Wednesday, August 13, 2014
A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
Just the thought of bitter rue sets my insides spinning on the Vomit Comet.
I did manage to get up and drink some cold chai. Probably not a great choice, but a choice that has stayed down so far. That's a good thing because I have been running on empty and nearly inside out and empty. Then I decided something filling and substantial would be a good choice, so steak, rare. It has so far remained inside and is not making that gurgling about to reappear noise at either end.
I tried doing a little stitching on an eyeglass case, but that didn't last long. Sitting up made me feel vertiginous and unsettled. Then I decided that sitting up would be essential to eating so here I am, ears at the ready for sounds of internal derangement, and typing up something (anything) to keep my mind off my gastrointestinal chaos.
Btw, the above photo is a dog worshiping at the porcelain Idol. I feel his distress.
On the plus side, or at least the side that is less health related, I have gone through almost all the boxes and cannot find my loaf pans. They were good quality metal loaf pans, but they are still AWOL. Since I was feeling nostalgic and remembering my Gram's flannel hash (the pot roast version of corned beef hash), I bought 2 new glass bread pans and a lovely pan just for making hash, which is basically leftover meat chopped fine and combined with diced potato (freshly made or leftover) and some gravy combined and put into the oven at 350 to bake. The bottom, sides, and top should be crusty (without being burned) and the insides smooth and well melded. Now all I need to do is buy a pot roast, cook it for dinner, and put together my flannel hash. I might even do corned beef hash (with an egg on top) if I can find a suitable corned beef brisket.
Right now, I'm getting ready to bake some fruitcakes. Don't groan. They are delicious, especially when the fruit has marinated for 2 weeks in bourbon (or whiskey if you prefer), added to the batter, baked, and then wrapped in cheesecloth soaked in bourbon for a couple of months. I might even use rum if the bourbon goes well. A really good fruitcake needs to age and successive layers of liquor soaked cheesecloth to get the right flavor and moistness. That's what most people don't get about really good fruitcake, the mellowing, the liquor, and the deft hand with a good balance between cake and fruit. I do so love fruitcake.
I was tossing out some trash from my mail run yesterday when Kevin stopped me and told me, frozen fruit popsicle in a tube in hand, that he was off to Iowa to get his dog, Forrest, back. It seems the neighbors across the street from him left at the same time that Forrest disappeared. Their vacation was over and they were headed back to Iowa, quite possibly with his 7-month-old Newfoundland. I pity the people if they stole Forrest. Kevin is not a forgiving man when it comes to stealing his dog. You can have his fiancee or his son, but not his dog. I don't know if he made it home yet. I'll check later.
Well, this little update has burned through what ragged strength remains to me right now and I'm going to go try some more chai and possibly a few more bites of steak to keep the rest company -- and hopefully keep it tightly packed and digesting properly. I need to go out and get some yogurt to refresh the gut bugs to put the process back on track.
That is all. Disperse.