Lunch

The weather in New York is being a bit cranky. A couple of weeks ago we had early summer weather, but this past week was more like mid-spring. Today it's warm again, and only time will tell if it stays. Since we're in this in-between stage, it only seems appropriate to have a few last bowls of soup to warm ourselves up.

For the last few weeks I have been really looking forward to this weekend, because it's a long weekend (Happy President's Day!). I joked around with one of my co-workers on Friday that I'd probably be sick since I sometimes manage to get sick when I am able to wind down from the stresses of work. I think that I cursed myself, because I started my day at 5:45 on Saturday morning (when I was supposed to be fully in the middle of sleeping, thank you very much) with the most miserable and disgusting bout of stomach flu I've had in a while. I'll spare you the gory details, but let's just say it wasn't pretty.

And to be honest I have not been this sick in years. Husband and I kept trying to figure out how on earth I managed to get it. Did he somehow give it to me? Was it from the salad bar at work? Did I get it from that girl that I shook hands with on Friday? Alas, no matter where I got it my weekend plans were busted, and I spent the majority of it eating applesauce and these:

"Here you are, Messere!" The host's voice took his mind off his worries. The man placed a wooden platter in front of him, containing slices of dark bread soaked in a reddish slop. On top were two slabs of cheese with a thick, moldy rind. "And here is some wine, true nectar of Saint Dennis!" he exclaimed, setting down a moist earthenware jug.
"Dionysus," Dante muttered.
"Saint Dionysus?"
"No, Dionysus the god."
"By God, Messere, you are right; the other was Saint Damian."
The prior dismissed him with a nod and looked around for a spoon. He resigned himself to using his fingers, and after having rolled up his sleeves, scooped up and swallowed a dripping mouthful. Not so bad, aside from the mold on the cheese, and not too different from what the kitchens of the Priors' Palazzo dished out, he thought as he fell upon the wine.

-The Mosaic Crimes by Giulio Leoni, Anne Milano Appel

There are some books which sound good in the description, but wind up being disappointing to me. Sad to say, this is one of those. I typically enjoy reading books that are along the lines of The Last Cato, The Da Vinci Code, or Labyrinth. They are not exactly what I would call fine literature, but they are entertaining and keep me on the edge of my seat.

This book, centered around Dante Alighieri and his quest to solve a handful of mysterious crimes, never swept me into the story. Dante was portrayed not as a hero, but more as a self-centered jerk and in the end did little that was impressive. The only real impressive thing was how often he managed to be in a tavern and seem to only subsist on wine. The above quote is the only mention of food in the entire book (at least that I recall).

I have always enjoyed dinner rolls. They are light, fluffy, and taste delicious - especially when warm and slathered with butter. I don't have them very often, though. They are usually high in calories, and not terribly healthy if made solely with white flour. I indulged this Christmas, however, and tried a vegan recipe for dinner rolls that I found on VegWeb.

I have meant to share this and other recipes with you for the last several days, but we have all been sick for almost a week. Even our cat, Pixel, is sneezing while looking cutely pathetic or pathetically cute. Now we're on the mend, which is probably a good thing since it's back to work tomorrow.

Weekend before last we went to the year-round farmers market in Union Square. Since we are now in the winter months farmers are mainly selling root vegetables. There are other goods to be had - fresh meats and eggs, wines, cheeses, and assorted odds and ends. My mission was to obtain some fingerling potatoes, which I have never had before, and prepare them for our Christmas meal. It was a success - although I had a hard time figuring out which varieties to buy. I settled on three, but I'll admit that I forgot which ones they were.

They looked at each other now, husband and wife, with such a depth of feeling that the eight feet separating them shrank to nothing. Then, slowly, with a darkling gleam in her eye, Mrs. Marquis raised her plate above her head...and let it drop. A canvasback bone flopped free, the stewed apples few straight up, and the plate blew into a dozen pieces scattered across the red linen tablecloth.

-The Pale Blue Eye by Louis Bayard

Edgar Allan Poe has always been one of my favorite poets. His poems, while dark and often morbid, have a certain draw to them. I guess I am not much for flowery poems - anyone can write that sort of thing - but Poe's poems are other-worldly and mysterious. So when I saw that there was a novel out there to be consumed that had Poe as one of its main characters, I had to grab it. I'm glad I did. This fiction of crime was written in a style that is more reminiscent of authors who wrote novels decades ago, and it had very unexpected twists. Poe was an interesting fixture; he seemed like one of those guys in high school or college that just doesn't fit in, but goes on to amaze people later in life. He was not the main character, however. That was left to an older, charming man (Gus Landor), who, sadly, probably never existed in real life. This murder mystery was an easy read, and hopefully we'll see Poe and/or Landor again. Good job, Mr. Bayard. I'm sure to read more of your novels.

A lot of my favorite vegetables are green, and while I don't eat them often brussels sprouts fall under both categories. Maybe it is because they are bite-sized, or because there is a slight crunch even when cooked, but it's so easy to eat one right after another.

The farm that supplies vegetables to my community supported agriculture (CSA) gave us brussels sprouts the Tuesday before Thanksgiving this year. We received probably a pound of them, so there were not that many. But I was determined to make them, and my CSA was great in supplying an easy recipe for roasting brussels sprouts.

Thanksgiving is over and the leftovers are all gone. One of the things I wish that I had made more of, or at least not eaten so quickly, is the mashed potatoes. I don't remember when I first tried making them with turnips, but ever since I can't imagine mashed potatoes without them. It adds a really interesting flavor that borders on spicy. I feel like there is more to describe about it, but I can't place my finger on it. All in all, it is just really delicious and a must-have at the Thanksgiving meal.

Thanksgiving is usually just the two of us, and of course it is the one day of the year, besides Christmas and birthdays, that I spend hours in the kitchen. I just can't help myself, and our kitchen is so small that I protest my husband cooking at the same time. I prepared all of the following for our afternoon meal (except for the bread which he made, and he was in charge of the dessert - I'll post about that later).

Henry Montgomery wrote to his children from the deck of the Southern Cross. "Remember," he told them, "that your father visited all these islands, and that his heart went out to the dwellers among these lonely scenes, praying ever that they might be brought to know their Father in His son Jesus Christ." He reminded his children that they were special. "You have all been taught that we must be true and pure and upright because we are Christ's disciples; but next after that reason there is no incentive to live nobly which is so powerful as the possession of a great family tradition. You come from a family of 'gentlemen'; you know that word does not signify mere outward refinement: it tells of a refined and noble mind, to which anything dishonourable or mean or impure is abhorrent and unworthy."

-The Shark God by Charles Montgomery

When I choose a book to read it is usually based upon its description on some online store or in little catalogs that I get in the mail, so suffice it to say I did not really know what to expect when I chose The Shark God. I did expect ghosts and a bit of the paranormal, but it wasn't really about those things. It was more about running after the ghosts of the past. It was atheist Charles Montgomery's journey into Melanesia inspired by his missionary grandfather who had traveled there long ago to convert the locals to Christianity. Charles went looking for magic, but he mostly found religions jockeying for position and a steady supply of kava. Kastom, or local custom, was sometimes hard to come by and often the display of it was more for theatrics. He ran into so many varying levels of belief and Christianity that by the end he was frustrated and confused, yet trying to force meaning where none was to be found. To me it felt almost like reading an anthropologist's account of a personal spiritual journey - educational, but not quite what you want to read.