Text 14824, 125 rader
Skriven 2014-07-14 23:18:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: today 667
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The across-the-river Lamades invited themselves over for
dinner; to be fair, they wanted to go out to a restaurant,
but it was mutually agreed that we had enough food on hand
to feed a small restaurant, so as our dual-kitchen situation
is more pleasant to cook in than their galley kitchen, here
was the logical place. They had lots of leftovers from their
daughter's bon voyage party (semester abroad in Chile) two
days before, and we had steaks left over from entertaining
the across-the-street neighbors two nights before and steaks
left over from entertaining the dentist and her husband and
the gorgeous daughter of Annie's gynecologist, invited on
the initiative of the gynecologist with I think nothing on
the agenda; also steaks for tonight. Four pounds of leftover
steak, four pounds of new steak. Plus she thawed two pounds
of calamari that were overdue to be used. Plus, on impulse,
as she wanted lamb the night I was scheduled in, she'd gotten
a 2 lb rack of not frozen American lamb for $45, but my plane
was delayed, so it had sat there several days (in Cry-o-Vac,
so still safe) waiting to be used. So we invited the Lamade
neighbors, a family that includes two ravenous boys in their
early 20s. But the kids didn't come, so there was 14 lb of
meat for 7 people.

Among Annie's interesting characteristics - though she never
wanted kids, she has a strong nurturing side, which manifests
in her doting on her cats and loving to feed and water her
friends. So for my week visit she stocked the fridge with
3 lb of ground beef for chili (she doesn't eat chili but
knows I like it), a fried chicken (she eats only the white but
knows I like the dark, 5 porterhouses averaging 27 oz each
(4 planned for the across-the-street neighbors, one for me
alone), 10 pound-plus ribeyes (two actually ended up in the
freezer), and the aforementioned lamb rack, which, when I
noted her extravagance, she admitted that she'd gotten for
us for a special occasion. Also some "Chinese candy" (the
sesame-and-glucose things), some Lindt 70% dark, Wegmans
chocolate soymilk, a half gallon of grapefruit juice, and a
can of brown-sugar-coated pecans, none of which she eats but
that she knows I like. One might almost think that she
had her eye on me, despite the fact she has a boyfriend.

She also talks in code, some of which is generally understood,
some knowable only to close friends, and bits audience-specific;
so she asked me if I had chopped up any jalapenos - I had to
reflect that I'd already made the rice dish and the chili, so
this had to mean that she wanted salt-and-pepper calamari, and
so it was.

Unfortunately, she is still suffering from the aftereffects
of the hernia operation, so other than making a huge blueberry
pie and balling a watermelon that didn't get eaten, she didn't
do much of the entertaining.

The menu:

I was going to put out Cheetos (one of my guilty pleasures and
expensive because of the pills required), because the use-by
date is before my next visit, but we got leftovers from the
party - hot and nonhot smoked sausage from the famed Hillshire
or the equivalent, crudites, and regular Jack, pepper Jack, and
yellow cheese.

At some point, I made the side dishes, neglecting the FIDO mail
and various other important things, then collapsed for an hour
with a nonalcoholic beverage (I try not to booze it up shortly
before doing something dangerous, under which deep-frying squid 
qualifies).

Entertained the guests for a while; asked them when they wanted
to eat; they suggested 6:30. So around 6:10 I asked how I was
expected to do the grill and the fry station at the same time,
so she said she'd do the grilling.

I happily made 2 lb of salt-pepper squid and reheated those
sides that needed attention; at 6:25 she came back inside and
asked if she'd beaten me; answer was yes. My squid was done at
6:32 along with black bean and corn casserole, red peppers and
white onions, and Spanish rice (made with a smoked pork chop
that she had gotten by mistake - she went to the butcher and
asked for a stuffed pork chop, and they'd misheard, and she
didn't realize until she got home). Jill from across the river
brought a leftover red onion, tomato, and cucumber salad out of
which everyone picked out the onion and tomato, leaving a bunch
of forlorn cucumbers.

We got our kebabs (which I'd chopped up earlier out of 5 lb
of ribeye and seasoned rather than marinated, which would have
been unnecessary) and lamb chops, and everyone tucked in, only
to find that the medium-rare requested by all parties but me
had come out blue rare and that mine, a specially made skewer
of fatty bits, had not been cooked at all, at least not enough
to uncongeal the fat. There are limits. Annie was not pleased
with herself and went into a bit of a funk, which I tried to
console her from by reminding her that the grill had treated
me rather badly the other day, and perhaps we had to investigate
getting another grill. Mike gathered up the meat and put it in
the microwave (!) - I had suggested that I could pan-sear it
inside, which got an indignant no. So what came eventually was
steaming hot microwaved medium steak. I made most of my meal
out of the black bean and corn stuff, strangely enough.

Sarah, the semester abroad girl, leaves in a week, and she
had a party to attend with her classmates, so she went off,
and Jill got an attack of parental cord-cutting anxiety and
started to tear up; I thought she'd lose it completely and
bring the evening to a premature end, but she turned to me and
clutched my arm and said in a tiny desperate voice "Bourbon.
Please," which order was fulfilled and in half a glass she
was her jolly self again (I think this ominous and am glad
that there is noplace between here and across the river where
one can practically go more than 30 mph).

The beautiful and delicious pie came out, blueberry with a
lard crust, garnish of raw fresh blueberries and Sunset brand
French vanilla ice cream, a proud local product that - sad to
say - tastes like cold blandness and didn't deserve the pill;
investigation of the label yields that the egg yolks are
listed between two trace ingredients, one of which I forget
and the other is stabilizer, and vanilla doesn't show up at
all (nor does natural nor artificial flavoring). Ah, well,
the pie was wonderful, and everyone was more or less put
together by the time it was time to head on.
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