Note: This was actually written last week, but there were issues posting it. I should also compose a wrap-up of this weekend (and perhaps I will on the train)

[...It would appear that this has devolved into a recap of the weekend. C'est la vie. At least it's something.]

I've gone and done it again. I've withdrawn from the outside world. I've had a few entries rolling around in my head for a while now. They fall into major and minor categories. The major ones I'll continue procrastinating for a while longer, as they'll take much longer to get out (though I may hammer on one or two of them some more after I finish here).

That leaves the minor (minutæ) entries of no import. I've collected them all into one entry to make them easier to ignore. They themselves fall into a few broad subcategories.


Simple Pleasures For Simple Minds

I had forgotten the pure joy that could be had with something as simple as a grilled cheese sandwich. Maybe not quite "simple," a dear, dear epicure and I once had the following exchange:

Y: "Do you want mustard?"

My ignorant self: [incredulous] "Mustard!? On a grilled cheese? Why would I want that?"

Y: [patiently] "Well, have you ever tried it?"

MiS: "Well, not as such, no..." [finally opening my mind a bit] "Ok, let me try just a bit..."

Two words: "pure inspiration!" And yet another (albeit relatively small) testament to how much I owe to her. It's a long list.

And not quite so simple in any case, as this grilled cheese a nice, creamy havarti on Trader Joe's Sprouted Rye (the virtues of which I've extolled many times before) with a cognac & pepper mustard, prepared on a non-stick surface with a touch of olive oil. The cheese melted down to the pan and got nice & brown (I love it that way) Yum!

Though, if I'm going to be completely honest, this mustard is too strong for a cheese as delicate as Havarti, and I can't really enjoy the bread either for that matter. This recipe needs some tweaking.

Almost Perfect

I drew upon lessons learned from (or with) that epicure several times this weekend. On Saturday we had a dinner party, and I koshered and dry rubbed (with cumin and black pepper, of course) some pork tenderloins. I blew out another meat thermometer probe (grn) and ended up resorting to mercury (well, alcohol from the looks of it) and got side-tracked and ended up over-cooking the tenderloin. Everyone said they loved it, but it wasn't as tender & juicy as I knew it could be.


Christ on a crutch, it's 89° outside, and 98° in our bedroom, looks like we're sleeping in the "guest room" again. Worse still, we finally went to see An Inconvenient Truth, and while there are a few nits to pick with the portrayal of the science, there's absolutely no way we're turing on the stupid portable AC unit I was foolishly talked into buying when I last moved to Sunnyvale.

. . .

Ahhhhhhhhhhh. The heat finally broke. We're back to mid 60's, and the tourists are once again easy to spot: shivering in a brand-new pull-over emblazoned with San Francisco (or "SF") hastily purchased on Fisherman's Wharf, an indignant look on their teeth-chattering faces.

Sunnyvale is still hot, but I spend most of my time there indoors (and in climate-controlled environs).

Technological (of sorts)

I am once again able to be counted among the granola eating, mountain bike riding, hippy California set. Some TLC will need to be applied, but I'm fairly happy with the deal I got. Call me paranoid, but I won't be broadcasting the specs to various and sundry on the public intarweb.

There was something else I thought of at work today (I started this entry this morning, and I'm finishing it tonight). I really need to keep notes, this happens all the time.

iTunes is (once again) in an odd mood: it's alternating Queen (mostly Live at Wembly and A Night at the Opera) with Violent Femmes (nothing from the first (eponymous) album). Every few tracks it throws in Frank Zappa (mostly Sheik Yerbouti with a touch of Joe's Garage). I guess it's time to tweak the "how random do you want it?" slider (thanks to Tom for pointing it out!)

Edit: drunk wing-nut on the train just asked if I'm in anger management, he said I looked like I was...Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? (Emphasis on the whiskey)

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Erik Ogan published on August 7, 2006 10:02 AM.

VIOLATED was the previous entry in this blog.

Marveling is the next entry in this blog.

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