The food around here is getting better

 

Dover sole unintentional hash
Tonight, Christian is inCoppell, with his dad who is not doing well after surgery, Jacob is off being ahigh school graduate, and Jordan and I looked at each other and said, “Wha’sfor dinner.” Then she added, “I’m probably not going to eat what you eat,” andtruth is she wouldn’t have; I planned to use that smoked salmon in scrambledeggs. But then, just in time to order from Central Market, she called andasked, “Fish?” I ordered filets of Dover sole, one large baking potato, and afew other things we needed. We feasted on a shared potato and generpid helpingsof sole. (Note to self: a quarter pound filet is enough for one, unless maybeit’s Christian.) I must explain the picture above—that fish is hash not becauseI need small bites but I have rarely been capable of cooking sole filets thathold together. Now I know why it’s so expensive in restaurants. But, to justifymyself a bit, Jordan got her helping out in one fairly good piece, and here’s apicture of the two left-over small filets that I cooked after weAlmost pefect filets
ate. I thinkmaybe size is one clue. And also maybe it’s like that first piece of pie thatnever comes out of the pie pan whole—but the rest do fine. At any rate, it wasa good dinner and satisfied my craving for solid food. In a bit, when I’m notquite so full, I’ll go get the tiny bit of tiramisu left from last night.

Otherwise it’s been a day atthe computer—organizing our schedules, which seem to change with every emailfrom a doctor’s office. But I also caught up on my own work. For the first timeI am putting an AI disclaimer on the copyright page of a book—makes me wonderabout the future. And I carefully, I hope, compiled a list of French foods withthe accents where they should be. Involved cutting, pasting, and guessing.

Today I heard from an oldfriend who has always maintained an apartment in Chicago but lived there parttime and in Florida the rest of the time. Politics and climate have driven himout of Florida, so he’ll be in Chicago more. I jokingly said I’d write him intothe next Irene book, and he revealed that one of the first projects he workedon years ago at the University of Chicago Press was a book titled, The Howsand Whys of French Cooking, by Alma Lach (1977). A plot idea immediatelysprung into my mind—can’t you see Irene working with a real editor andharassing him near to death. In fact, I warned my friend, the editor might meetan untimely end. Am I committing myself to another Irene book. Heaven help me!

Hot still weather has come toTexas early, not a good sign. At eight-thirty, it’s 85o and the airis eerily still. Possible thunderstorms tonight and several days during theweek. And 100o tomorrow. Too soon, too soon. I am glad Benji and Ihave the cool cottage. Now he’s lying by my desk but earlier something wasdisturbing him, and I think it was more than the flies he was chasing. He pacedour tiny space, and when he paces his nails click on the wood floors. At night,he moves silently as a cat, but the earlier clicking brought me close to screaming.Another good thing about him—he has never eaten people food not even scraps. Andhe doesn’t associate my cooking with food. Oh, sure, he’ll come sniff at thebutcher block (which is just above his nose, fortunately) but then he turnsaway. Even tonight when it was raw fish. That dog gets better daily.

You know what I think I’ll dotonight? Read a book and go to sleep early. Sounds like a winner. How aboutyou?