Today was supposed to be the day we found out about the state of the house and the timeline of repair.
We didn't.
We are now supposed to know by Friday. I know you can't hear it, but I am sighing in frustration. It's not that we aren't comfortable in our Christmas-decorated new home; it's not that my friend isn't being completely awesome and welcoming even though his place has been invaded by the queen of clutter and her loud two-year-old (my husband is amazingly neat and clean, so he is compensating for my and my son's messes); it's just that I want to know what is going on. And I want. to. know. now.
But I can't, so I am going to cook and forget the annoyance of limbo. When I cook, I can somehow release all of my stress and frustrations. The rhythmic chopping, savory smells, mix of textures and temperatures, and the orchestration of dinner always calm my soul. When I am upset I do one of two things: cook or sleep. Cooking is the more productive of the two.
Tonight, I decided to just make a sauce of my own using the fennel.
Pasta
olive oil
fennel bulb
garlic
1/2 onion
beet greens
white wine
basic tomato sauce
Chop everything up very finely. Saute the fennel, garlic, onion in olive oil until onions turn golden. Add beet greens and saute a bit more. Add white wine. Simmer a bit. Add the tomato sauce. Simmer more. Salt to taste.
Serve over spinach fettucini.
Serve with a salad: lettuce, mushroom, red bell pepper, celery, radish, avocado, tomato.
The problem with strictly CSA cooking is that I miss some of my most beloved vegetables. So I cheated on my CSA and bought broccoli and artichokes to serve with dinner (I steamed the broccoli and boiled the artichokes in water with lemon and olive oil for about 45 minutes). Luckily I did. The pasta sauce lacked something; a little je ne sais quoi. It was edible and tasted okay but way way bland. So sad. At least the cooking was theraputic. I won't stress about the house again until tomorrow.
The art of being Californian, it seems, is to cultivate a loose-limbed insouciance while secretly working away like a frantic ant.
--Richard Fortey The Earth: An Intimate History
--Richard Fortey The Earth: An Intimate History
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