I made a romantic dinner for one last night, at least I thought so--ginger/soy halibut over jasmine rice. It doesn't sound like all that, but there was a lot of prep and clean up that went into that meal, the kind that is much more fun when cooking together. I've learned to peel ginger after all these years which is thrilling. Ginger, garlic, and scallions finely chopped. Halibut cut into bite size morsels dusted with oat flour. Heat olive oil in a thick bottomed pan and add the chopped roots. When browned, remove and set aside. Place fish in pan for five minutes per side. Mix soy sauce, toasted sesame oil, sugar, and water to make a sauce. Remove fish from pan and add sauce until it bubbles. Add back roots. Dish rice, add fish, and top with ginger/soy. Fuck yea.
Add wine. O.K. It doesn't look like much. I should have topped with broccoli, I fear. I will next time. But sitting on the deck in the day's fading light drinking wine and eating alone. . . well, I got sad. There should be laughter and touching and the making of post-Covid vaccine travel plans.
Afterwards. . . the clean up.
And then I called my mom.
Whatever.
I sat on the couch and watched some football with the volume off and the rainy day cafe music playing. Football is much better that way. It is more balletic. The horrible background audio rumblings and the idiotic drone of football commentators muted, all that is left to irritate is the constant cutting to promos and commercials delivered in mini-second images. What happened to a generations' attention span? It was diseased by television. Try it. Watch with the sound off and some relaxing music on. You'll see clearly.
I couldn't do it very long. I turned to the trashy television series I've been watching of late. My life is very, very sad.
The days are dismal and will remain so for awhile. My mind and body are in slow decline. I will read today and plan another evening's meal. Something healthy and light. Maybe something I've never tried before like a pan fried tofu dish. Or tempeh. I'm not really sure of the difference. I used to know, I think, long ago. I'll have to do some research.
The long day, the extended evening, the interminable night.
Why am I complaining?
ReplyDeleteIt looks quite delicious - actually. The little dip of oat flour for some crispness. Nice. And outside. I'm envious. It is true Winter here now. Teens upon awakening. Mother fucking cold. But my brother is worse off - it was 8 all day yesterday, as reported via my Mother who receives dutiful calls throughout the week. From her Sons. Who are the Princes of the world.
It was romantic. Just reading it. And I love the word "touching." I like the action associated with it as well. A circle of arm around the waist or touch on the small of the back while reaching for a cooking implement. A soft reach across the table to brush away a piece of hair from the eyes or a reaffirming of the laughter with a touch on the arm.
I shall not complain. You are much better at it than I am.
Well.
Stucky asks Edward Lewis where he met Vivian while at the Polo match and Edward responds "576-Babe". (Pretty Woman).
maybe it works with your area code. I don't know. But desperate times and all.
I know you are wicked picky. But they usually show pictures of the Pretty Girls. So you could probably find someone to at least cook and eat with you.
*shrug*.
So, I need to pick a new book to start tonight. I have shelves and shelves of many I never read. But knew they were "important" to read or at least someone said they were. Many are T's. Many are from the thrift stores. I feel sad for books.
I've been obsessed with criticism for years but I think I will try Voltaire. I have not read.
And I have a YouTube introduction on William Kline queued up as well. A studious evening ahead.
It's only Monday. I have a long way to go to the weekend. :(
Also the photo reminds me of a Millet painting.
ReplyDeleteI'm craving calamari. BTW.