“The main barrier standing between ourselves and a local-food culture is not price, but attitude. The most difficult requirements are patience and a pinch of restraint–virtues that are hardly the property of the wealthy. These virtues seem to find precious little shelter, in fact, in any modern quarter of this nation founded by Puritans. Furthermore, we apply them selectively: browbeating our teenagers with the message that they should wait for sex, for example. Only if the wait to experience intercourse under the ideal circumstances (the story goes), will they know its true value. ’Blah blah blah,‘ hears the teenager: words issuing from a mouth that can’t even wait for the right time to eat tomatoes, but instead consumes tasteless ones all winter to satisfy a craving for everything now. We’re raising our children on the definition of promiscuity if we feed them a casual, indiscriminate mingling of foods from every season plucked from the supermarket, ignoring how our sustenance is cheapened by whole sale desires.”
Monthly Archives: March 2010
Sleeping Lucy
Ah, Lucy. Lucy was very wiggly last night. She didn’t particularly want to go to sleep, but she laid down with Samantha and me and proceeded to wiggle her self to sleep. After flopping, flailing kicking, blankets on, blankets off, and repeating it all several times, she curled up in a ball. Then she pulled her head towards her knees. And again. Finally she was backwards in the bed, and she stretched out on her stomach. I laughed, thinking she would right herself soon.
The next time I woke up, she was not only still backwards, but her feet were the only part showing out from the blankets where her head should have been.
Can you say “Soy-sage”?
Craig was pretty excited about his Whole Foods deli purchase. We brought it all home (going to Whole Foods is like a pilgramage – it’s forever away and only done on occasion when we’re feeling rich) and I heated up the roast. We started to eat, and Craig wondered out loud if it was cooked through when purchased, or if we should have cooked it more than the quick nuclear reheat. I asked him if he was sure this was meat.
Of course it was meat! It was “field roast”. What could roast be, besides meat? Probably meat which lived in a field. What kind of meat didn’t matter, it had looked good in the deli window.
Blame it on Spring Fever
In an attempt to make up for the long, long silence, here are some pictures. First, the “man pit” that Craig build over the old (dug out hole in the grass) fire pit. It is now an oven and stove. I picked up the brick off the curb, in my church clothes, no less. Dad would be proud.
The roasted (in brick oven) vegetable quesidillas (cooked on brick stove) were really, really good.
We have done a little planting. We’ve had several dafodills bloom, and the tulips and iris are ready to bust.
