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I'm so glad you could all make it here today (gives Mouse an air kiss)...it's been a long time since we were all....what Sling? Pft...you know where the brown liquor is kept. And Sage, stop bogarting the peanut butter.

Right, I wanted to bring you all together because...Rosie! There's apple sauce cake on the table. (gestures carefully so as to not poke Sfoof in the head)....over there, honey...next to Anne who, it appears, has already started in on the pie. No matter, Buck brought some Frito pie and it's delicious...no, you're right...not fruity and delicious but delicious all the same. Plus MHP made a salad. What? (whispers: Well, sure, it's gonna be a challenge to get this crowd excited about salad right now but it's OK; Iwanski brought ribs).

(returns voice to normal volume) As I was saying, I know you're all eager to hear about my madcap Omahan weekend and see the photos. We'll get to that shortly...Danny, dahling (takes wine from Danny and puts it on the table) Dora, can you scoot down on the couch a little, please? Skootchy skootch...thanks, doll. And could someone please help Bad Alice with that crockpot? Thanks.

Where was I? Right, Omaha. I was in Omaha and it was superfantastic. Beyond superfantastic, actually. It was restorative, rejuvenating and relaxing. It was all good things that start with R and with some other letters, too. But before we get to the regaling portion of our event (peers out window and smiles) we just have to wait for the beer.

Let's Party

This is the 1500th post to this blog. I don't know why that seems like a big deal, maybe just because it's kind of a big number. Of course, considering that 3/4 of my posts have been pure piffle of one sort or another, it's not like it's a huge achievement but it seems like the blogger equivalent of a show's 200th episode or something. And you know my motto, any excuse for a party. There will be a special guest appearance by Alan Thicke
and cameos from the entire cast of "Scrubs".
After almost 3 years I'm still having fun blogging, mostly, I think, because of all y'all, the friends I've met. I'm happy that so many of you have become (or are about to become) "real" friends but you all bring a special little something to my life. When I started this enterprise I had absolutely no expectation of that and it's worth celebrating.

So I've hired a caterer and there's an open bar, although you're welcome to bring a favorite dish if you'd like. There will be pony rides out back and a dunk tank. Come on over.

Oh, and I brought my bangs.

POTLUCK!

Last night, as I lay in bed, I thought up about 3 different blog posts. None of which I'm ready to commit to the "Publish Post" button. Guess that's what drafts are for, huh?

Sometimes I can take a half-formed idea and get rolling with it just in the writing. Sometimes not. Today is a not day. Plus I have to go downtown. I have to get a copy of MacBeth for The Child plus a study guide thingy for the entrance exam for high school. (You wouldn't believe how motivated this kid is to do well on that test. Crazy). Plus I want to look for a little statue of Mary. Because it's October, which is one of her months. (May is the other one).

But sometimes you need to roll ideas around with friends, talk about things, see where it takes you. So instead of tormenting with you with something that isn't ready yet, let's have a potluck instead. It's been a while. So come on over. It's a coldish, rainyish day so I think I'm going to make a pot of minestrone and bake a big ol' apple pie.

What are you bringing? Besides YOB?

Yes. It Was Hot.

Yesterday was the hottest July 11 on record in Seattle. How hot? 97° was the official temp, but The Spouse said it was 99° here. Of course, we have our thermometer on the south side of the house. So let's stick with 97° just for the sake of discussion.

No. I'm not going to complain.

I'm not a big fan of the heat and I've never been a 'slather on the cocoa butter and let's go sunning near a shiny body of water until our bones are tanned' kinda gal. (Which is why, I'm sure, I possess such a youthful appearance despite the nearing of the half century mark. Well, that and the portrait in the attic that is steadily growing older).

But I am not going to complain. I'm not going to complain because it's all about perspective. The way I see it, there is only the most remote of possibilities that it will get that hot again this summer. For why? Because we have all those mountains and ocean fronty things and such and the weather just changes too much. We don't get hot months, we get random hot days. Chances are it will not get as hot here again as it did yesterday. Which means anything lower than 97 is going to feel downright balmy. (Just like "cold" doesn't mean the same thing now that I know what it's like to sit in a dark house without heat for 4 days in December).

And you know what else? As far as I'm concerned it supposed to get hot in the summer. If it doesn't, well, then it doesn't feel very summery, does it?

Tomatoes don't ripen.

Roses don't bloom and bloom and bloom.

There are things to drink that seem silly and light-weight in November. Gin and tonic, the quintessential summer drink. Mojitos, too. Crisp white wines. These are the things you drink in summer and they taste spectacular!

Bees don't bumble amid the lavender.

If it's not hot you don't have al fresco dinners. And al fresco dinners have a lovely way of stretching into fine apres al fresco dinner conversations.

No. I rather enjoy the random super hot day the same way I enjoy the surprise snowfall that sticks. Because stuff like that just doesn't happen around here that much, even with global warming.

I will say that I have decided that oscillating fans in the bedroom ought not oscillate. And here's why. If you are sleeping with a dog that occasionally yips in his sleep and a Spouse that snores, add in an oscillating fan and you have a recipe for a sleepless night. The fan needs to be arranged just so and set on "blow" so that it wafts it's cooling love over the three hot bodies that are lying on top of the covers. That way, the lightest sleeper of the group is able to make the sound of the fan a part of her rhythm and finally fall asleep rather that experiencing this:

(nodding off, almost there)....yip um....Schoooooooooooooosh....Snort-gark-SNORT....shoooo....(oooo(nodding off)...ooooSchoooooooooooosh...yip um grrrr...

All. Frakkking. Night. Long.

But other than that, I'm not going to complain. I complained back in the summer of '87, when it didn't rain from May until October. Now that was unpleasant. It never got super dooper hot, it just didn't rain. Everything got dirty and brown and dusty. And the moss on my Northwest born and bred back dried up and that made me really cranky. But a couple of hot summer days? That is as it should be.

"But it's too hot to do anything", comes the complaint.

"Exactly," says I, smiling serenely. If it's that hot, don't move. Drink something cold, stick your feet in a bucket of ice if you must, fill the paddle pool and frolic. Read under a tree. Eat some ice cream. Hot days are God's little way of saying, "Enough with the heavy lifting". (And yes, it sux if you actually have a job that requires heavy lifting in the dog days of summer but I don't and so I am selfishly waxing poetic).

The final fabulous thing about hot days? Cold food. Crisp food. Fruity food. Spicy food that makes you forget. Grilled food that didn't warm up the house because it was, well, grilled. So you know what that means, right? I know it's been pretty hot lots of places this week and we could all veer toward grumpiness. So let's have a blogluck instead.

I'm making a big bowl of gazpacho and some Korean short rib kabobs. The wine is chilling and the citronella candles are lit. What are you bringing?

Fair Warning: Today I Sneezed

I didn't buy a kicky skirt yesterday. The Gap was closed for remodeling.

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I did buy 2 new books: A Cook's Tour by Anthony Bourdain and How to Cook a Wolf by MFK Fisher. They seemed like good travel/summertime reads.

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The Child has some Mother's Helper gigs lined up for next week. She's all googly eyed at the prospect of earning the superfantastic sum of $5/hour. She believes herself to be rich. Just wait until we start making her pay rent.

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The dinner last night was perfectly lovely. It's our church's centenniel this year so everyone got a little (plastic) boater to wear. The Spouse kept singing "Lida Rose".


The Child, being way too cool with The Prince and Seattle Coffee Girl. Look at SCG...doesn't being preggers suit her?


I hate super long tables. Very not conducive to conversation, even if you are sitting with people you really, really love. But it's probably ok. We were otherwise engaged. A little penne and meatballs, anyone?

As good as the pasta was, the real hit for me were the antipasto plates with delicious cured meats from Mr. Batali's deli, Salumi. Thinly sliced morsels of moist, spicy yumminess, set off by very ripe and juicy cherries. That and some wine was pretty much all I needed. Although I did, of course, have some pasta. To be polite, you know.

This is what The Child considers a salad plate:I don't even know what that greeny-white stuff was supposed to be.

And here's the giant St. James the Greater puppet that is sometimes used in parades and appropriate processions. He's very cool. Kinda freaky, but cool.
Right. I've wasted enough of your time with this dither. A day of grocery shopping and cooking awaits, with, I expect, a counterpoint of "Get in there and clean your room; you're not going anywhere until you do"...."But Muh-ommmmm"..."Don't you 'Muh-ommmmm' me, young lady". That'll be fun.

Cleaning Up

Well, that was a load of fun.

Thanks for coming to the potluck and making it such a superfantastic event. The food was excellent, we had enough for everyone and I even have a few bottles of wine left over. No beer, though ((JP). I had the last of Nicole's apple tart for breakfast. Yum. (OK, I confess. I hid away a slice just for that purpose. You people are ravening beasts).

I also want to give a shout out to Sling for staying after to help clean up. You're such a gentleman. And thanks to The Hat and Red for policing the butts after all the "not smoking". If there's one thing I hate it's sodden faux ciggie bits in the lawn. And it's raining today.

I've got to run the crockpot back over to Alice but I just wanted to say, in all seriousness, I totally knew that virtual potluck idea would work. You are a very fun, creative bunch of people and it's a frakking honor to know you. I mean it. I think we proved two things: 1) you don't need microgreens to have a swell party and b) cheese rules.

We're so doing this again next month.

FYI: there's a "Hello Kitty" fanny pack and a NASCAR cap in the Lost and Found. Oh, and Rosemary, I think I have one of your hamsters. How he got into the bread box I do not know.

Sur la Table

There are a number of items in the news that bear comment today. However, the thing that struck me was this article in the NY Times. Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.

la la la la la

Ooh, I really need a manicure.

dum di dum di dum

"I'm going down to Liverpool to do nothing..." la la la la la

Edward James Olmos won best actor at the ALMA's last night. I love "Battlestar Galactica".

Maybe red nail polish.

'K, back? That's right, kids, no schaudenfraude about Lewis Libby getting 30 months (whoo to the hoo). We're going to talk about how silly people are about food. I've confessed before to having, once upon a time, been a foodie. Which is why reading about these people in New York engaging in dinner parties like it's some sort of blood sport really got me going. Talk about missing the point.

Breaking bread with someone is one of the most profound symbols in human culture. We come to the table to nourish ourselves and strengthen bonds with others. Period. When feeding others becomes about impressing or even intimidating those gathered, something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

When we have a dinner party I thoroughly enjoy lavishing attention on the details of the feast with every intention of pleasing my guests. Because I want to please them. I want to do something nice for them and make them feel special. It is not, I repeat not so that they will spend 15 minutes between the entree and cheese courses telling me what a marvel I am.

Granted, a reputation for consistently serving good food has a price. Here is a list of people who cook for us:

The Cardinal and Mr. Mikey
The Neighbor
Seattle Coffee Girl
Jim and Kelly
JJ & Elroy
Stina and Dave
Ree (she rarely entertains but is always happy to bring food to parties)
The Sister-in-Law

This is not to suggest that cooking for us is the only way to prove friendship. There are plenty of people in our lives who show their love and friendship in other ways. That's fine. Not everyone entertains or enjoys cooking like we do.

But it does bother me when people say, and they have, that they are "too intimidated" to cook for me. "Too intimidated". As if I'm that Jeffrey Steingarten person who judges on "Iron Chef America". (He has a book called The Man Who Ate Everything. He regularly gives the impression of being the man who ate everything and didn't enjoy any of it. Ever. And furthermore, holds you in contempt for daring to cook).

This intimidation, and I know because I've asked, hasn't to do with me being some hard-to-please snoot, insufferably inquiring as to the pedigree of the brie. "Oh, no, it's just that you do it so well and I'd be embarrassed to serve you ordinary food".

Ordinary food. That's funny. Because I cook ordinary food. It isn't sprinkled with fairy dust or gilded or brought to the table on angel wings. Good food, lovingly prepared is all that is required for a nice dinner. Do you hear me? Food as art, the dinner party as weapon...this is so not the point. Crack open a bottle of 3 Buck Chuck, throw something on the grill and have a party. Lighten up.

It almost makes me not want to write about food anymore because it makes me feel I might be contributing to the madness. If joy, affection and a sense of celebration - even if you are only (only?) celebrating the gift of being alive together - isn't at the heart of your meal then what is the point? I'd rather have a dried out pork chop offered in love than duck breast in peach sauce served with ulterior motives.

One of the things I'm most looking forward to about our trip to Chicago is cooking for people. And Jon and I are looking forward to cooking together. Because it will be fun. Because it will be a way of showing these heretofore virtual friends that I care about them. I don't worry that I must somehow prove myself and therefore everything must be perfect or the whole evening will be ruined and my reputation along with it. If something goes awry we'll send out for pizza. I hear they have pretty good deep-dish pie in the Windy City. Maybe I'll screw up dinner on purpose.

Let's have some fun. I hereby invite you to a virtual pot luck. I'm making a simple roast chicken. What are you bringing?