch a couple times. These are spring fillings but don’t they make you want a foccacia sandwich?

Meta: Not having had regular internet access in four months has curtailed my digital persona. This is massively out of date, and is out of chronology with July’s post, poted below. Just trying to keep the record straight.

So there are pretty big things afoot.

Narratively:

Since we last left off, I’ve gone to NYC for an audition (got it, more on that here), hung out with some crazy asian lawyers, reconnected with some friends from high school and college, gone home for a wedding of one of my best friends, visited my folks, had my tarot cards read, came back to Chicago and booked an understudy gig at Lookingglass, got a raise at the bike shop, quit the pizza shop, went to six flags with my swedish roommate, Ian, and (maybe?) a Girl, and now - just now - got back from a weekly fire spinning practice session in my neighborhood.

So much for the factual narrative.

Thematically:

I’ve been working on relaxation a lot lately - and it has taken a surprising amount of work. My dad once said that the Albuquerque Academy was training us all to be overworked and stressed out adults. Something to that. This last year and a half of my life has been so massively exciting and rewarding that I have a hard time reconciling it to the awful dark times of the summer of 06. In particular, since moving to Chicago I have had an awful lot of fun.

Now fun, see, this is serious stuff. And maybe now, having had so much of it, I know a little more about it. There are, okay, at least two broad categories of fun. One is an adventure, excitement-based fun. This, I think, is my strong suit, generally speaking. And many people, I think, would agree here. A strong and unapologetic enthusiasm for life. (Cut to thevideo.) I understood my move to Chicago as a big adventure when I did it, and it certainly has been. Arriving with a duffel bag and a plan, I have succeeded in all of my turn-of-the-century-young-man-as-immigrant dreams. Adventure. Excitement.

Which is also tiring, I have discovered.

The deep wellsprings of enthusiasm have dried up. Which is not to say that the spending of them wasn’t rewarding, or that I am not richer all the way round - only that I need to read and look at clouds for a while.

Having my tarot cards read was one of the most educational and helpful things I’ve ever had done to me. Very little of it was prediction oriented - it worked much more like a big and loosely narrative rorschach extravaganza. And rorschach tests are pretty useful.

Change, recycling.

Narratively:

I’ve been playing pool and learning to ride a unicycle.

Lotta, the Swede that lived in my house for four months, is gone, and I don’t even have a picture. Silly, that. Kelley, the original Chicago roommate, has gone on to live with her boyfriend in Minneapolis. Ian, a friend from Albuquerque, is moved in, though I haven’t seen much of the Traveling Man so far. Montana, New York, DC.

I avoided getting involved with a girl who, in hindsight, was a poor match (didn’t see why preplanned housing developments might be horrific), and then bungled (mostly?) involvement with another, who might have been a better. They had the same name, but pronounced it differently. Odd. An old friend from home continues, problematically, to haunt my imaginary lovelife.

I had to go on for one of the actors I’m understudying at Lookingglass. During previews, a week before my contract was originally to even begin. Kaboom.

I built a table and am spending a lot of time at home. My mother says that the clinical term for it is regression in service of the ego. Meaning that I’m staring at the walls and recharging. I’ve also had Ratatat’s “Classics” on repeat for about three days.

My brother is getting married! Congratulations!

I’m thinking of visiting home again before the tour, looming large on the horizon.

Thematically:

The last week or so has seen me in a bit of a funk.

Change in roommates, an accompanying change in furniture and decor, wonderland’s radical upheaval of reality, new music, and a new weekly rhythm all has me forgetting everything past two months. Chicago is new again.

I like to think of my time onstage as an understudy as my time down the rabbit hole. More literally, through the lookingglass. I got six hours of rehearsal. It was crazy, and its memory is precious to me. I don’t think I have ever been much more focused for so long a period in my life than the 48 hours before going on stage, or much more happy than when toasted to by the actors in the lobby after the show.

One day, wonderland, the next, Mitch and his girlfriend: “Yeah, she’s looking for a bike. You know. Just something basic.” …Is she.

In the days after Loookingglass I let the momentum die out on the interesting girl from Six Flags, my brother got engaged, and I received some troubling text messages from my good friend and ghost-lover. A bit of a funk followed. There was much reading of novels, and much drinking of liquor and coffee, both at home and abroad. So I’m drying out for a week or so - trying to reassert at least some kind of chemical / nutritional balance. We are our bodies, after all.

Listening to Ratatat all day in a scrupulously clean apartment, I am reminded of the strange and isolated weeks in my parents’ living room after Ava gave me notice, playing Final Fantasy six hours a day and eating Posole. Not in its heartbreak - not at all - but in the strange feeling that some great finger was taking all week to very slowly push some hidden reset button.

I am excited to see what comes next. I don’t always feel liberated by the neverending newness of life, but I try. And sometimes I do.

I can't help but feel that a large portion of my generation is suffering from lack of purpose. There seems to be an innate knowledge that 'things aren't good'. Most everyone I know is not happy with the state of the world. These feelings are delivered by an entire regiment on unaddressable woes. We are at war in Iraq. An 8 sq. mile chunk of Canada just fell into the ocean: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/7532435.stm. The government is spying on us.

I don't raise these points to be alarmist. There is little point in that. But hands down the #1 question that I here from my peers is, "Well, what can you do about it?" It got me to thinking about a lot of things. What can I do about it?

I lead a busy life. My friends do to. I realize that not everyone has the time or energy to devote a lot to saving the world, stemming from nothing but the goodness of their hearts.

So, I arrive at this statement. Little things matter.

Earlier this year, in the spring, I sprung the 4 hours and about $35 to make a container garden. I have basil, dill, jalepenos, cayenne, bannana peppers and a few less successful plants that are still great for show. It is my first year doing it, and I expect better results next year, not that this year was poor, but live and learn.

I water said garden, 3 times a week for about 5 minutes at a shot. And I have fresh herbs, and peppers.

I have fresh goods for less than I would pay in the grocery store. Fresher than you could ever find, literally off the stem. These have garnered many compliments on appearance from the neighbors. And all for about 10 total hours of my time, spread over 6 months. Prime requisite: access to sunlight and something that holds dirt.

That is just an example, I'll write more about the container garden in a later post, with photo's ad how-tos. The point of this is that this is the type of 'little' thing that has a high impact (do you know how much energy it takes to ship a Jalepeno cross country?).

When I originally conceived of this blog this was the type of thing I envisioned writing about. I've been kicking around the idea of a reorganization.

Sections:
Home: aggregation of all other sections.
Sustainability: Little things that matter
Book Reviews: Just that.
Forums: worthwhile?
Sam's life: just for kicks.

This is the type of site I might look for a guest blogger or two to round out. I could take or leave the current domain name, for somthing catchier that is more related to group blogging about these topics.

Thoughts? I know this has been done some before, but I think my friends could form a certain micro community of people who want to do little things that matter.

Hurray! We’re off to the lake for a week with our friends Chris and Greta (and, of course, baby Jack)!!

Greta and I have become crazy people with multiple shared spreadsheets planning meals, groceries and packing lists. The car is about to be fuller than it has ever been. The lake house has internet!! Ahem. So I will try to post over the course of the week.

xo

I don't post these much, but my friends will get a kick out of how I scored on "The Geek Test"

Your result for The Techie Test...

Well, you did it. You have ascended to that highest level. You don't just use technology, you don't just have a basic knowledge of how it works... you bend it to your very will. You don't use technology... you control it.

You have a questioning nature, and you love to know what makes things tick. This is the mark of the true tech-head. It's no good simply being able to make use of someone elses creation, unless you can make it yourself. You've probably made at least your own website, and possible your own web server. You build your own computers, and own at least 2. You know the word "mod" means more than just Counterstrike. Heck, there's a chance that you've never PLAYED Counterstrike... such things are beneath you.

A new frontier has been building the last few decades, and you're riding the crest of the wave. But to stay on top like this takes a focussed mind... too focused, often. You risk losing track of what's really real, of people and feelings. You're probably here because you feel something is missing. And one thing you can never program... is love.

Take The Techie Test at HelloQuizzy

I was back in Oregon to be in my friend Kathrin’s lovely, lovely wedding last weekend, and amidst all the festivities we did eat at home two nights.

First, though, I always take the same photos when I fly into Eugene but I just love the moment when the Coburg Hills drop off into the Valley and you see the flat farm land like an ocean up ahead:

Mom asked Tom what he thought I’d want for my first meal home, and he apparently said “simple food after flying, Mom!” so we had a perfect and simple meal. I’d brought a bunch of stuff from Christina’s spice shop as a hostess gift, including another bag of that mysterious huge couscous (which turned out to be labeled “lebanese couscous” in the store). We flavored that with preserved lemon and mint and served it along with green beans (with preserved lemon) and grilled chicken. And by “We” I mean “My mom” (Dad does the grilling)–I focused on drinking a Pimm’s Cup and chatting with everyone while eating Kettle Chips, the ruffled kind with black pepper.

The next morning I ate bread with fresh raspberry jam (made days before my Mom and Tom) for breakfast:

By the way, the whole time I was home it was around 75-80 degrees during the day, perfectly dry, and 55 or so at night. I think in Boston is was 90+ with solid walls of humidity. I’m just putting that out there.

Thursday night we had another lovely meal al fresco.

Baby chioggia beets with arugula, feta and walnuts:

German-style potato salad:

Also chard from a friend’s garden, and pork sausages from a local farm:

I think only the potatoes and feta came were non-local–Mom, am I right?

For dessert we had my favorite: Flan with summer fruit, in this case blueberries from the backyard bushes, cherries and nectarine:

Last light over the golf course:

Candlelight:

More pics are here.

Ugh.

Ok, so I had pounds of zucchini to use up and I’d been planning on a very veg-heavy absorption pasta, but then I saw a variety of posts the web about boiled pasta with zucchini and I gave in to the always gorgeous photos at Smitten Kitten and went with a julienned zucchini spaghetti.

First of all, don’t be fooled by how nice all this julienned zucchini looks:

While the results are better than if I’d cut by hand, the mental anguish was far greater. I have the STUPIDEST OXO Mandoline, with a clunky finger guard that I ended up having to use because it was so hard to force the zucchini through the julienne blade that I was sure I’d slice off a finger if I didn’t use the guard. UGH, the whole thing is bulky and awkward and the only part I like is how the legs fold out. It’s easy to twiddle the dial to adjust the thickness, but nearly impossible to pull out the piece that lets you either thoroughly wash the flat blade or flip it around to get wavy cuts. Argh.

Look at what the finger guard does to the vegetables:

That is a much smaller leftover piece than usual, because I was tempting fate and not really using it as directed at that point. The one time I tried to use this for onions about half of each onion was unusable. Grr.

Anyway, I wish instead of looking at Smitten Kitchen’s photos, I had actually read her recipe. I was in a coma and cooking without paying attention and I ended up not using any garlic or….anything that would give this flavor. Bleck. It was so boring. Had I read her directions or used a lick of common sense I would have cooked garlic in olive oil and then tossed the pasta/zucchini in THAT. Instead I just tossed olive oil over the pasta and zucchini, gave it a stir, and ate it alone while nursing my mandoline-wounded feelings in front of the TV while Ben was at band rehearsal. Tragic.

It was the first time I used some of my basil, though. That was a bright spot.

Happier times ahead: Since I was home for the weekend there is lovely Oregon Food Porn to come.