I don't cope with heat especially well. It makes me sluggish and slothful and forgetful; hot days are a time when I get almost no work done and am capable of acts of staggering stupidity. I hear a piece of chicken drop from the bowl with the bones for stock in and assume it is in the fridge and can be found there tomorrow when I make the stock, or later when I actually look for it, and it is on the ground behind me and has to be thrown away. I want my brain back.
On the other hand, I made great salads yesterday to go with roast organic chicken which I had marinaded in harissa, yoghurt and plum vinegar, and wrapped in wild garlic, and stuffed with elephant garlic, which mashed into the most wonderful gravy after I had slow cooked for about five hours. I sauted fresh peas in a little olive oil with fine chopped onion, then stirred them with puy lentils and lemon juice; I grilled thin slices of courgette until they were partly black, and left them to sit in avocado oil with basil from one of the pots outside; I sliced tomatoes and mozzarella and drizzled hemp oil onto them.
This was my watching Doctor Who meal for vschanoes
and my sweetie. And it was worth the effort and sitting over a hot stove on a hot day.
Everyone has squeed - prime time boy kissage, uberRose, BadWolf resolution, and so on. ( Collapse )
Meanwhile, wish I could squee about 'Batman Begins' or 'Mr and Mrs Smith' which were the attempt by paratti
and me to avoid heat. ( Collapse )
Meanwhile, a new quasi-section of the novel is done and, almost, a new chapter of 'Teen Dreams'. Could anyone who wants the new bit of Mara prod me by e-mail? Next, old but still cool Polly and Mara in the French Revolution.