A Spanish-style tapas restaurant has recently opened in the neighborhood, and, for reasons I don't fully understand, been named Three Drunken Goats. Is there some significance to three goats in Spanish literature or culture? And why are the goats inebriated?
Maybe the restaurant's name is just a quirky marketing thing, but no matter. Although the owners are charging too much for a glass of wine, the food is well prepared and arrives on smallish plates, which are accompanied by appropriately smallish prices. As Dennis and I have reached the age at which unwanted weight affixes to our frames by merely inhaling good food, we need small portions in order to stay fit. So the other night, we visited the goat place and ordered a salmon dish and a salad with yellow beets, arugula, and, yes, goat cheese.
As mentioned in an earlier post, I am no beet eater. But I've been feeling like branching out lately. Also, I have to keep up with my husband, who, after a life-long aversion to mushrooms, recently tucked his fork into my order of porcini pasta. Eyes wide with amazement, he instantly regretted all of the fungi he had passed up, and, making up for lost time, has since asked me to prepare rissoto with porcinis at every opportunity.
So you can understand why I was hopeful about tasting the beets. Maybe a little too hopeful. Sadly, my reaction fell decidedly short of Dennis's porcini nirvana. Not that I want to disparage those simple yellow beets, but I found them underwhelming, just harmless roots that served as a foil to the much sassier arugula that accompanied them.
So, I'm following the lead of my President, who apparently asked Michele to skip the beet crop in the new White House garden. No reason to devote limited square footage to raising beets at my house either. Besides, I have to arm-wrestle Dennis for every inch of planting space. Although he has taken full advantage of the new raised beds we installed for his tomatoes, he still tries to sneak a tomato plant into every spare corner. At this point, he has 23 tomato plants in place and is angling for more, but I'm holding firm.
Aside from the tomatoes, we've installed some cucumbers, a yellow squash, and a few red and yellow bell peppers to accompany the perennial herbs and concord grapes. Happily, the strawberries are holding their own against the pests. So all is well. Only one little barren patch remains, which might be ideal for a melon of some sort. Time for me to research the needs of honeydews, cantaloupes, watermelons, and the rest of the melon cousins. I'll keep you posted.
April 28, 2009
April 11, 2009
Nest: Devoid of Offspring
On the road with back-to-back trips (one for school, one for soccer), our son, Nick, has been gone for the past 12 days. He returned home from his senior retreat toward the end of last week, but was only in the house for a scant seven hours. He had barely enough time to shower, pack his cleats, and catch a few minutes of sleep before boarding a flight to Dallas for a week-long soccer tournament. His absence, although only temporary, has served as a pilot episode, if you will, of the long-running series scheduled to begin this September when Dennis and I will find ourselves with both of our kids away at college. Empty nest looms large on the horizon.
With our older son, Joe, already a college junior, I know from past experience that, although you miss your kids, you're mostly glad to see them spread their wings. The question remains, however, of how to spend the hours that one re-gains each week when teens are no longer dwelling under-roof.
For example, during Nick's absence, we noted fewer dirty cooking vessels in the sink, a paucity of competition for the washer/dryer, and a reduced need for groceries of all categories -- deli meat, juices, quick prep frozen foods, baked goods, etc. One notable food group exception, the broccoli inventory seemed unaffected by his departure. We also realized a downturn in trips to the drugstore/office supply/bookstore for (fill in the blanks, really) toothpaste/printer paper/the novel assigned two weeks ago in English class.
While the recent days have been restful, I can see that the life awaiting us this fall is going to take some getting used to. Twenty years of parenting is a long haul, and it's hard to remember what we did back in (do I dare say it?) the 1980s. This was before we occupied ourselves with pre-school fundraisers and playdates, and then Cub Scouts and Little League, followed by Boy Scouts and serious soccer. I suppose I could look for a full-time job now, but with such a perfect excuse in the floundering economy, seems like a wise person would milk the under-employed thing as long as possible. All the more reason I should get my hands dirty, and justify my lack of full employment by growing something edible.
To this end, we added a Santa Rosa plum tree recently, which is now bearing dozens of tiny green orbs -- baby plums in the making. About 24 tomato plants are also tucked in their beds, along with some basil and red and yellow bell peppers. The strawberries have many new flowers, which means some excellent fruit ahead if I can snatch the berries before the pests get to them. The grape vines have rejuvenated themselves after their winter siesta and are climbing vigorously.
As I write this, Nick is on his way to the Dallas airport, happy to be headed home, and we'll be happy to have him back. But his many days away have foreshadowed the not too distant future -- a life that will be both changed and ripe with possibility.
With our older son, Joe, already a college junior, I know from past experience that, although you miss your kids, you're mostly glad to see them spread their wings. The question remains, however, of how to spend the hours that one re-gains each week when teens are no longer dwelling under-roof.
For example, during Nick's absence, we noted fewer dirty cooking vessels in the sink, a paucity of competition for the washer/dryer, and a reduced need for groceries of all categories -- deli meat, juices, quick prep frozen foods, baked goods, etc. One notable food group exception, the broccoli inventory seemed unaffected by his departure. We also realized a downturn in trips to the drugstore/office supply/bookstore for (fill in the blanks, really) toothpaste/printer paper/the novel assigned two weeks ago in English class.
While the recent days have been restful, I can see that the life awaiting us this fall is going to take some getting used to. Twenty years of parenting is a long haul, and it's hard to remember what we did back in (do I dare say it?) the 1980s. This was before we occupied ourselves with pre-school fundraisers and playdates, and then Cub Scouts and Little League, followed by Boy Scouts and serious soccer. I suppose I could look for a full-time job now, but with such a perfect excuse in the floundering economy, seems like a wise person would milk the under-employed thing as long as possible. All the more reason I should get my hands dirty, and justify my lack of full employment by growing something edible.
To this end, we added a Santa Rosa plum tree recently, which is now bearing dozens of tiny green orbs -- baby plums in the making. About 24 tomato plants are also tucked in their beds, along with some basil and red and yellow bell peppers. The strawberries have many new flowers, which means some excellent fruit ahead if I can snatch the berries before the pests get to them. The grape vines have rejuvenated themselves after their winter siesta and are climbing vigorously.
As I write this, Nick is on his way to the Dallas airport, happy to be headed home, and we'll be happy to have him back. But his many days away have foreshadowed the not too distant future -- a life that will be both changed and ripe with possibility.
April 5, 2009
Presidential Garden
Dear Mrs. Obama,
While I know that my suggestion here to convert the South Lawn into crop-producing acreage had nothing to do with you green-lighting the project, many thanks nonetheless. I was so pleased to read a couple of weeks ago that you turned 1,100 square feet of grass, visible to those traveling on E Street, into an organic vegetable garden.
Apparently your husband doesn't care for beets, so they've been banished from the plant list, but you've put in an impressive variety of produce. In addition to the old standbys of carrots, broccoli and spinach, I read that your list of seedlings included fennel, shell peas, onions, several types of lettuce, chard, and rhubarb, plus an herb garden and a berry patch.
What is it about beets? While my father ate them with gusto, my mother had a distaste for beets, too, that she unwittingly passed onto me. In retrospect, I'd probably relish a freshly grown beet, although I'm still skeptical of the canned variety that adorned my father's plate. Is it possible that President Obama never ate a fresh beet, either, and was only exposed to canned beets swimming in deep red liquid? He seems like an adventurous eater. Maybe the White House chef could put together a dish that would change his beet opinion. Just an idea. He has already has more than enough on his plate. (Puns are just so hard to resist.)
Anyway, many thanks for stepping in and showing us how to be a little more self-sufficient. Looking forward to following the garden's progress.
While I know that my suggestion here to convert the South Lawn into crop-producing acreage had nothing to do with you green-lighting the project, many thanks nonetheless. I was so pleased to read a couple of weeks ago that you turned 1,100 square feet of grass, visible to those traveling on E Street, into an organic vegetable garden.
Apparently your husband doesn't care for beets, so they've been banished from the plant list, but you've put in an impressive variety of produce. In addition to the old standbys of carrots, broccoli and spinach, I read that your list of seedlings included fennel, shell peas, onions, several types of lettuce, chard, and rhubarb, plus an herb garden and a berry patch.
What is it about beets? While my father ate them with gusto, my mother had a distaste for beets, too, that she unwittingly passed onto me. In retrospect, I'd probably relish a freshly grown beet, although I'm still skeptical of the canned variety that adorned my father's plate. Is it possible that President Obama never ate a fresh beet, either, and was only exposed to canned beets swimming in deep red liquid? He seems like an adventurous eater. Maybe the White House chef could put together a dish that would change his beet opinion. Just an idea. He has already has more than enough on his plate. (Puns are just so hard to resist.)
Anyway, many thanks for stepping in and showing us how to be a little more self-sufficient. Looking forward to following the garden's progress.
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