Last weekend with the kid at home, second-to-last weekend of summer. This calls for a picture:
Isn’t that lovely? This was one bushel in a double row of about two dozen, all of the most beautiful eggplants you ever saw. I didn’t buy one, and I regret it now. Next week, buyin’ that aubergine.
I’m concentrating, in my cooking this week, on Kate’s favorites, even though she doesn’t have many (of my cooking, anyway) and her attendance at meals is hit-or-miss. (And she doesn’t like eggplant.) So Friday was tacos done Bell-style, and blueberry pancakes for Sunday breakfast, and hamburgers and corn on the cob for dinner. I bought the latter at our “local” farmers’ market, the one in front of Woods city hall. Fifty cents an ear in high season, a.k.a. highway robbery over Eastern Market prices, or the Grosse Pointe price. But I’m trying to reserve outrage for those things and people that/who deserve it, so I laid my money down and rode home.
Saturday night I did a whole chicken on the grill. Used a vertical roaster and poured beer in the grease reservoir, thus pulling off a simulacrum of Beer-Butt Chicken, which was the single most-requested recipe from the archives at my alma mater. What that says about the Hoosier palate I leave to you — the second most-requested was some pedestrian lemon-bar thing — but it is an undeniably tasty, and easy, preparation.
Our readers in Fort Wayne were always flipping over Amish recipes, too, many of which had distinct eww factors for me. Heavy on the cheap starches and potted meats, a typical Amish dish — like the haystack supper and its million variations — is field-hand food in its purest form. Question for the room: Is there a culture in which a layer of starch, topped with a layer of protein, vegetables and sauce is not a mainstay? I can’t think of one. A link I’ve posted before: Barack Obama’s beloved Hawaiian plate lunch. Case in point.
So while I count down the days to the (at least part-time) empty nest, some links:
The death of Oliver Sacks prompted the New Yorker to open their archives of his contributions, and I recommend just picking one and enjoying. I liked the one on Spalding Gray’s brain injury and how it may have prompted his suicide, while you might enjoy his 1993 look at Temple Grandin. Or something else. You won’t go wrong.
It’s early, it’s Iowa, polls suck, the usual disclaimers apply, but here we are and Donald Trump is still on top with Dr. Homosexuality I.A. Choice in second. Woot.
Food, cut in half. Why? Because we can.
Monday dawns, and the insects of late summer play their songs.